starting to attract attention. Wealthy young men didn’t loiter on street corners. Already he had had some strange looks.
Since the Thracian had left, Carbo had seen one man — a foreigner, maybe Greek or Dacian — accused of being Spartacus. Protesting his innocence in poor Latin, the man had been hammered to the ground in a flurry of blows, trussed up like a hen for the pot, and dragged off to be interrogated. After that, Carbo had hoped that the guards’ vigilance would lapse a little, but it was not to be. They continued their aggressive questioning of all men of fighting age, as well as stabbing their pila into any carts loaded with merchandise.
Gods above, facing death in battle is easier than this.
‘Good luck!’ hissed Tulla from her spot against a wall a dozen paces away.
Carbo gave her a terse nod, and walked to join the line. He forced himself to take a deep breath in through his nostrils, counting his heartbeat as he exhaled. After he had done that several times, he felt calmer. A wagon drawn by two oxen pulled up behind him. Carbo half turned. One of the beasts sniffed at him, and then tried to lick his arm. Normally, he liked the way cattle did that, but now he recoiled from its long tongue and threw the carter a poisonous look. The man glared at him. ‘It’s what oxen do, isn’t it? Won’t do you no harm. Anyone who’d ever been around livestock would know that. Bloody city folk!’
Carbo sniffed haughtily and turned his back.
The man in front shuffled forward a few steps. He did the same.
And so it went for what seemed an eternity.
As he edged closer, Carbo strained his ears to pick out what the soldiers were saying. Most of the conversations were short.
‘Name?’
‘Julius Clodianus.’
‘Trade?’
‘Stonemason.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To a new tomb about two miles out.’
There was a snort of laughter. ‘Not your own then, I take it?’
‘No,’ the mason replied sourly. ‘It’s that of a rich lawyer. He requested that the family mausoleum be enlarged before his funeral. New brickwork, marble floor, expensive Greek statues: you name it, he wanted it. A dozen of us have been working on it fit to burst for a week now.’
‘Trying to take it all with him, is he? It won’t work!’ The soldier jerked his head. ‘On your way.’
The next man was a sailor on shore leave who was going to visit relations living in the countryside. He was ushered out with loud good wishes. The woman following was a villager who had been to Rome to seek Minerva’s help at the temple on the Capitoline Hill. She called down the blessings of the goddess on the guards as they waved her through. Then there were only two more people in front of Carbo. Sweat oozed down the back of his neck. His skin prickled. Varus’ toga had been cut down, but the wool was still heavy and over warm for the time of year. He shuffled forward, the barrage of shouted questions and answers merging into one.
‘Next!’
Carbo blinked. The man ahead of him was already walking under the archway of the gate.
‘Come on, young sir! We don’t have all day.’
A second soldier leered. ‘Daydreaming about your favourite whore?’
Carbo’s anger made his flush grow deeper, and the legionaries, thinking he was embarrassed, roared with laughter.
‘The lad must have been doing just that,’ said the first man. He turned back to Carbo. ‘Name?’
‘Paullus Carbo,’ he said proudly. He’d considered lying, but there was no need.
The soldier caught his regional accent. ‘Not from Rome, are you?’
‘No. I’m from Capua.’
‘Been here for business or pleasure?’ He winked at his companions.
Carbo scowled. ‘Business.’ If only you knew what. ‘For my father.’
‘Heading back to Capua?’
‘Yes.’
‘On foot? The likes of you normally ride or travel in a litter.’
Fortunately, Carbo had thought of the answer to this question. He looked down. ‘My horse is gone.’
‘Stolen from the inn’s stables, was it?’
‘No. I wagered it.’
‘Fortuna’s tits! And you lost it?’
More hoots of amusement.
‘That’s right.’
‘So now you have to walk back to Capua?’
Carbo nodded, making his expression as sulky as when he’d been a boy.
The legionary pulled a face. ‘A hundred miles is a long way to walk.’
‘And don’t we know it?’ added his comrade, chortling. ‘We have to do it while carrying half our bodyweight in equipment!’
‘Can I go?’ asked Carbo resentfully.
‘Eh? Yes, you can go,’ the soldier replied. ‘Have a safe journey. There are plenty of latrones about between here and Capua.’
‘If you’re really unlucky, you might even meet Spartacus,’ said the second man. ‘That is, if he’s-’
‘Shut it!’ barked the first legionary.
His companion turned away with a scowl.
‘On your way,’ ordered the legionary.
Muttering his thanks, Carbo made his way out of the gate. The soldier’s words had made his mind race back to their attack on Crassus. Caepio had shouted something. What had it been? ‘It is them!’ To his frustration, Carbo couldn’t remember the exact words. Then another misgiving surfaced. When the patrol had arrived at the Elysian Fields, a man had come out of the tavern, and nodded to the officer in charge. Had it been more than casual conversation? Carbo wasn’t sure. But when he put the two instances together with the comment by the soldier at the gate, he felt very suspicious indeed. Was it possible that Crassus had known that Spartacus was in Rome? His pace picked up. He had to tell Spartacus at once.
They had a spy in their midst.
It didn’t take Carbo long to reach the tomb. He found Spartacus sitting in the shade of a cypress tree that stood beside it.
Spartacus raised a hand in greeting. ‘You look hot.’
‘This damn toga,’ said Carbo, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. ‘It’s not the weather to be wearing it.’
‘But it got you out of Rome, and at least you didn’t have to cover yourself in piss.’
Carbo grinned. ‘True.’
‘Was Tulla still there when you left?’
‘Yes.’
‘You made a good call with her.’ He clapped Carbo on the arm.
He swallowed, remembering his leader’s tacit threat to kill him if Tulla should prove treacherous. ‘Thanks.’
Spartacus heaved himself to his feet. ‘Let’s start walking. I remember a well not far down the road; we can wash there.’
‘There’s something you need to know first.’
Spartacus’ eyes narrowed. ‘What is it? Tell me as we go.’
Quickly, Carbo filled him in on his suspicions. When he had finished, Spartacus did not say anything for a long time. Carbo watched him nervously, wondering whether the Thracian thought he was crazy.
‘Interesting,’ said Spartacus.
A sense of relief crept over Carbo. Spartacus believed him.
‘We must have been followed out of the camp. So few people knew about it that there wouldn’t have been
