‘Eh?’ He only seemed to notice them now. ‘Yes, yes. It’s but a flesh wound.’ He dragged free a strip of cloth that was wound around his baldric and pressed it to his face.
‘Men such as you must be used to far worse,’ said Carbo, adopting an admiring tone.
‘True. It certainly won’t stop me getting to Messana.’
Spartacus pricked his ears at the last word. Messana is on Sicily.
The messenger gave them an appraising look. ‘You risk getting hurt yourself, young master, being out on the road with no one but your slave. Don’t you know about Spartacus and his rabble? They control much of southern Italy now. Come across any of them, and it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.’
‘I know all too well, but my family has few slaves left,’ said Carbo with a sigh. ‘They pillaged our farm a month or so ago; most of them ran off then to join Spartacus. The local militia wouldn’t do a thing about it, of course: they’re too damn scared. Father sent me to Rome, to ask for help at the Senate. I was there last week to hear Crassus speak. It was wonderful! Our suffering won’t last for ever, thank the gods. Ten legions he’s raising!’
‘That’s right,’ said the rider with a confident grin. ‘When they march south, the ground will tremble. Spartacus’ slaves will soil their pants at the sight of them.’
A shout echoed down the road, and the rider gave Carbo a friendly wink. ‘I’d best be off. May you reach your door safely. Tell your father to remain steadfast and to pray to Jupiter.’
A nerve twitched in Spartacus’ cheek, but the messenger didn’t notice.
‘How soon will Crassus march?’ asked Carbo.
‘That’s something only he knows. But it will be sooner than you think! The bastard slaves will get the shock of their lives when the legions come down this road! Farewell.’ With an evil laugh, he rode away.
‘Curse Fortuna for the old bitch that she is!’ Carbo spat under his breath. He glanced at Spartacus, whose face bore a black scowl. ‘How soon do you think he’s talking about?’
‘Who knows? It can’t be any quicker than three months, I wouldn’t have thought. The legions are only being raised now. The soldiers have to be trained before he can even consider fighting us. At least we heard it in advance. It gives us time to plan. Imagine if the first thing we’d heard was that Crassus’ army was ten or fifteen miles from Thurii.’
Carbo didn’t especially want to think about that. ‘What will we do?’
‘Do? We wait a while until those whoresons are gone, and we hightail it back to our camp, wherever that is.’
‘I meant when Crassus gets here.’ Carbo had avoided asking Spartacus about it until now.
Spartacus’ lips peeled back, revealing his teeth. ‘Why, then we fight. We fight!’ To the end, whatever that may be. Victory — or death! ‘Don’t think that I am out of tricks,’ he added. ‘I’m not. By a long way.’
Carbo nodded. Rallying his courage, he swore a silent oath to himself. If — when — that fight came, he would stand in the line with everyone else. With Spartacus. To the bitter end. Even if it meant his own death. Standing shoulder to shoulder with those whom he loved was all that mattered. That, and killing Crassus. He glanced at Spartacus, who was whistling a tuneless ditty under his breath. Gods, does nothing scare him? Carbo felt prouder than ever to follow the Thracian.
By the time the sun had set, they were sitting by a small fire, blankets around their shoulders and skins of wine in hand. The tethered horses watched them, happy now that they had been watered and fed. As usual, their camp was close to a stream and out of sight of the Via Annia. They had tracked uphill some quarter of a mile through the woods, coming upon a little dell that was dominated by a massive fallen beech. Placing its bulk between them and the road had been a natural choice. Although they’d had no indication that there had been any pursuit from Rome, it paid to be cautious.
‘That messenger mentioned that he was travelling to Messana,’ said Spartacus.
‘On Sicily, yes. What’s that got to do with us?’
‘Two slave rebellions took place there in the last hundred years, didn’t they? Do you know much about them?’
‘Only what my father told me when I was younger.’
‘Try to remember everything you can.’
Carbo’s curiosity grew. ‘The first one started sixty-odd years ago near the city of Enna. It was led by a slave called Eunus, a Syrian who was reputed to be able to predict the future thanks to messages sent to him by the gods.’
Spartacus thought of Ariadne, and a half-smile tugged its way on to his lips.
‘Eunus had been approached by some slaves who were being mistreated by their masters. Encouraged by his prophecies, several hundred of them fell upon the inhabitants of Enna. They slaughtered everyone, even the babies and the domestic animals.’ Carbo thought with repugnance of the carnage he’d seen in Forum Annii the day that they had attacked it. Of the violent end that Chloris had suffered. Yet thanks to Spartacus, the violence had not been as severe as it had in Enna. It was something to be grateful for, he supposed bitterly.
‘Go on.’
‘Hearing the news, many slaves ran away to join Eunus. Soon he had more than ten thousand men under his command, and he crowned himself king. In the subsequent weeks, he and his troops fought the local Roman forces several times and overwhelmed them by sheer weight of numbers. Before long, another uprising began elsewhere on the island. It was led by a Cilician by the name of Kleon. However, instead of fighting Eunus as the Romans hoped, he united with him. The slaves inflicted numerous more defeats on the Romans over the next three years. Finally, the Senate sent Publius Rupilius, one of the consuls, to deal with the uprising.’
‘I wonder if they took so long to react properly because Sicily is so far from Rome,’ mused Spartacus.
‘That’s what people say.’
‘And the second rebellion?’
‘It followed much the same path. Bad treatment of slaves. A charismatic leader, who was supposed to be able to talk to the gods. Widespread massacres of the local population.’
‘How long did it last for?’
‘Four years, until the Senate sent a senior general to deal with it.’
‘Were the leaders of either uprising trained soldiers?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
Spartacus’ heart leaped. What could I do in a place like that then! ‘Why Sicily, though?’
‘My father always said that it was because of the density of its farms, and the huge number of agricultural slaves.’
‘They would provide us with thousands more recruits, eh?’
‘Two legions are stationed there.’
‘Two legions haven’t posed much problem for us before, have they?’
‘I suppose. But how would we get our soldiers across the straits?’
‘Simple. Sicily grows much of the grain that feeds Italy, doesn’t it? The ships that carry the grain are immense. I’ve seen them. We’d just need to get a thousand or so men over to the main merchant port, seize as many as we could, and sail them back to the mainland.’ Spartacus grimaced. ‘Our main worry would be the Roman navy.’
‘I doubt they’d be much problem. Since the last war with Carthage, the navy has been in decline. Pirates from Cilicia and Crete all but control the Mediterranean. They frequently take ships off the southern Italian coastline.’
‘Is that right?’ asked Spartacus, smacking one fist into the other with delight.
‘That’s what I’ve heard. The bastards even sail up the coast as far as Ostia. The Senate makes angry noises about them, but nothing much has been done since Publius Servilius Vatia’s campaign ended early three years ago. Any ships the Republic has have been busy in the war against Mithridates of Pontus.’
‘That’s excellent, Carbo. Maybe pirates can carry us over to attack the grain ships, eh?’
A slow smile spread across Carbo’s face. Spartacus’ plan sounded crazy, but they had succeeded so often before when the odds were stacked against them. Why couldn’t they one more time? ‘That sounds good.’
‘It’s time to get some rest,’ said Spartacus with a yawn. ‘Your turn to take first watch. Wake me in a few hours.’ Arranging his blanket, he lay down by the fire. He was asleep within moments.
Carbo placed another piece of wood on the flames. Then he sat back and listened and watched. The fire
