‘I have dealt with the grime that this world has become filled with for so long.’ He was going to leave his statement there but felt compelled to be completely unguarded in his response. ‘I have seen the deceit that most men live by and so, over time, you protect yourself against befriending any for they will surely deceive that friendship. Out there in the courtyard you see what remains of my command. Those men and those who fell have fought and died at my side. I have seen much more than deceit in these men, I have learned to trust and respect each and every one of them. I owe them a debt that the trust and respect demands. They are not merely men I ordered to do my bidding, but men I am honoured to call a friend and brother. A friendship forged in blood,’ Cassian spoke with vigour and purpose and a truth. Qualities that Albus had rarely seen in men, let alone in one so young.
‘Then let us honour them.’ Albus strode from the room.
Albus had seen to all the preparations. A huge pyre had been built in the centre of the courtyard. At its summit was a heavy wooden tablet and upon the tablet were carved the names of all who had fallen on the quest. All warriors deserved to be honoured with pyre and blessing and, as most of the warriors lay where they had fallen, it had not been possible to afford them what they had earned in blood and pain. The entire household gathered to pay homage to the fallen. Even Chia attended, her grief would not prevent her from sending Plinius upon a safe journey to the afterlife and for the chance to say goodbye.
Cassian headed the ceremony, speaking each and every man's name in full, a fact Spartacus found surprising, for he felt the shame that he could not remember them all. He watched the tongues of flames flick upwards, hungrily feeding upon the tablet, taking each name in turn. They first blackened and then devoured each of them. Finally it came to Plinius’ name, the one Spartacus wished to honour above all others. When his name finally succumbed to the onslaught of fire Spartacus felt an easing of the spirit. Goblets rose and rose again in honour of the brave who had paid the ultimate price, wine flowing like the raw emotion of the night.
The mourners honoured the fallen with blessings and tales of their bravery to those who were not there to witness it. When enough blessings had been said and much wine had been drunk, the mourners finally slept. The fire became embers and gradually turned to ash, a slight breeze began to blow lifting the ash and carried the souls of the brave upon their last journey.
Chia left the villa of Albus with Cassian and his men. She could not bear the pain of the place anymore and, besides, she was now a free woman and one with considerable wealth. As Cassian had promised, Plinius’ earnings had passed to her. Plinius had kept his promise to her and she would not betray his honour by wasting her life away in misery. She would thank him every day for removing the manacles of slavery. The grief was still raw but she would face it, and overcome it. The love she still felt for Plinius demanded it be so.
Cassian had wondered how many of his men would leave once they returned home. He considered the coming danger of Crassus, a man not known for his forgiving ways and a tendency to exact reprisals against any who went against him. Cassian would bury the records of any of his men, they would become like ghosts. New identities and new locations for them to live would hopefully deliver them from any intended harm that Crassus would inflict upon them. As for himself, it would be impossible to hide but he would ensure his family went on an extended vacation to his father's lands in Greece. It would be more difficult for any action to be taken against them there. With the protection of his own patron maybe Crassus would think better of it and let things be, rather than risk virtually open warfare.
Cassian almost laughed at the suggestion they had damaged Crassus too much for him simply to accept. Before long Rome would know of what happened in Utica and those who knew the darkest politics within Rome would look to Crassus to see if he possessed the backbone to fight back. It was perhaps fitting that at the same time these thoughts were visiting the mind of Cassian, an important looking Roman was picking his way through the streets of Rome, eager for news of Utica, the rumours were almost too unbelievable to comprehend.
Rome bustled with its usual self importance. Traders tried to coax every last coin from every passer-by, and then occasionally a member of the Roman elite would saunter through the busy streets and the traders would go crazy at the chance to make real money. Such visitors would epitomize their class, attendants galore waiting on their every need and whim.
This man was different. He walked with only a couple of bodyguards, as if he was beyond the mediocrity of such melodrama. All around him knew his name and the power of the man, and he enjoyed the honour they paid him. Some tried to ingratiate themselves with him, whilst others hid from his view, fearing he might remember a debt owed. On a normal day he might have a gentle word to such feeble plebs but, for now, he had to get the information he required. He had already sent for such information to be gathered and would make his way to his grand villa to await the news. He however could not resist a smile to himself, he pitied these poor detestable fools. Where would they be if it wasn't for men like himself? They would wallow in shit, not capable of the intelligence to move Rome to the heights at which it belonged. He would drag them to it, for he was one of the few with the foresight required. He made his way to his villa, just one of many that he owned throughout the mpire. This was his favourite, he never liked to be too far from the senate. He revelled in the politics of the senate and had become master of it. Those that did not openly support him feared him, which was a situation he gladly accepted. He craved the power and the more he received the more he wanted. He went straight to his private bathing area within the villa for he hated the grime of the city and awaited one of his most trusted agents. The man wasn't cheap but Crassus knew the value of both coin and man. Shortly there came a knock at door and a man entered. He bowed in reverence and waited to be addressed.
‘You have news for me?’ Crassus asked.
‘Yes my lord, though I fear it is not what you would have wanted,’ the agent replied.
‘Well, tell me then what the winds have blown?’ Crassus smiled, he never lost his temper, always a pillar of calm. He had trained himself well not to show concern, no matter the news and had realised, over the many years in political life, that a hardship often brought rewards if one was intelligent enough to see it.
‘The Roman Navy has destroyed over one hundred pirate ships at the port of Utica.’ As he spoke the agent looked at Crassus. His employer never even blinked though he knew that the loss must have been a concern. He then proceeded with his report, ‘Dido has been removed, believed dead, and a Roman governor, Critilo, installed,’ the agent finished as Crassus sighed. Crassus had always liked Dido, he was so easily corruptible and Crassus so enjoyed corrupting. He saw it as almost a civic duty bending men to the will of Rome, that is as long as it was the same as his. Also he thought the loss of the ships and arena would remove a substantial source of revenue, one not easily replaced.
‘Who was responsible?’ Crassus asked, leaning forward to hear the name clearly.
‘First reports suggest it was Cassian Antonius,’ the agent replied, nervous at Crassus’ sudden movement.
‘Well make sure. It would be a great shame to remove such a promising fellow without certainty, especially as he has begun to show real promise.’ Crassus’ praise of Cassian was genuine. He had hoped to enlist the young man but it seemed one of his competitors had got there first.
‘And if the reports are correct?’ The agent asked, already knowing the fate of Cassian if the reports did prove to be right.
‘You will spend some time on gathering all necessary information. The man himself, his family and his men and hopefully who they work for,’ Crassus paused, ‘then business as usual, first of all his family and men and, only when he has lost everything, will he meet his fate. Understood?’ Crassus put the death sentence on Cassian as casually as ordering a new tunic.
‘Yes my lord,’ the agent replied. Already he felt a tr
ace of sympathy for Cassian.
‘It must be public. All must know the price of going against Crassus, and that price is total destruction.’ Crassus smiled at his own bravado. It was not his usual manner but once in a while he liked to be dramatic. ‘Best inform Titus Flabinus. I believe he is best suited for the role and if these men were successful in the arena they will have worth, so I must send my best man,’ Crassus ended.
‘At once my lord.’
The agent turned away, recognising Crassus had ended the meeting. He nervously thought of meeting Titus, a thoroughly loathsome fellow who was held in awe by the underclass of Rome and in fear by those he had set his sights upon. He and his men loved killing a little too much, with the wealth that Crassus bestowed on them being just an added benefit. The agent thanked the Gods, it would take time to gather the information required and his meeting with Titus would be not for some time.
As Cassian and his small group journeyed home, another man worked his way through the filth of Utica, down the dark alleys. He was free from attack for the good work he had done for both rich and poor alike. Stoiclese entered a small warehouse. It was lit but poorly and the smell of blood and death filled the nostrils threatening to overwhelm the senses. He had entered these rooms many times. It was important work, he saved who he could and those he could not he used their bodies to enhance his knowledge of the human form and workings. He picked his way through the injured, many from the recent games. The injuries were severe, most would not last to smell the fresh air beyond these rooms but he hoped one or two could return to the land of the living. His eyes came to rest on one such case and remembered back to the night that the warrior had been brought to these rooms.
‘You waste your time, he is too far gone. Only the Gods could save him,’ Stoiclese said, assured in his own mind that the warrior was near his end. Only vapours of life still inhabited the body.
‘The Gods are too busy and my knowledge is not enough, he needs you.’ The huge dark warrior, with a leather cap where his hand used to be, had a stern face but his eyes were pleading with the healer.
‘I tell you it will be for nothing. I can ill afford to throw away my supplies on a lost cause,’ the healer replied.
‘You know that I have come into riches Stoiclese. Save this man and you shall have all to carry out your works,’ the man replied, still a pleading edge to his voice.
‘Very well, but you know his chances?’ The healer quizzed.
‘I do, but they are better with you than any other I know.’ The huge man turned to leave as he spoke but Stoiclese called to him.
‘You wish me to inform Cassian that the boy is still alive?’ He asked. Aegis turned.
‘No. They have grieved for him once. I would save them the pain a second time, I will contact you soon.’ With that he was gone into the night.
Stoiclese brought himself back from his memories to gaze down on the young warrior. He still had not woken from his slumber but, with each day that passed, his breathing became stronger and colour returned to his skin. It seemed that this Plinius was not an easy kill.
THE END
Historical Note
History tells us Spartacus was killed during the final major battle near the Siler River. In truth, the battle was not a grand affair, where one mighty force lined up against another. It's likely the slave army was breaking apart, its cohesion lost in the face of Crassus’ legions. The main part of the slave army did indeed engage with the legions and were easily defeated. The body of Spartacus was never recovered. This was not surprising, the amount of dead would have been tremendous and so picking out one man would be extremely difficult for the Romans. It was also possible Spartacus slipped away as many slaves ran from the battle. Pompey encountered a large group and destroyed them. My own personnel opinion is that the Romans knew so little about the man that identification, even if his body was recognisable, would have been impossible. There are little actual facts known about the man. Historians believe he was Thracian and that he was of noble blood and may have served as a Roman auxiliary before being sold into slavery. The evidence is sparse and therefore the legend of Spartacus lends itself so well to interpretation.
Marcus Lucinius Crassus, on the other hand, is well documented in most articles of Roman history of that era. He was a man with enormous wealth and political skill, who held many high offices within the Roman senate. His wealth helped the young Julius Caesar rise to prominence. Though he gained much influence within the senate, for many years his popularity suffered because he was not known as a great leader on the battlefield. This fact seemed to annoy the powerful politician, especially as Pompey, his great rival, and the young Julius Caesar had a gift for victories. This may have been the reason he embarked on an ill thought out campaign into Syria and the battle of Carrhae in 53 BC. He lost the battle, his army and ultimately his life. As for his secret underworld activities, it is difficult to see how a man who had so much success within the senate did not employ such tactics. The time dictated that to stay in power you used every weapon at your disposal. The one thing which is certain is Crassus had the coin to purchase any service he required.
Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus (or as he was more commonly known Pompey), was a skilled military leader and great rival to Crassus. The plebs of Rome loved him because of his victories and, if it had not been for the emergence of Julius Caesar, he may have achieved total power within Rome. Pompey is believed to have tried to claim the victory over the slave army having actually only destroyed remnants of it. Crassus would be horrified by the senate granting Pompey a triumph and a great honour for his victories in Spain and over the slave army, whereas Crassus was left with a minor honour and still no recognition as a military leader. It was approximately 68 BC when Pompey was charged with removing the pirates from the Mediterranean, a task which he completed within four months, although this was probably due more to the payment of gold than the sinking of pirate vessels.
The majority of the other characters are fictional. However I have tried to remain true to the era. The Roman Empire could be a dangerous place and the impact of squabbles between the power hungry politicians and generals could be profound. Life was cheap, with coin and power being sought by those brave enough to reach for them. Even the powerful risked all.
Coming Soon
Spartacus: The Gods Demand Sacrifice
The world was at peace. With the coming snows anger and deceit were driven away. The lands slept, for the unusually heavy fall had taken all by surprise. The birds were silent and flightless, not venturing into the cold. Animals sheltered where they could, gathered close to one another to guard against the bitter chill which accompanied the serene winter flakes. Inside the white covered buildings people huddled next to the fires and consumed wine to warm from within. Only slave footprints could be seen in the snow, for wood for the fires and provisions for their masters still had to be gathered.
In one such household the slaves were happier or, it would be better to say, more comfortable. It would be an over statement to suggest a slave could ever truly be happy, only freedom could bring about that state. Their master had returned from his task a changed man. The squalid quarters they had once frequented had been demolished and an entirely new building had been erected. The building guarded well against the cold and yet remained light and welcoming. New clothes, including cloaks, had been provided. They had no idea why their master had become so generous, but thanked the reasons behind it.
Cassian slept an uneasy slumber. The nightmares of a powerful man, demanding revenge haunted him regularly now. Only the special herbs Aegis prepared for him took the edge from the blades that pierced his rest times. He had hoped that his patron would protect him but, upon meeting with the man, it was made clear he must look to his own defence. He woke, beads of sweat racing down his face. Cassian glanced to the door which lead to an adjoining room, where his wife, now expecting their third child, slept. He thanked the Gods she did not witness his nights of turmoil, he would not a
llow his troubles to burden her, especially while she was carrying their child. Cassian had spoken to Aegis of his dreams, believing the man to have a gift for soothing the spirit. The gentle giant had done what he could, praying to the Gods and mixing a special brew, but still the nightmares persisted.
Aegis went to the other men and told them of Cassian's visions and, to a man, they chose to stay longer. If the visions foretold future events they would stay at their friend's side. They blamed the weather when Cassian enquired why. For while the winter had provided a white blanket which lay across the land, it also provided an excuse for the men to remain at the villa. If Cassian guessed they were not being entirely truthful about their reasons for remaining, he never let his suspicions be known. If truth be told, he was happy they would remain, the future worried him.
Spartacus kissed his sleeping daughter, revelling in the time he had been able to spend with his family. His wife lay on the bed next to him, her long red hair flowing onto to her naked shoulders. He ran his fingers down the smooth skin of her back, marvelling at her beauty. Her involuntary movement when his hands caressed her showed her delight at his touch. She turned her head, her smile broad and welcoming. She gently kissed his powerful hand.
‘You must speak with Cassian, Epionne becomes concerned for him.’
‘Women are always looking to know a man's mind,’ Spartacus jested. ‘Besides she's his wife.’
‘And you're his friend and some things, men like to keep from their wives.’ Her tone was serious and Spartacus knew this would be a battle he could not win. He held up his hands in false surrender.
‘You win, I will speak with him later.’
‘He will be taking his stroll around the grounds now,’ she persisted. Spartacus let out a sigh. He leapt from the bed, after first catching his wife with a well aimed slap on the buttocks. She let out a playful squeal and, with grin on her face, made him aware she would wait for him to return.
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