important that he could ensure was done, however. ‘Where are my parents buried?’
‘Your mother lies in the Varus family tomb, and your father’ — Varus licked his lips unhappily — ‘is in a simple grave in the public cemetery.’
‘You filth!’ Carbo’s rage surged out of control, and he slashed Varus across the cheek. ‘Even in death you could not treat my father with honour!’
Varus collapsed howling to the ground with blood pouring from between his fingers.
‘I ought to slay you right here,’ Carbo shouted, pulling Varus up by the front of his tunic.
‘There is another way.’
Spartacus’ voice penetrated Carbo’s fury. ‘Eh?’
‘You could make him swear to erect a fine tomb for both your parents, and to have them reinterred there.’
Carbo heard the wisdom in Spartacus’ words and loved him for it. Despite his ruthlessness, the Thracian cared for him. He let the moaning Varus fall again. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘A tomb, yes, for your parents. It will be the finest I can have built-’
‘It doesn’t need to be the finest. Just make it fitting to their station.’
‘I will, I swear it. If I do not, may Jupiter strike me down.’
‘If you do not,’ growled Spartacus, ‘I will come back and feed you your own prick and balls.’
Varus’ jowls wobbled again, and a fat tear actually ran down each cheek. ‘I understand,’ he whispered.
Carbo’s rage subsided a little. At least he could now rest in the knowledge that they would lie together in a decent tomb. With luck, one day he would be afforded the opportunity to visit it.
One day.
After what they had heard earlier, it seemed a slim hope.
Chapter X
When Ariadne woke again, the position of the sunlight on the tent told her that it was late afternoon. The churring of the cicadas was louder than ever, but the heat of the day had begun to abate. She gazed down at Maron, who was asleep on her chest. ‘My son,’ she whispered.
Hearing her voice, the midwife came fussing over. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Tired, but well.’
The old woman lifted the blanket and checked between her legs. ‘Good. There’s only been a little bleeding. In the morning, I’ll get you up.’ She grinned, revealing lines of brown pegs. ‘Word gets around fast. Hundreds of soldiers have already been asking to see Spartacus’ son. Atheas has had to post sentries to stop them approaching the tent.’
Ariadne listened. Sure enough, there were numerous muttered conversations outside. She was filled with pride at this proof of the men’s love for their leader. ‘How many are out there now?’
‘Dozens.’
‘We cannot let them wait. Take the baby, so I can sit up.’
‘You need to rest,’ said the midwife, alarmed.
‘I can do that later. Besides, I want them to see Maron.’ She handed him to the crone. ‘Swaddle him, please.’ Ariadne sat up carefully. She reached for the bronze mirror that sat beside the bed and used it so that she could comb and tie back her hair. She found her dark red woollen cloak and threw it over her shoulders. It would conceal her nightdress, and remind everyone that as well as being Spartacus’s wife, she was also a priestess. She wondered about taking out her snake too, but decided against it. Seeing Maron would impress them enough. ‘I’m ready,’ she announced, reaching out for the baby.
‘Are you sure? You’ve just been through childbirth. You mustn’t overdo it,’ scolded the midwife.
‘I won’t stay outside for long.’
There was an exasperated sigh. The old woman lifted the tent flap.
A hush fell at once.
Holding Maron to her chest, Ariadne stepped into the sunlight.
A loud Ahhhhh rose into the air from the large crowd of men who stood before the tent. Among them, Ariadne recognised Navio, Pulcher, Egbeo, and many others. ‘You have come to see Spartacus’ son?’ she asked.
‘YES!’ they shouted.
Startled, Maron woke up and began to cry.
The men gave each other embarrassed grins.
‘Hush now,’ Ariadne whispered, comforting Maron. ‘Those are your father’s soldiers, who have come to welcome you into the world.’ It was as if he understood her words. He quietened, and began to nuzzle for her breast. ‘In a moment, little man.’ She advanced, so that everyone could see. ‘Our son is healthy, and has fed well.’
Men laughed, grinned and slapped each other on the back.
‘What’s his name?’ asked Egbeo.
‘Maron.’
They cheered.
‘After Spartacus’ brother, who died fighting the Romans?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a good Thracian name. A strong name,’ declared Egbeo.
‘Behold Maron, son of Spartacus,’ cried Ariadne, raising him into the air.
That made them roar until they were hoarse.
Maron began to cry again and, seeing his distress, the men fell silent. Ariadne cuddled him until he was content once more.
‘May he grow up to be as strong and clever as his father,’ called a man with a black beard.
‘As good with a sword and spear as Spartacus!’
‘And as good-looking as his mother,’ added a voice further back.
Ariadne joined in the laughter. Here, basking in the adoration of Spartacus’ soldiers, it was easy to forget her nightmare. But she knew that when she went back inside, her fears would return. Ever since they had turned away from the Alps, she had worried about the future. They could not march around Italy for the rest of their lives. The Romans would not permit it. To think otherwise was naive in the extreme. Yet most of the men seemed to believe just that.
‘Ariadne,’ said a familiar voice.
‘Castus.’ She could not keep her displeasure from her voice. ‘And Gannicus,’ she added with a trace more warmth. Inside, her stomach was churning. Neither man would wish Spartacus’ son and heir well. She wouldn’t put it past them to slip a blade into Maron’s heart. Ariadne took some relief from the fact that Atheas and Taxacis, scowls locked in place, were right at the Gauls’ backs. ‘You’ve come to see Maron?’
‘We have,’ said Castus with a half-smile. He came closer and Ariadne had to force herself not to back away.
Castus peered at the baby. ‘He’s handsome. May he grow up healthy and strong.’
‘Just like his father,’ added Gannicus with real heartiness. ‘And may the gods watch over him always.’
‘Thank you,’ said Ariadne, still wary.
Castus made to speak, but Gannicus intervened. ‘We shouldn’t stay. She’s tired.’
‘It was good of you to come.’ Despite their apparent goodwill, Ariadne eyed the pair with deep suspicion. Since the showdown about where the army would go, she had avoided talking to them. As far as she was concerned, they had betrayed Spartacus. They could not be relied upon. Yet although relations had been strained, Spartacus had continued to deal with them. ‘Because I have to,’ he’d said to her repeatedly. ‘Otherwise the split will come sooner.’ I want to know now. She had heard enough talk about how they were cajoling men to follow them. She threw caution to the wind. They wouldn’t attack her or the baby, not with the Scythians at their backs. ‘When are you going to leave?’
