‘KILL! KILL! KILL!’ chanted the crowd.
Spartacus filled his lungs and let out a long, slow breath. It will be a fight to the death then.
Tulla roared along with the rest, but this time Carbo couldn’t bring himself even to mime. He glanced around, and was reassured by Spartacus’ unyielding stare. He’ll have a plan. He always does.
At length, Crassus had the trumpets sound again. It took a while, but eventually a calm of sorts settled over the Forum. ‘Citizens of Rome, I would have you listen to a more experienced man than you or I. A soldier who has served the Republic for more than thirty years, who has fought in more campaigns than he can remember. His body is covered in battle scars, all of which are to the front. The phalerae that cover his chest bear witness to his valour. I give you the embodiment of Roman courage and virtus: Gnaeus Servilius Caepio!’ With a grand gesture, Crassus ushered the centurion forward.
Loud cheering broke out again, and the watching faces filled with respect.
Caepio looked neither right nor left as he advanced. He wasn’t one for trying to win the crowd, Spartacus thought, remembering their short conversation after the munus. He was a soldier, plain and simple, who spoke his mind. Just what was needed right now. Crassus has thought this through, from beginning to end.
‘I thank you, Marcus Licinius Crassus,’ said Caepio. ‘People of Rome: I salute you.’
They roared with delight.
‘I stand here today not far shy of my sixtieth year. I’m still in my harness, mainly because it’s easier to sleep in it than it is to remove it.’ He smiled as they hooted and whistled at his joke. ‘If the truth be known, I would rather fight a war outside Italy. That’s not possible at this moment, though. Our people need help! No decent man should be able to sleep at night knowing that so many of our fellow citizens are being murdered or burned out of their properties. This cannot go on! We must not let it go on!’
‘RO-MA! RO-MA!’ shouted the crowd.
‘Armies do not appear as if by magic, though. Crassus needs volunteers — lots of them. For every legion raised, nearly five thousand strong soldiers are needed. Citizens are flocking to the Republic’s banner from all over Italy, but thousands more are still needed. Are there any men between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five years here today?’
A multitude of voices answered in assent.
‘Good,’ barked Caepio. ‘I venture that there are not a few of Sulla’s veterans also here. Men who gave loyal service and who were rewarded with money and a plot of land upon their discharge. Am I right?’
‘You are!’
‘We salute you, Gnaeus Servilius Caepio!’
Cries rang out all over the Forum.
‘It’s good that you’ve come here today, because you too can help the Republic in its hour of need. Your bodies might have grown old, but your hearts are still those of soldiers, eh?’ Caepio smiled at the roars that met this remark. ‘I’d wager that there are plenty of you who hunger for the feel of a gladius in your hand again. Who would give up your farms for a season or two just to stand in a shield wall with your comrades once more. Who would shed their blood to see Spartacus and his raggle-taggle army sent to Hades! Am I right?’
The mob off to Carbo’s left swayed and then parted as a group of hard-bitten veterans shoved their way forward into the small amount of space before the platform. ‘We’re with you, Caepio,’ cried the lead man. ‘Every one of us!’
A chorus of shouts rang out — two here, another one there, three further away — pledging their support.
‘Well done, lads. Sulla would be proud of you,’ declared Caepio. He scanned the entire crowd. ‘As you know, this is not the place to join the army. I want every man who’s going to volunteer to make his way to the Campus Martius. You know where it is! The recruiting officers are already there, waiting for you to come and sign up. As a gesture of gratitude for your courage, Crassus has authorised an advance of ten denarii to every man who signs his name on the line today.’
Whoops of joy met this announcement, and there was an immediate surge towards the streets that led north out of the city.
Looking satisfied, Caepio stood back.
‘Well done, centurion,’ said Crassus. ‘Our job — in Rome at least — is done.’
But mine is not. Spartacus watched Crassus intently. What will he do? Speak with some of the senators? Wait until the Forum has emptied? If his enemy didn’t move soon, they would have to walk away. The crowd around them was thinning fast. Before long, they would stand out like sore thumbs.
‘Where do you want to go now? The Campus Martius? That’s where I’d go if I were old enough,’ said Tulla, waving her arms back and forth as if she were marching, ‘and I was a boy,’ she added ruefully.
‘Not there,’ said Carbo, who was also eyeing Crassus. He had his lie ready. ‘I would join up, but I’m an only son. I have to help run the farm.’
‘That’s not much of an excuse,’ said Tulla in an accusing tone.
Stung despite himself, Carbo gave her a smart clip behind the ear. ‘Watch your mouth! My time in the army will come. Just not right now.’
With a sulky look, Tulla retreated out of range.
Quickly, Carbo bent as if to tighten one of his sandal straps. ‘What do you think?’ he hissed. ‘Do we make a move?’
Spartacus sized up the situation. Crassus was deep in conversation with Caepio. He wasn’t going anywhere fast. ‘Let’s go towards the Basilica Aemilia. Hang around the entrance and see what he does.’
‘I’m thirsty,’ said Carbo, straightening. He eyed Tulla. ‘Is there any room for wine sellers among the lawyers and scribes in the basilicae?’
‘There are a few,’ came the sullen reply. The girl’s face changed as Carbo flipped three asses into the air.
‘Go and buy a cup of some decent stuff. Falernian or Campanian. We’ll be waiting by the door nearest the Curia.’
‘Yes, sir!’ Tulla spun on her heel, the coins gripped tight in her grubby fist.
‘You’d better come back,’ Carbo called. ‘I expect some change!’
‘Don’t worry. I want the rest of my denarius!’ With that, Tulla vanished into the crowd.
Chapter IX
Carbo ambled towards the nearest door of the basilica; Spartacus followed. Placing his back against the wall, Carbo cast an idle eye about, in the manner of a man who has nothing particular on his mind. Crassus was still talking to Caepio, although he’d come down a couple of steps.
‘I fancy a few cups of wine, not just the one,’ Carbo said loudly. ‘The excitement’s over as well. After this, I think we’ll head back to the Elysian Fields.’
‘Yes, master,’ replied Spartacus.
‘Want to see the future, good sir?’
Carbo turned. A man of indeterminate age in a grubby robe stood before him. The blunt-peaked leather cap on his head and his obsequious manner told him what he already knew. ‘You’re a haruspex.’
‘That’s right, sir. Place a denarius on my palm and I’ll endeavour to see what the gods have in store for you.’
Ten legions are coming my way. ‘Piss off,’ Carbo said curtly.
The haruspex began to protest, but Spartacus took a step forward. ‘Are you deaf? Peddle your lies somewhere else, or I’ll give you a set of bruises that you most definitely didn’t foresee.’
Muttering dire imprecations, the man sidled off.
Carbo didn’t really believe in soothsayers, but it was a little unnerving that after what he’d just heard, the man had picked him out from everyone else. He made the sign against evil.
Spartacus had other things on his mind. ‘Pssst! He’s moving. With only six men guarding him too,’ he hissed with delight. ‘Caepio’s one of them.’
