It was true, thought Carbo. The skulking shapes who lurked by the whispering cypress trees and crypts with their statues of the dead had all but vanished. ‘The city guard probably doesn’t tolerate them close to the city.’
‘There it is,’ said Spartacus softly. ‘Up ahead. Look.’
Above the heads of the people in front and framed by the trees on either side, Carbo made out a high stone wall. ‘It’s bloody enormous!’
Spartacus grunted irritably. Rome’s defences were intimidating to say the least. As tall as five men standing on each other’s shoulders, the wall was faced with large slabs of yellow tufa. He could see soldiers patrolling to and fro on a rampart that ran along the top. A fortified tower perched on either side of the iron-studded gates that led into the capital. Both had a couple of light catapults. Spartacus had only ever had a vague notion of taking Rome, but now it vanished entirely. I would need engineers who could build me hundreds of huge ballistae. Even then, it would take months to pound enough holes in the defences to storm the place successfully. Months during which other legions would have been raised elsewhere in Italy. He forced away his bad humour. ‘How old is it?’
‘More than three hundred years,’ replied Carbo proudly. ‘It was erected in the aftermath of the sacking of the city by the Gauls.’
‘Impressive, but it’s a damn shame that it was ever built. Things with Hannibal might have been very different otherwise. And for me too.’
Carbo’s pride vanished.
‘How long is it?’
‘Five miles. It encompasses all seven hills. There’s a deep defensive ditch too. We’ll see that as we get closer.’
‘I can’t wait,’ said Spartacus dryly.
Embarrassed by his enthusiasm, Carbo fell silent.
‘Where does your uncle live?’
‘On the Esquiline Hill.’
It had been inevitable that Carbo would tell Spartacus his family’s full story. The Thracian had already known of Crassus’ part in their downfall. ‘Do you want to see them?’ Spartacus had asked. ‘Yes.’ Carbo had studied the fire as he’d replied, his rashness in dictating the letter in Mutina vivid in his mind. ‘I think you should go,’ Spartacus had said, stunning him.
‘Do you still think it’s a good idea to make contact with my parents?’
‘If there’s an opportunity, yes. You could be killed any time.’
Carbo’s skin crawled. ‘I don’t think that the Esquiline is far from the Capena, the gate we’re heading for. It won’t be hard to find out.’
‘Steady on,’ Spartacus warned. ‘Let’s find a place to stay first. Check out the lie of the land. See what’s going on.’
Carbo flushed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’ll get your chance.’
Contenting himself with that, Carbo strode on, determined to appreciate the sights of the city he’d heard so much about but never seen. He had grown up on tales of the capital and the Forum Romanum, the open space where citizens met to socialise, do business and to petition senators, and which was overlooked by the Capitoline Hill with its massive temple complex and immense statue of Jupiter. There wouldn’t be time, but he also longed to see the Circus Maximus, a natural stadium formed by the steep sides of the Aventine and Palatine Hills.
His wonder soon turned to surprise. After they had passed under the mighty Servian wall, only the basalt road maintained its grandeur. It was still broad enough for two carts to pass abreast. On either side, however, the streets that led off up the hills were narrow and unpaved, and no different to Capua’s. The buildings towered higher than Carbo or Spartacus had ever seen — three, four and even five storeys tall, but for the most part, they looked poorly built. The air was thick with the smell of decaying rubbish, human waste and the acrid tang of urine from the fullers’ workshops that were clustered round the Capena Gate. And the people. There were more people than either man had imagined could be gathered in one place. They pushed and jostled, so intent on their business that they didn’t even look at the other passers-by.
The crush was added to by the queues of wagons which filled the roadway. Loaded with vegetables, sides of pork, steeply piled terracotta vessels and every other merchant good imaginable, they were drawn by pairs or larger teams of oxen. Their drivers roared curses at one another and at the pedestrians, blaming everyone but themselves for the throng that slowed all traffic to a snail’s pace. Carbo made for the edge of the street, hoping to make better progress, but the open-fronted shops, restaurants and taverns there filled the ground before their premises with stalls, tables and items for sale. Any available space between was occupied by toothless beggars — a combination of lepers, amputees and scrawny children — or jugglers, snake charmers and other performers.
‘It’s no good,’ he said in frustration. ‘It will take us all day to get anywhere if we stay on the Via Appia. I don’t know any of the side streets, though.’
‘That’s easy to sort out.’ Spartacus clicked his fingers at a snot-nosed girl in a threadbare tunic. ‘Want to earn an as?’
The urchin was by Spartacus’ side in a heartbeat ‘Yes, sir.’
‘No need to call me “sir”. I’m a slave.’
‘Fair enough,’ said the girl with an uncaring shrug. ‘New to the city?’
‘Yes. My master here is looking for lodgings for a few nights. Central if possible. Nothing too flash, but not a dive either. Somewhere that the beds are clean and the food won’t poison you. And where the wine is actually drinkable.’
‘Do you need whores?’
‘Unless you can guarantee that they haven’t got the pox, no,’ said Carbo.
This produced a smile and a mouthful of rotting teeth. ‘I know just the place. The Elysian Fields. It’s between the Esquiline and the Quirinal.’
‘Is that far?’ asked Spartacus.
‘Not the way I’m going to take you. Follow me!’ The urchin darted off up an alleyway.
Carbo eyed Spartacus uncertainly.
‘What are you waiting for?’
‘Do you trust her?’
‘She’s seen my cudgel, and the fact that we’ve both got knives. The child’ll know it would be foolish to betray us. My money says that she will take us straight to a decent enough inn.’
Carbo wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t in charge — even if it looked as if he was. ‘All right.’ He sped after the girl. Spartacus followed.
Not long after, they had arrived at The Elysian Fields, a nondescript premises just off the Vicus Patricius. A brief investigation by Carbo revealed that the girl had done as she was asked. The tavern was small but clean and well appointed, and the proprietor, a genial ex-soldier, seemed honest. Having paid the urchin, Carbo took a room on the first floor. Spartacus found the ostler and secured a spot on the floor of the stables. A short and casual conversation determined that the city was awash with the news of Crassus’ appointment to lead the Republic’s armies. ‘The consuls couldn’t argue with him any longer, could they?’ the ostler commented sourly. ‘Between them, the stupid fools had been whipped three times by Spartacus. Enough’s enough, eh?’
‘Indeed,’ muttered Spartacus, hiding his smile. ‘So Crassus is going to finish off the slaves, is he?’
‘So he promises. He’s in the process of raising six new legions. Using his own money too. Now that’s what I call devotion to the Republic.’
Spartacus had expected to hear bad news but not quite so soon. He cursed savagely inside. Crassus was more of an organiser and leader than he looked then. When six new legions were added to the survivors of the consuls’ armies, he would have almost ten legions. Great Rider, I will need your help even more than ever. ‘That’s impressive. So it’s true that he is the richest man in Rome?’
‘Damn right it is! Made most of it during Sulla’s proscriptions, he did. Bought up the properties of those who’d been executed hand over fist.’ The ostler spat. ‘Another way he makes his money is to turn up wherever there’s a fire. He offers the owners of any burning buildings a tiny fee for the deeds. Nearly all accept. It’s either that or they get nothing. Crassus has his own private fire brigade. When he’s done the deal, they put out the blaze. Afterwards, he’s got the ground to erect a new building on — and for a steal.’
‘He sounds unpleasant.’
