‘We don’t want change. We’re still Spartacus’ men, eh?’ asked Marcion, glaring at his comrades.
His reply was a muted chorus of ‘Ayes’, but Zeuxis’ voice wasn’t one of them. He glared at Marcion. ‘The only reason that I joined Spartacus’ army was to get away from my damn master. You might be different, but a lot of men did the same as me. It was good to learn how to fight, I suppose, and to give the Romans a taste of their own medicine. Spartacus brought us victory after victory as well, so I kept following him. You could say that I became loyal to him, yes. But now he’s fucked off and doesn’t look like coming back. He’s left us at the mercy of a pair of Gaulish savages! So much for his loyalty to us. I’m damned if I’ll stick around for much longer.’
‘We can’t just let Castus and Gannicus take control!’ cried Marcion.
‘How are you going to stop them?’ hissed Zeuxis. ‘You’re an ordinary foot soldier, like me. Like all of us. What can you and I do against the likes of the Gauls? They’ve got thousands of followers! Thousands. If we challenged Castus and Gannicus, we’d be food for the vultures and you know it.’
Marcion looked to his comrades for support, but he found none. No one else was actively agreeing with Zeuxis’ gloomy prediction, but nor were they arguing with it. Misery filled him. The laughter of a few moments before seemed a lifetime ago.
Where are you, Spartacus?
‘Help me, please.’
For a moment, Ariadne could not work out where she was, or who was addressing her. She was alone on a road paved with black basalt slabs. The sun beat down from a clear sky. Above her she saw clouds of vultures. Her skin crawled. Why are there so many?
‘Help. Water.’
Ariadne’s head turned, and she took in the man who hung from a simple wooden cross before her. Horror filled her. ‘Egbeo?’ she asked in disbelief.
‘Ariadne.’ The big Thracian’s voice was husky and dry. Far weaker than normal. ‘Help me.’
She took a step closer. The cross was a simple affair, little more than an upright two handsbreadth in width, and a crosspiece of similar size that stretched to either side. Ariadne saw that she could hack through the rope that bound Egbeo’s feet to the vertical, but the thick iron nails that had been driven through his wrists were beyond her. To prevent removal, their heads had been hammered flat on to the wood, pinning his hands in one agonising position. ‘I can’t help you,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Thirsty. I’m so thirsty.’
Ariadne’s helplessness reached new heights. She had no water bag with her. Glancing up and down the road, she could see no well, no buildings. Just a line of occupied crosses, stretching away on either side as far as she could see. ‘How many men have been crucified?’ she whispered in horror. ‘It must be hundreds.’
‘Thousands,’ croaked Egbeo.
Suddenly, Ariadne knew why she was here. Terror twisted her stomach into a painful knot. ‘Spartacus — where is Spartacus?’
Egbeo didn’t answer.
‘Where is my husband?’ Desperation turned her voice shrill.
The lines on his haggard face grew even deeper. ‘He-’
A hand shook her shoulder. ‘Ariadne!’
Startled, she opened her eyes to find the midwife crouched over her. ‘You were having a nightmare-’ She was interrupted by a mewling sound from beside Ariadne. ‘And you woke the baby. I think he’s hungry.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Failing to clear her mind of the graphic images, Ariadne scooped up Maron, whose cry was growing louder. It cannot be coincidence that I’ve had the same hideous dream three times, can it? She kissed her son on the forehead. ‘I’m sorry for disturbing you, my darling. Come here.’ Placing him on her breast with the help of the midwife, she lay down again. ‘My dream was terrible.’
The old woman cackled. ‘It’s the herbs. They often bring bizarre and unsettling images. Things that we do not want to happen, or things that we fear.’
‘Do the visions ever come true?’
‘Sometimes, but it’s almost impossible to know the real ones from the false. My advice is for you to forget all about it. You’ve got more important things to be doing than brooding over a nightmare.’
Ariadne nodded in agreement. That would be best. She busied herself by gazing at Maron, and imagining what he would look like as he grew up. Would he inherit Spartacus’ piercing grey eyes or her brown ones? Would he be compactly built, like his father, or take after her family, who were slighter framed? Soon though, her mind began to wander. Inevitably, it returned to her dream. With Spartacus in Rome, her natural reaction to it was to assume the worst for him. How can it be the herbs when I’ve had the same vision before? Could Spartacus be already dead? She took a deep breath. On the previous occasions that she had seen the lines of crosses, there had been no Egbeo, no conversation. Surely, the big Thracian’s presence in the nightmare meant that it could not be taking place in the present or the near future, because Egbeo was alive and well, and here with the army. That had to mean that Spartacus was not one of the crucified men.
The old woman coughed, and Ariadne glanced at her. Maybe none of it means anything. Her attempt to reassure herself lasted no more than a heartbeat. A dream so dramatic didn’t keep returning unless it was of some significance.
Maron stirred, and she caressed the back of his head. ‘Hush, my little one. It’s all right. It’s all right.’ Dionysus will look after us, as he always has. Spartacus was not one of the men I saw.
As she closed her eyes and tried to rest once more, Ariadne was haunted by one question. She could not make herself forget it.
What had Egbeo been trying to tell her?
On their way to the Esquiline, Spartacus had Tulla purchase two new tunics from a rundown clothes shop on a side street. Discarding their bloody ones on a dung heap and with their knives cleaned and sheathed, the trio were able to take to the main thoroughfares once more. There were parties of soldiers everywhere, but they were paying little heed to the passers-by. Despite this, Carbo’s heart was racing, but he swaggered along as if he were walking through Capua. Spartacus was careful to look at the ground. Finding a small open-fronted restaurant at the base of the hill, Carbo stood at the counter and ordered some food while Tulla went in search of Varus’ house. Both watched the passing patrols, but fortunately the soldiers seemed interested only in inns and taverns. Despite the fact that no one had challenged them, both were glad when the girl returned.
Tulla was immune to their worries. ‘It’s two streets up,’ she announced breezily. ‘We’ll know it by the embroidered cushions on the benches outside.’
Carbo rolled his eyes.
‘What’s she talking about?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘There are seats outside the houses of the rich for their clients to sit on as they wait to be seen. My uncle has always been one for ostentation.’
Tulla led them up the flagged street, weaving her way through the traffic. She took a left at a fountain decorated with a central gilded statue of Neptune, and then the second right.
Carbo spotted the cushions first; he remembered his mother talking about them. ‘That’s it.’
They approached. Apart from the soft furnishings on the otherwise empty benches, Alfenus Varus’ house could have been one of thousands in Rome. As with many others in this part of the city, it stood alone, a rectangular building with a high outer wall whose only features were a massive studded door and a line of small glass windows. This feature was rare indeed. Carbo’s mother’s words echoed in his head. ‘He always has to have the latest fad, no matter how expensive it is.’ The fool. Already he was not looking forward to seeing his uncle again. Yet the thought of his parents drove him on. Somehow he would make them understand what he’d done.
Tulla sat down on the bench to the left of the door. Spartacus remained standing.
Carbo realised that they were both looking at him. He straightened his tunic and ran his hands through his hair. Then he stepped up and rapped the iron elephant trunk knocker off the timbers. It made a deep, thumping noise.
He waited for a long time, and was just about to knock again when a shutter at head height opened. A pair of eyes stared out suspiciously. ‘Yes?’
‘Is Alfenus Varus in?’
There was an audible Phhh of contempt. ‘Not to the likes of you.’ The shutter began to close.
