‘We could end up miles off course.’ Carbo instantly felt like a fool. ‘But we don’t really have an alternative, eh?’
‘No,’ replied Spartacus grimly. ‘Those whoresons will be on our trail the moment it gets light, so we have to travel as far as we can before then. Gods, but I’d love to stay behind, though. Lay an ambush for them, maybe take a prisoner.’
‘Find out who they are?’
‘Yes!’
‘I don’t think they were Roman.’
‘Nor do I. If we’d been followed from Rome, they would have already attacked us. It’s nothing to do with the messenger whom we spoke with either. He wasn’t interested in us.’
‘It’s not just that. The man who spoke had a strong accent. There’s no way that he was a native Latin speaker.’
‘It’s as I thought. Only someone who knew that we’d gone to Rome could be responsible.’
Alarm filled Carbo. ‘You mean Castus or Gannicus?’
‘Yes, or someone else with a grudge against me.’ The bastards. How dare they, after all I’ve done for them? If the pair had appeared at that moment, Spartacus would have torn them apart limb from limb.
‘Damn traitors!’
‘It’s to be expected. Many men don’t like following one leader. If it had been in Thrace, it could have happened before now,’ said Spartacus, glad that he’d stayed.
‘Maybe we could grab one,’ Carbo began.
‘No! We saw four of them, and I’d wager that was less than half their number.’
‘Then we’ll have no way of finding out who sent the treacherous bastards,’ protested Carbo.
‘Sometimes you have to live with uncertainty.’ Spartacus nudged him. ‘It keeps a man on his toes!’
Carbo pulled a smile, but it felt more like a grimace.
‘We’ll find out more when we get back,’ Spartacus declared. ‘You did well to wake me when you did. I don’t think it’s too much to say that I owe you my life. Thank you.’
Pride filled Carbo. Then, remembering how he’d only woken from his nap by chance, his throat closed with guilt. He could never admit to it. ‘A-any time,’ he managed to mumble. ‘It’s no more than you’ve done for me.’
Spartacus flashed him a confident grin. ‘Come on. It’s a long way until we reach safety.’ He didn’t voice the worry that had been gnawing at him since he’d had time to consider who might have sent out the killers. Great Rider, I ask you to keep Ariadne — and our baby — safe. He turned and sped towards the far side of the clearing.
Dusk was falling the next day when they reached the army’s camp. Carbo was footsore, thirsty and more hungry than he ever could remember being, but he was alive. He wanted to cheer. ‘We’ve made it.’
‘Not yet, we haven’t.’
He stared at Spartacus in shock. ‘But that’s our army. It won’t take long to go down the slope.’
‘We’ve been gone more than two weeks. Who knows what’s happened in that time?’ If Castus and Gannicus were capable of sending assassins after him, what else might they have done?
‘What shall we do then? Do you want to’ — Carbo swallowed the word hide — ‘stay here while I check things out?’
Spartacus chuckled. ‘I’m not scared — I’m just being cautious. We’ll aim for the larger tents in the middle. That’s where Ariadne and the Scythians will be.’
‘What are your plans after that? Are we going to round up a few cohorts and kill the Gauls?’
‘There’s nothing I’d like to do more if it’s they who are responsible,’ snarled Spartacus. ‘But they’ve been hard at work ensuring the loyalty of their followers. If they were killed, upwards of ten thousand men might desert. That’s a loss I can’t afford right now.’
‘So you’re going to let them get away with it?’
‘That’s not what I said at all,’ replied Spartacus with a small smile. ‘Let’s go. Keep your head down as you walk. Most men won’t even notice us.’
‘If you say so.’ Carbo nervously touched the hilt of his dagger for reassurance.
‘I do. You go first. I’ll follow.’
Praying that Spartacus was right, Carbo led the way. It wasn’t long before they started meeting soldiers: men who were returning from an afternoon hunting, a tryst with a woman in the privacy of the woods, or simply those who needed a place to void their bowels. Carbo ignored everyone he met. If a greeting was thrown in his direction, he grunted a reply and moved on. Spartacus kept close behind him, his gaze aimed at the ground.
They reached the camp without incident. Rather than walking in the avenues that regularly split up the tents, Carbo opted to walk in the narrow gaps between them. It meant having continually to step over guy ropes, but there was far less chance of anyone noticing them. As he soon realised, it was also a good way of eavesdropping on conversations.
‘How much further is Thurii anyway?’
‘Not more than fifty miles, my officer says.’
From another tent, ‘Hades below, who farted? It stinks worse than a rotting corpse.’
A snort of laughter. ‘You shouldn’t have fed us all those greens for dinner!’
Carbo smiled, looking forward to renewing his banter with Navio and Arnax.
‘Where the fuck is Spartacus?’ asked a deep voice from outside the next tent. ‘He’s been gone how long now?’
Carbo felt a tap on his back from the Thracian. He stopped.
‘Nearly three weeks.’
‘Not coming back then, is he?’
‘You don’t know that,’ argued the second voice. ‘Who are we to know when he’ll return? He’s the leader of this army. He does what he thinks best.’
‘Pah! He’s either not coming back, or he’s dead in a ditch somewhere. What was the prick thinking? Leaving us with only those filthy Gauls to lead us?’
‘Egbeo and Pulcher are in charge too, you know. Many men also listen to Ariadne. She has Dionysus’ ear, remember,’ said a third man.
‘For the moment, maybe. But you mark my words,’ growled the deep voice. ‘It won’t be long before they’re all murdered. You know what Castus and Gannicus are like. They’re a pair of sewer rats. They won’t lose any sleep over killing a woman and child.’
Carbo’s mouth opened and closed. He turned to the Thracian, whose face was twisted in a combination of delight and rage. ‘Wait,’ mouthed Spartacus.
‘Come on, things aren’t that bad. We’ve nearly reached Thurii. There hasn’t been a sign of any Roman forces for weeks. Spartacus will appear any day now, and all will be well again.’
‘If he does, I’ll eat my bloody sandals,’ declared the first voice. ‘And when the Gauls take charge, I’m not hanging about to see what happens.’
There was a rumble of assent from some of their comrades.
To Carbo’s surprise, he felt Spartacus shove past him, around the corner of the tent. Gripping his knife hilt, he followed.
They found a group of six men sitting around a small fire upon which sat a bronze pot full of bubbling stew. The group were dressed in roughly spun cream, red or brown tunics. All of them had knives, but only two were wearing baldrics and sheathed gladii. A stack of weapons — spears, pila and swords — lay a few steps away, along with a heap of scuta.
Spartacus curled his lip at the ring of surprised faces. ‘Greetings.’
‘Who in damnation are you?’ demanded a bald man with a strong chin.
His was the deep voice, thought Carbo.
‘Smelt our dinner, did you?’ asked a younger soldier with deep-set eyes and thick black hair. ‘Well, you can’t have any! Piss off and cook your own.’
His companions laughed. The sound was amiable enough, but there was an edge to it that Carbo didn’t like. It wouldn’t take much for the situation to get ugly. Squaring his shoulders, he moved to stand beside Spartacus.
