All eyes followed his. The enemy’s position — at the top of a ridge — was daunting to say the least. A rocky peak prevented any chance of outflanking to the left, and the Roman right flank was protected by a large section of catapults.
‘Our cavalry are useless here. It’s a frontal assault by us — or nothing,’ said Arphocras sourly.
‘Good!’ exclaimed Gaius. ‘The quicker we get to grips with the stinking Romans, the better.’ He looked around for support, but all he got was filthy stares.
‘Spartacus has gone bloody mad,’ grumbled Zeuxis. ‘His victories have gone to his head. I told you this would happen.’
‘We’re going to die.’ Arphocras sounded resigned. ‘Even if the Romans lose, we’ll never know about it.’
Zeuxis rubbed the double-ended phallic amulet that hung from a thong around his neck and mouthed a prayer. Several of the others did the same.
They’re really scared. Somehow, Marcion rallied his courage. ‘Spartacus knows what he’s doing.’
‘Does he?’ Zeuxis sounded even more dubious than ever.
‘He’s never made a mistake yet, has he?’
‘That means nothing. No one’s perfect,’ replied Zeuxis angrily. ‘And what’s his secret plan here? Any fool can see that charging up a slope is tantamount to suicide, yet that’s what we’re about to do.’
‘There are only two legions on the ridge,’ growled Gaius. ‘We outnumber the bastards by six to one.’
‘But we can’t all engage at the same time: their front is too narrow. Besides, the odds aren’t as great as you say. The other consul’s legions won’t be far away,’ snapped Zeuxis. ‘They’ll fall on our rear at the first opportunity.’
Gaius glowered, and Marcion intervened. ‘Spartacus is no fool. Remember how he set the trap for Lentulus? How he had Longinus’ hidden catapults destroyed the night before we marched?’
Zeuxis’ lip curled. ‘I don’t know. This attack seems like a very good way to get a lot of men killed.’
Trumpets blared from some distance to their right, and they craned their necks to see what was going on.
‘It’s Spartacus!’ Marcion pointed at the horseman who had emerged from the ranks some two hundred paces away. He began riding up and down, addressing the troops nearest him.
‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ The usual chant began.
Marcion was delighted. The closest soldiers also seemed pleased, and the news rippled through the cohort.
‘Bloody typical,’ said Zeuxis. ‘We can’t hear a damn word.’
Marcion glared, but the older man ignored him.
‘How are we supposed to feel encouraged by this? We might as well just pray to the gods. Or talk among ourselves. That’d be as much use as standing here pretending that we have a clue what’s going on.’
Marcion’s anger overflowed. ‘Stop your moaning, will you? Either that, or piss off!’
Zeuxis gave him a startled look.
‘Like it or not, we’re going to fight this cursed battle soon. Some of us might get killed, but at least we’re free men. We’re here of our own choice! I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be here than back on the shitty latifundium where I grew up. I was treated like an animal.’
‘Damn right!’ shouted Gaius. ‘There’s no going back.’
‘Well said,’ Arphocras elbowed Marcion. ‘We’re Spartacus’ men, whatever happens.’
The rest of their comrades gave each other sheepish grins while Zeuxis glowered in resentful silence.
Marcion’s attention returned to Spartacus. He drew his sword, and Marcion’s breath caught in his chest. The sica was stabbed repeatedly at the Roman lines, and the soldiers near Spartacus roared in appreciation. ‘This is it. We’re going to attack.’
To his surprise, the command was not given. Instead Spartacus rode along the front of the army, towards them. He came to a halt not twenty paces from where they stood. The soldiers went crazy, cheering and banging their weapons and shields together. Marcion and his comrades joined in. Even Zeuxis.
Spartacus raised his arms for calm. ‘You know that there are only two legions facing us. That the other two are in the area, waiting for their chance to strike at us. Most likely, you’re worried, even a little scared. I’d wager that Lentulus is banking on your fear. The toga-wearing man-humping piece of filth is also relying on his colleague Gellius to arrive and fall upon the rear of our army.’ He smiled at the unhappy murmurs which followed.
Zeuxis glared at Marcion.
Marcion held his breath. This wasn’t all that Spartacus had come to say — was it?
Spartacus watched them, let them stew in their uncertainty for several moments before he spoke again. ‘Our scouts have done us proud. Yesterday they brought me news of Gellius’ position. More than twenty thousand of your comrades are about to march out under Castus and Gannicus and confront him. Rest assured, your backs are safe! We have plenty of time to demolish Lentulus’ spineless rabble.’
The mood changed, as a spring gale clears out the last traces of winter. Men laughed and cheered and thanked the gods.
‘Will you help me to go and do that?’ shouted Spartacus.
The roar that followed proclaimed his soldiers’ enthusiasm in no uncertain terms.
Inevitably, the cry began again. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’
The Thracian rode up and down, acknowledging the acclaim.
Marcion gave Zeuxis a not entirely friendly nudge. ‘Happy now?’
‘I’ll follow him up there.’
Marcion grinned. From Zeuxis, that was an endorsement of the highest kind.
Some weeks later…
The Apennines, south-central Italy
Carbo got up and adjusted the large rock that served as his backrest. He sat down again with a contented sigh, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and moving his feet closer to the burning logs. The days were still hot, but at night the altitude meant that temperatures fell fast. Thankfully, sitting by a fire was enough to keep a man’s bones warm.
‘I’ll be glad to see Thurii,’ said Navio.
‘It isn’t far now, thank Jupiter,’ said Publipor.
‘I can’t wait for some flat ground. I’m sick of going down one hill only to climb another,’ Arnax piped up.
They all chuckled. The bruises from Spartacus’ beating had faded within days, but it had taken weeks for Arnax to get over the shame of having talked to Castus. He had recently started coming out of his shell.
‘It’s practically your home territory, Publipor, eh? Brundisium isn’t that far from where we will overwinter,’ said Carbo with a wink. After his arrival, the Apulian had joined a century in his cohort. In the time since they had left the Alps behind, he had become a constant companion and friend.
‘You’re not wrong.’ A shadow passed across Publipor’s face.
Carbo took it to be worry. ‘Have you got a woman there you left behind? A family?’
The shadow became sorrow. ‘I did. A wife. Three children.’
Silence fell. Navio busied himself by loading more logs on to the fire. Arnax, who was scouring Carbo’s sword with a piece of wire, found a rust spot to concentrate on above all else. Carbo let his gaze follow a stream of sparks upwards into the brilliant night sky. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t discovered this about Publipor before. Few men in the slave army bothered to tell their comrades of their past — himself included. ‘What happened to them?’
Publipor cleared his throat. ‘They were carried off last year. Cholera.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Carbo.
‘That is a hard burden for anyone to bear,’ added Navio with some feeling. ‘War is one thing, but sickness…’
‘Aye, well. What can a man do? The gods give, and the gods take away. I should be grateful that I am still here. Still breathing.’
Publipor didn’t look grateful at all, thought Carbo. He’d found it hard thinking that he would never see his own parents again, but at least they were alive. It wasn’t completely mad to think that they might meet again one day. They weren’t that far away: Rome lay perhaps two hundred miles to the north-west. The army had been even closer to it a week or two before. Carbo had considered deserting for a short period, or even asking Spartacus if he
