statue on the hill. Jupiter, give me the chance to kill him today. Please.
The crowd some distance away suddenly began to chant. ‘RO-MA! RO-MA! RO-MA!’
Their cry was taken up at once by the masses. The noise was deafening, and mesmeric. All it lacked was the metallic clash of swords off shields, reflected Carbo, for it to resemble an army before battle. It was most odd. He felt entirely at home, yet a complete stranger. This thought was followed by the sobering realisation that if any man in the vicinity knew who he or Spartacus was, they would help tear them both to shreds. And that if he didn’t also cheer, someone might notice. He glanced at the Thracian and saw that he was miming the word ‘RO-MA’.
Carbo’s respect for his leader grew some more, and quickly, he did the same.
Tulla was jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her voice.
A handsome, broad-shouldered man of middle years clambered up the platform’s steps and into view. The multitude’s noise grew even greater, and the three soldiers snapped to attention. The newcomer acknowledged them with a salute of his own, and turned to face the Forum. He lifted one hand and waved it, as if to welcome them. The mob went wild.
Carbo stared at Crassus, his face twisting with hatred. He hadn’t seen him since the day the politician had visited the ludus in Capua. Then, Carbo had been but a rookie fighter. Now, he was a veteran of many battles. Let me get close to you, you stinking cocksucker. With your last breath, you’ll hear me whisper my father’s name.
The cry changed. ‘RO-MA! VIC-TOR! RO-MA! VIC-TOR!’
Crassus echoed the call, which increased the crowd’s excitement even more.
He knows how to work them, Spartacus admitted. No doubt the piece of filth is a good orator too. He eyed the dozen soldiers in sight, and prayed that Crassus walked off afterwards with only a few of them in tow. Great Rider, grant me the chance to kill him. I ask you to guide my knife.
At length Crassus raised his arms. On cue, the trumpeters blew a fanfare.
Silence fell.
‘Citizens of Rome, I salute you!’ shouted Crassus.
Their reply was a crescendo of whistles and cheers.
‘You have come here today for one reason.’
‘It’s not to borrow from you, that’s for sure!’ cried a voice from the depths of the crowd.
His comment was met with hoots of laughter.
Crassus smiled benignly. ‘Yet my riches are not what they were, good people. Am I not using my own money to raise six new legions? With every week that goes by, hundreds of thousands of denarii are being spent on men, provisions and equipment. I do not grudge a single as of it, however, because this vast expense is for the good of the Republic!’
‘CRAS-SUS!’ roared a man near Carbo. Those around him quickly took up the cry, and the mob responded in kind.
‘They’re Crassus’ men,’ whispered Spartacus in Carbo’s ear. ‘Planted in the crowd.’
Sewer rat. Carbo let his fingers caress the bone hilt of his dagger. In the press, no one could see.
Again Crassus raised his arms. The uproar died away. ‘To be truthful, I am honoured to provide every assistance that I can to help the state. I would give the clothes off my back if I had to. We must do what we can! Is that not true?’
‘YES!’
‘We must act now, because Italy is threatened from within — as it has not been for more than a hundred years! It is not vile Pyrrhus this time, or the gugga Hannibal.’ Crassus let the crowd roar their abuse for a few moments. ‘No, it is someone far worse. Far more vile. We are threatened by the lowest form of life — a slave. A creature who goes by the name of Spartacus.’
The mob’s scream that followed had no form. It had no words; it was pure anger. Pure loathing. Pure revulsion.
You son of a whore. I would cut your liver out and feed it to the vultures. Spartacus had been expecting this, but the insults fanned his fury to new heights. All he could do, however, was stand there and listen. He straightened his back, as if he weren’t a slave. I’m standing right here, he thought proudly, and you don’t even know it.
Carbo steeled himself against the crowd’s fervour. The bastards. Spartacus is a great man. He treats his followers better than Crassus his debtors, that’s for sure.
‘Since his escape from the ludus in Capua, Spartacus has gathered to himself an army. It is a force made up of the dregs of humanity. In it are slaves with grudges against their masters and herdsmen who hated their vilici. Every lowlife who wants to rape and pillage has thrown in his lot with this Spartacus. This gladiator. This Thracian. Together they have attacked countless farms and estates the length and breadth of Italy. They have burned villages and even sacked towns. It has all been done with total disregard for human life. Thousands of citizens have been massacred! Innumerable women have been violated!’
Again Crassus paused, allowing his audience to express their vitriol. When the baying had died down, he assumed a sorrowful expression. ‘Sadly, that is not the whole tale. Thus far, the men who have been sent to deal with Spartacus have failed spectacularly. These were no callow youths either. No, they were praetors or legates, men who had previously proved themselves able to do their duty to the state. Caius Claudius Glaber. Publius Varinius. Lucius Cossinius. Lucius Furius. Yet all, all came to grief at the hands of the slaves. After these setbacks, we placed our trust in our consuls. Thus it has always been in Rome. When the Republic asks, the consuls answer. They lead our legions out to victory.’ Crassus acknowledged the great sigh that went rippling through the crowd. ‘It was not to be, however. Although Lucius Gellius had an initial success against a small breakaway force of slaves, his colleague Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus suffered a humiliating defeat soon after. His men ran from the field, leaving their standards and even their eagles. The bodies of the dead from that battle had scarcely cooled when Gellius’ troops were proved to be no better than those of Lentulus. Thousands more legionaries were slain; more standards and eagles were lost. To add to the indignity, four hundred of our soldiers were forced to fight to the death as part of a so-called munus to honour Spartacus’ erstwhile comrades. No doubt you have heard the tale. Beside me stands the only man to survive. This valiant centurion, Caepio.’ He gestured at the grizzled officer, who bent his head as the crowd cheered. ‘When I heard the dreadful news,’ Crassus went on, ‘I thought to myself, surely Rome’s shame could be made no greater?’
Oh yes it could, thought Spartacus with dark satisfaction as the mob roared their fury. Carbo studied the frenzied faces around him. He was staggered by the depth of hatred. The irony wasn’t lost on him. But for a trick of fate, he could have been feeling exactly the same way. Instead he was Spartacus’ man, through and through. For good or ill.
‘I was wrong. Just a few weeks ago, Gellius and Lentulus faced the slave rabble in Picenum together. There, even their combined forces were not enough to overcome Spartacus. Dozens more standards, among them another two eagles, were abandoned to the enemy. A myriad of new widows were made. More of our children were left fatherless.’ Crassus bowed his head for a moment before letting his gaze trail over the crowd. ‘This level of disgrace, this level of humiliation could not go on. Could it?’
‘NOOOO!’
‘I’m glad that we are in agreement.’ He cast a quick, triumphant look at the senators, knowing that Gellius and Lentulus were among their number. ‘I could not ignore the Republic in its hour of need, and so I put myself forward to take charge of the war. In their wisdom, my fellow politicians saw fit to award me the power of proconsular imperium.’
‘You’re the only one for the job, Crassus!’ bellowed a ruddy-faced man near Carbo.
Prolonged cheering indicated the mob’s happiness with this announcement.
Crassus gave a small nod in acknowledgement. ‘Do you also want me to crush the slave rabble?’ He waited for a couple of heartbeats. ‘Do you?’
‘YES!’
‘I am but an instrument of your will,’ said Crassus with a humble smile. ‘Once my new forces have been raised, I shall have ten legions with which to crush Spartacus. The word is that he and his scum have passed by Rome on their way south. Rats usually return to the same hole, so it’s likely that the slaves will head for the area around Thurii, where they overwintered before. Wherever they go, I shall track them down. Once they have been run to ground, I shall annihilate them. This I swear as Jupiter, Greatest and Best, is my witness.’ He glanced at the huge statue as if to confirm his vow.
‘KILL THEM ALL!’ shouted the red-faced man.
