time to send word to Rome before we left.’
Carbo’s mouth went dry at the thought of a new possibility. ‘Do you think Castus or Gannicus would have done it?’
Spartacus frowned. ‘There’s no way that Gannicus would betray us like that. I doubt if even Castus would. He hates my guts, and he wouldn’t cry if I were killed, but he hates Rome as much as I do.’
‘Who then?’
‘It could be anyone, Carbo. In an army of sixty thousand men, not all of them are going to be happy. That’s without taking into account the women and hangers-on.’
‘Yes, but to betray you?’
Spartacus thumped him. ‘Not everyone is as loyal as you.’
‘Well they should be,’ muttered Carbo, blushing. ‘We have to find out who it is.’
‘That would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.’ Spartacus shrugged. ‘Atheas and Taxacis will watch my back. So will you.’ It’s just another enemy to add to the ones I already have. But he didn’t need to worry about being murdered for a few days. The journey south should be easy; they might as well make the most of it. ‘Where’s that well? I can’t pitch up at the camp stinking of piss. No one would take me seriously.’
Carbo’s tension eased, and he let out a chuckle. ‘Between my nerves as I went through the gate and this damn toga, I’ve sweated out half the bloody Tiber.’
Spartacus made a show of leaning over and inhaling. ‘No. I can’t smell a thing except piss.’
‘You reek,’ said Carbo, guffawing. He’d never seen Spartacus act so light-hearted.
‘Then the sooner we get there, the better, eh?’
Carbo strode out with new energy. Other than the wish to see his parents’ tomb one day, he had no reason to return to the capital, or Capua, where he’d grown up. He was with Spartacus. Carbo had always been loyal to the Thracian, but the discovery of his parents’ deaths had made that bond even stronger. It had also brought home to him the importance of his comrades. Men like Navio and Atheas, and even Arnax and Publipor, were his family now. The knowledge made his grief easier to bear.
Alerted by his major domo, Crassus turned from the half-circle of men around him. ‘Ah, Caepio! Welcome!’ he said genially. He beckoned to the veteran centurion who stood in the doorway of the tablinum, waiting to be called in.
Caepio marched in proudly. Sunlight entering from the square hole in the centre of the roof glinted off the phalerae on his chest. He came to a halt before Crassus and saluted. ‘I came as soon as I got your message, sir.’
‘Good. All well since yesterday?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir. As you know, I wasn’t hurt. I’m just sorry that I didn’t get to kill Spartacus.’
‘You did a fine job stopping his accomplice. If there had been two of them, things might have come to a different ending. For me at least!’
‘Thank the gods that you weren’t injured, sir, but I’d still be happier if I’d buried my blade in his guts.’
Crassus’ lips turned upwards. ‘See the mettle of this man? He is the embodiment of Roman virtus. This is what every soldier should aspire to.’
There was a polite murmur of assent.
‘Caepio, meet some of the legates who will command my legions. This is Gnaeus Tremelius Scrofa.’ A tall, thin man inclined his head in reply to Caepio’s salute. ‘Lucius Mummius Achaicus.’ A stocky officer with a haughty expression met Caepio’s salutation. ‘Quintus Marcius Rufus.’ There was a smile from a short man with spiky black hair. ‘Caius Pomptinus.’ This one was clearly a cavalryman, thought Caepio. He had bandier legs than an ape. ‘Lucius Quinctius.’ Older than the rest, he was the only one to half bow at the centurion. A commoner originally, like me, decided Caepio. ‘And last but definitely not least, Gaius Julius Caesar, one of my tribunes,’ said Crassus.
‘Honoured to meet you, sir.’ Caepio saluted for the sixth time. Like everyone, he’d heard the story about Caesar’s capture and imprisonment on Pharmacussa. Here was a man with real balls. ‘Ready to crucify a few slaves, as you did with those pirates, sir?’
‘More than ready, centurion.’
Caepio’s smile reminded Crassus of a wolf he’d seen cornered in the arena. His decision to recruit the veteran had been a good one. He wondered sometimes if Caepio fully approved of him — he wasn’t a career soldier after all — but he didn’t care that much. Caepio had seen how Crassus longed to destroy Spartacus, which, after his experience at the munus, was exactly what he wanted too. ‘Now that the introductions are over, let’s get down to business. I’ve called you here for a council of war. I know that you were not expecting to do more than assemble your units over the next couple of months, but yesterday’s events have changed everything. Spartacus cannot be allowed to strike at me — at Rome — with such impunity. We must respond swiftly!’
Caepio growled in approval. ‘Catch them unawares, that’s what we want to do!’
‘What are you suggesting, sir?’ asked Scrofa. ‘Increasing the number of troops at the gates?’
‘No,’ said Crassus as if to a child. ‘It was a slim hope that we would catch Spartacus leaving the city. We can safely assume that the whoreson has flown the coop by now.’ He gave Mummius a hard look.
‘My soldiers interrogated everyone whom they thought was suspicious, sir. More than a hundred men were detained.’
Crassus glanced at Caepio, who shook his head. ‘None of whom proved to be Spartacus.’
‘No, sir, but-’
‘Quiet, Mummius. You failed! If you had moved faster, we might be interrogating Spartacus right now, instead of planning our campaign against him.’ Crassus knew he was being hard on Mummius, but the man needed to know who was in charge. He — and the others — had to be sent a clear message from the start.
Mummius lapsed into a glowering silence.
‘As you know, I had intended spending the autumn and winter filling our recruitment quotas, and in arming and training the men. Now I want to bring our plans forward. Significantly.’
‘The number of volunteers has been exceptional, sir,’ agreed Quinctius. ‘And the workshops are also turning out equipment at a great rate.’
‘I should bloody hope so. I’m paying twice the market rate for every item to all the smiths for a hundred miles!’ Crassus raised a hand, silencing the chuckles this produced. ‘My intention is that the army is to be ready to march in a month.’
‘A month?’ repeated Quinctius.
‘But the men won’t be ready, sir,’ said Scrofa. ‘Basic training takes at least eight weeks.’
‘I know that,’ replied Crassus acidly. ‘The ground to the south of Rome is flat. The recruits can train every day after we have finished marching.’ Ignoring his officers’ surprise, Crassus went on, ‘Up until now, Rome has been humiliated by Spartacus. That time has now gone! No doubt the slaves are expecting to have an easy few months while we prepare our forces. Well, they’re going to have none of that. We’re going to take the war to them straightaway. Isn’t that right, Caepio?’
‘Damn right, sir.’
‘I know that thousands of veterans have heard your call and joined up, sir, and that we have the remnants of the consuls’ legions, about fourteen thousand men, but over half the army is made up of new recruits,’ said Scrofa. ‘Would it not be wiser to wait until they have been fully trained until we move against Spartacus?’
‘Who is the commander here?’ barked Crassus. ‘I make the bloody decisions, not you. Or any of the rest of you! Is that clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Scrofa muttered.
‘We move in four weeks. It takes more than a month to march to Thurii. That’s eight weeks in total. With veterans like Caepio on our side, I would suggest that that’s plenty of time to train the men.’
‘That’s sufficient time for my soldiers to be ready, sir,’ Mummius declared eagerly.
‘I should think so! Given that you and Rufus each command a legion formerly led by one of the consuls, you have the least number of raw recruits.’
Mummius coloured. Rufus also looked embarrassed.
‘My troops will be prepared, so help me Jupiter,’ said Scrofa.
The other officers hastily added their agreements.
Crassus studied their faces. Their resolve seemed genuine. It was a start. ‘Very well.’
‘What is your plan when we find Spartacus, sir?’ asked Scrofa.
