‘Yet they say that he’s as polite a man as you can meet. He contributes regularly to the plebs’ grain dole. Crassus is a real bull with hay on his horns.’ The ostler winked. ‘Tell your master that he could see him address the citizens this very afternoon if he wished.’
‘Really?’ asked Spartacus casually. ‘Where would that be?’
The ostler’s eyebrows rose. ‘I forgot that you’re not from the city. In the Forum.’
‘My thanks. I’ll tell him.’ Chewing on a strand of hay, Spartacus sauntered off in search of Carbo.
Carbo was dozing on the most comfortable bed of their journey yet when a loud knock shattered his reverie.
‘Master?’
He sat up with a start. ‘Yes?’
Spartacus was already halfway inside the low-ceilinged room. ‘They are indeed serving food downstairs, master. Roast pork or grilled fresh fish. Shall I order some for you?’ He closed the door. ‘You’ll never guess what’s happening this very afternoon.’
‘What?’
‘Fucking Crassus is to address the people in the Forum.’
Suddenly, Carbo was fully awake. ‘Who told you?’
‘The ostler. Six legions he’s raising, in addition to the remnants of Longinus’ and the consuls’ forces. In total, he will be leading close to ten legions.’
Carbo felt sick. ‘That’s a lot of legionaries.’
Spartacus’ grin was savage. ‘I told you it would get harder.’
‘Are we going to try and kill him?’ whispered Carbo.
‘That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?’
Now adrenalin surged through Carbo. ‘Yes.’
‘Gods, you look as if you want to kill him more than me!’ said Spartacus with a laugh.
‘He ruined my family, dragged my father’s good name into the mud, took the roof from over our heads. And for what? Three months’ missed payments on his stinking loan!’ Carbo’s dagger jumped into his hand. ‘It would give me the most incredible pleasure to slit his scrawny throat.’
‘Steady on.’
Spartacus’ hard stare unnerved him. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to be sorry. You have good reason to hate the prick. But a situation like this demands a cool head. Who knows what protection the man will have? Rest assured that after his recent elevation in the world, he won’t be walking around with no one looking out for him. If we go rushing in like a pair of fools, the only person laughing afterwards will be Crassus — at our bloody corpses. You don’t want that, do you?’
‘No,’ muttered Carbo.
‘We’ll make a judgement once we’ve seen what’s going on, and who’s around. Not before.’ Spartacus had seen far too many men slain in battle because they had acted rashly. Now was not the time for recklessness. ‘It may well be that we get no chance to assassinate Crassus. If there isn’t, we will just walk away. Clear?’
Carbo swallowed his resentment. If it wasn’t for the Thracian, he’d have long since been food for the worms in the ludus’ cemetery. ‘Yes.’
‘Put that damn blade away then, and order me to follow you out for some food.’
It took an instant for Carbo to register Spartacus’ meaning. Sheathing his knife, he grinned. ‘I fancy a stroll around the great city,’ he said loudly. ‘We can find somewhere to eat as we walk.’ He pulled the door wide. Although there was no reason to be suspicious, he was glad to find the corridor beyond empty. Carbo threw up as heartfelt a prayer as he’d ever made. Mighty Jupiter, O Greatest and Best, grant us the opportunity to kill Crassus. Guide my blade — and that of Spartacus.
In his haste, he forgot that requests of the deities needed to be phrased with meticulous accuracy.
Chapter VIII
Taking a deep breath, Ariadne crouched down and let the contraction wash over her.
‘That’s it,’ murmured the midwife. ‘Now push.’
All thought left Ariadne as she obeyed. Her jaw clenched, and beads of sweat formed on her brow. An inarticulate moan left her lips. The pain was intense, but Ariadne did not let it better her. I will stay in control. Finally, her abdominal muscles relaxed and she sagged down on to her knees.
‘Good. I can see the head. It won’t be long now.’
My son will be born soon, thought Ariadne with satisfaction. She hadn’t been overly surprised when her pains started while Spartacus was still away. She had told him that their baby wouldn’t be born until after his return to make it easier for him to go, but in her gut she had known it might well be sooner. In the event, her labour had begun the previous night. She was grateful that it started when it had because the army was camped, and in a good location by a mountain stream.
She resumed her posture — crouching low, her back slightly curved and her knees bent. One of the women she was friendly with stood in front of her so that Ariadne could grip her hands for support. Another contraction took her. The time since the previous one had shortened.
‘Push,’ murmured the midwife. ‘You must push.’
Ariadne groaned.
‘Is she… all right?’ Atheas’ voice, from outside the tent, was full of concern.
‘Yes, yes. Go and make yourself busy somewhere else,’ ordered the midwife.
As the pain eased, Ariadne remembered how when she had woken Atheas, the tattooed warrior had looked genuinely worried. Despite her discomfort, Ariadne had smiled. One of the most ferocious warriors she had ever met, reduced to an awkward, mumbling shadow of himself. So it is with men. She had calmly told him to fetch the midwife, an old crone who had joined them months before. Next, Atheas had carried word to Castus and Gannicus. Ariadne could still remember the Scythian’s surprise when he told her what they’d said. ‘They didn’t argue at all. Both of them said that the army would stay put until the baby was born.’
Of course they said that, she thought. If they had insisted the day’s march go ahead, it would place her at risk. A day here or there didn’t matter to their progress, and while both were brave men, she doubted that either would want to face Spartacus’ wrath if something went wrong.
Her muscles tightened again, and Ariadne knew that this was it. She began to push as she’d never done before. The midwife, who was behind her, gave her an encouraging slap. ‘Come on, don’t let up. You’re nearly there.’
Ariadne felt a rush of liquid spattering her lower legs, and heard the midwife make a soft exclamation of pleasure. In the same moment, the immense pressure on her lower abdomen eased. Her strength vanished, and if it hadn’t been for the woman holding her arms, Ariadne would have fallen. Anxiety gripped her.
‘You have a boy,’ said the midwife softly. ‘He seems healthy, thank the gods.’
‘A son. I knew it was a son. Show him to me.’
‘Lift your leg.’ As Ariadne obeyed, the midwife moved beneath her, taking care not to damage the cord.
A small, red, mucus-covered bundle of limbs was handed to her. Ariadne thought her heart would break with the beauty of it. ‘Hello, my son,’ she whispered, enfolding the babe in her arms. ‘Welcome, oh welcome.’
‘Help her to the mattress,’ directed the midwife.
Ariadne felt herself being turned. Hands at her back lightly supported her as she took the few steps to the blankets. She lay down, clasping the newborn to her. A specially prepared wool blanket appeared, her son’s swaddling cloth. It was laid over her chest. Ariadne stroked the tiny head, which was covered in downy black hair. ‘You’re a handsome boy, just like your father. All the girls will want to chase you.’
‘What are you going to call him?’ asked the midwife.
‘Maron. After Spartacus’ brother, who was killed fighting the Romans.’
There was a nod of approval. ‘It’s a powerful name.’
Ariadne heard her friend protesting, and then there was someone else in the tent. She looked up to see Atheas crouched over her, a reverent expression on his normally hard face.