‘Have you killed them?’
‘No.’
‘Why the hell not?’ she demanded. ‘It’s no less than they deserve! Maron and I would have been next.’
‘Quite likely.’ He was starting to enjoy her anger a little. It showed that she still cared about him. ‘But murdering them would be counterproductive.’ He filled her in on Crassus’ plans, and on what they’d heard from the messenger on the road.
‘Ten legions,’ said Ariadne in a monotone. She felt numb. ‘They’ll be here in three or four months, you say.’
‘Now you see why I didn’t get rid of the Gauls. If they left, we’d barely outnumber the Romans, and that’s not odds any general would want to start a battle with.’
‘I know. So what did you do to Castus and Gannicus?’
‘We surprised them. The savages got the shock of their lives to see me appear. The look on Castus’ face told me all I wanted to know. He and Gannicus sent those men.’
‘The treacherous dogs!’ Ariadne’s eyes flashed dangerously, and Spartacus was reminded of a wild beast defending its young. ‘Now that they know about the ten legions, will they stay?’
‘Who knows? Let’s hope so. Until we can recruit and train more men at least.’ It’s going to be a race against time to do that while trying to move the army and organise transport to Sicily.
She still wasn’t happy. ‘How do you know that they won’t make another attempt?’
‘I don’t. But they know damn well what will happen if they try. Prometheus’ pain will be as nothing to what they endure.’
‘I’d like to watch them scream,’ she spat. ‘I’d even wield the knife.’
‘Quite the lioness, aren’t you?’ He touched her cheek, and was astonished by her reaction.
Her coldness melted, and tears formed in her eyes. ‘Thank the gods for Carbo,’ she whispered. ‘Thank them for concealing you as you ran, and for bringing you back safely.’
Spartacus opened his arms, and she stepped into his embrace. He held her very tight.
‘I’ve missed you so much.’ Ariadne thought of the road lined with crosses, and did her best to shove the brutal image away. ‘I thought you might never return.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ he lied, glad at that moment that she could not see his face. ‘Not like fighting a battle. And I’m back now, with you and Maron.’
She looked up at him, pulling a smile. ‘So it was worth going?’
‘Definitely. I told you what I heard about the legions that are being raised. And we nearly killed Crassus, the politician who’s been put in charge of the Roman armies.’ He scowled. ‘If only I’d had Atheas and Taxacis with me, or a dozen of the gladiators. We would have sliced him up with ease.’
Ariadne was intrigued. ‘Tell me.’
It all poured out and she shook her head in a mixture of amazement and exasperation. ‘And you say what happened wasn’t dangerous? You lead a charmed life, Spartacus.’
His frivolous mood vanished. ‘I know, and I thank the Rider for it every day. Tomorrow I will offer him a ram, or better still, a bull.’
‘And then? What do we do next?’
‘There was an official messenger on the road the afternoon before we were attacked. He was taking orders to Messana, on Sicily. There have been two large-scale slave rebellions on that island in the last sixty years.’
Ariadne smiled at his enthusiasm, but she was confused.
‘We’re going to seize some grain ships and use them to transport the army over to Sicily. When the slaves on the island hear of our arrival, they will flock to my banner. The two legions over there probably haven’t had to fight in years. We’ll have time to gather an army twice the size of the one that’s camped here before Rome reacts properly. With a host like that behind me, the war can start in earnest.’
Ariadne refused to get excited. ‘How will you get enough men over to Sicily to take the grain ships?’
‘By paying a pirate captain his own weight in silver and gold.’
‘You’ve got an answer to everything.’
‘For the moment, yes. Convinced?’
Even with Maron occupying all of her time, Ariadne had been racked by worry over their future. But this plan seemed feasible. She offered up a silent prayer. Dionysus, I ask you to help us again, as you have so many times before. ‘It sounds a lot better than sitting around waiting for the legions to arrive.’
‘That was my thought too. First I’ll need to find out where the best anchorages are, and in which ports the officials turn a blind eye to pirate vessels.’ A grimace, then a confident smile. ‘The gods will help us.’
Ariadne nodded. ‘Whom will you send?’
‘Carbo.’
‘He’s a good man.’
‘One of the best. He saved my damn life, you know. If he hadn’t heard-’
She raised a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t, please. I live with the knowledge every day that I might never see you again. Today, I want to rejoice in the fact that you’ve returned to me, and to Maron. That you’re alive. Whole.’ She took away her hand and lifting her face to his, kissed him.
Spartacus had one last coherent thought before passion overtook him.
Thank you, Great Rider, for guiding me back to my army, my wife and my son.
Six weeks pass…
In his baking command tent, Crassus was preparing for his appearance of the day. Sweating slaves stood by, doing their best to ignore the buzzing flies as they held out the accoutrements of his office. The red tunic of a general. The polished, muscled bronze cuirass. The helmet with the scarlet horsehair crest. The gilt-plated belt with the studded pteryges that protected his groin and the red sash that circled his waist. The ivory-handled gladius with its ornate scabbard and bejewelled baldric. The calf-high, open-toed boots.
Gods, I’m glad that I don’t have to wear this all day. Crassus beckoned to the slaves, eager to get on with his duty, which was to show himself to his troops. To raise their spirits. To tell them how brave they were. To let them know that they were engaged in a task sent by the gods: to rid Italy, and the Republic, of the blight that was Spartacus and his slave rabble. And of course, he thought slyly, to make him more popular than Pompey Magnus.
He shrugged on the tunic, trying to ignore the way that it stuck at once to his clammy back.
Pompey! The young upstart. Crassus hated that his rival had more of a public name for martial prowess than he had. In his mind, it was totally unjustified. Had he not been the man who saved the day for Sulla at the Colline Gate? But for him, Marius would have been dictator. All Pompey had done in the civil war was to raise three legions that had won a couple of trifling victories for Sulla. If the man was such an amazing bloody tactician, why had he taken so long to quell Sertorius’ rebellion in Iberia? It still wasn’t over. I would have dealt with it long since. As Jupiter is my witness, I will mop up Spartacus’ unrest in similar fashion.
A slave helped him into his breastplate. Another slave crouched beside him to fasten the sash around his middle.
It was late afternoon, and the sun was tracing a bloody path towards the horizon. The army had left Rome two weeks before, seven days later than he’d wished. Despite this, they had travelled over two hundred sun- drenched, cloudless miles in that time. Thurii, the rebels’ reported base, was now less than a third of that distance away. As his skin prickled with the heat, Crassus tried to be grateful for their remarkable progress, and for the fact that the dreadful daytime heat had begun to abate. It was difficult, however. It was still as hot as an oven in his tent, and riding a horse for nearly eight hours daily was exhausting work. He was glad not to be one of the ordinary soldiers, who’d marched twenty miles since dawn — in full armour. Half of them were currently erecting a temporary marching camp while their exhausted but grateful comrades stood watch.
When that was done, all but the veterans had two hours of drill to look forward to before they could rest or eat. But it’s what they signed up for, he thought ruthlessly. They had done it every afternoon since they had left Rome, and so they would every damn day until the campaign ended. He would not relax the pressure on his new soldiers, not even for a moment. Not until Spartacus was dead.
Crassus lifted one foot and then the other, allowing his slaves to pull on his boots. More beads of sweat trickled down his back. I can’t wait for autumn to come. No doubt the prolonged hot spell had the farmers thanking Saturnus, Ops, Ceres and Lactans for their munificence, but Crassus didn’t give a shit about the harvest. What he
