Carbo had been ecstatic when Spartacus had told him of Heracleo’s arrival. His trust in the pirate had been repaid, and his leader would think well of him for succeeding in his mission. They would escape from Crassus’ legions! He had talked for hours with Navio, Publipor and Arnax about it. Navio had been to Sicily, and knew the lie of the land. ‘Spartacus has made a good choice,’ he had declared the first night. ‘The latifundia there are immense. Most have hundreds of slaves. Some have far more. Tough bastards, the lot of them: you know what agricultural slaves are like. When the word gets out that we’ve arrived, they’ll flock to us in their thousands.’
Publipor had winked. ‘More men for you to train.’
‘Good. The more soldiers we have, the more legionaries we can kill,’ Navio had snarled.
Carbo had flinched, but said nothing: he knew his friend’s insatiable appetite for the blood of his own kind was born from the anguish of losing both father and brother to Pompey’s troops. As far as Navio was concerned, his war would end only when the Senate burned down and Spartacus had destroyed the Republic. It was an impossible dream, thought Carbo, but it made Navio the perfect soldier. He, on the other hand, was fighting because he was loyal to Spartacus. He would fight whomever the Thracian did and follow him anywhere, because he believed in him. Loved him.
That was why, by dawn on the fourth day after Heracleo’s departure, Carbo’s spirits had plummeted. There had been no storms, no intemperate weather to send the bireme off course. No Roman vessels to scare it away or to stop it from anchoring offshore. Heracleo must have reconsidered, thought Carbo miserably. He would not be coming back. Later that morning, he wasn’t surprised to be summoned to Spartacus’ tent. No doubt their leader wanted to grill him again about what had been arranged, or even to punish him.
Atheas and Taxacis greeted him in a friendly manner but the Thracian’s face was as black as thunder.
‘You called for me?’ Carbo asked.
‘I did.’
Carbo shifted from foot to foot. ‘Is it about Heracleo?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes.’
‘I’m sorry,’ blurted Carbo. ‘I never should have trusted him. It’s all my fault.’
Spartacus reached down to pick up a leather bag. He tossed it at Carbo. ‘A Roman catapult shot that over the ramparts earlier. Take a look inside.’
Seeing the red stain on the bag’s bottom, Carbo’s stomach wrenched. Gingerly, he peered in and was stunned to recognise Heracleo’s waxen features, still twisted in an expression of terror. Revolted, angered and a little relieved, Carbo dropped the bag.
‘I wanted to be sure. You think it’s Heracleo too.’
‘I do,’ said Carbo. ‘The Romans caught him then?’
‘Evidently,’ replied Spartacus in a dry tone.
Carbo wanted to scream at the sky. ‘How? They have no ships worth talking about!’
‘My guess is that Heracleo put in for water and was unlucky enough to be surprised on the beach by a Roman patrol. Maybe they questioned him; maybe they found his money. Either way, they discovered what he was up to. Why else would he have been killed and had his head thrown over the wall? I can’t think of a better way for Crassus to say, “Fuck you, Spartacus.” Can you?’
‘No,’ he muttered.
‘A real shame that we didn’t manage to kill him in Rome, eh?’ Spartacus’ right hand bunched into a fist for a moment. ‘But what’s done is done. We have to deal with the present, and the fact that we have no way of crossing to Sicily. There must be men of every profession under the sun in my army — except shipbuilders! Apparently, some fools tried to build rafts yesterday, but after a score of them drowned, the rest soon gave up. It only leaves one option as far as I can see. Unless you’ve got any bright ideas?’
Carbo shook his head.
‘Cheer up, man! It wasn’t down to you,’ cried Spartacus, his eyes flashing. ‘And you don’t think a stinking wall is going to hold us in, do you? We’ll just smash the fucking thing to pieces. Focus your anger on that.’
Carbo’s misery lifted somewhat. ‘When do we attack?’
‘Tomorrow or the day after. There’s no point hanging around. The grain won’t last much more than a week, maybe two at the outside. Rhegium has more within its walls, but we have no way of getting in there.’
‘It’s all thanks to you.’ Gannicus came striding up, the Scythians dogging his footsteps. ‘No wonder the grain’s nearly gone. We’ve done nothing but waste our time here.’
‘You’ve heard the news then,’ said Spartacus.
‘Just a rumour.’ Gannicus eyed the bag at Carbo’s feet. ‘That’s the evidence, is it?’
‘Yes. It’s the pirate captain who agreed to find us the ships.’
‘How in damnation did he get captured?’
‘No idea. It’s immaterial now anyway,’ Spartacus replied. ‘We need to talk about getting out of here.’
‘Damn right we do!’ cried Gannicus.
‘Where’s Castus?’
‘He wouldn’t come.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘He was furious. Said he wouldn’t trust himself if he saw you.’
Spartacus’ eyes narrowed. ‘It would be more in character for the lowlife to come storming up here with a drawn sword.’
Gannicus said nothing and Spartacus didn’t probe further. ‘I take it that you’ll both be doing your own thing from now on?’
‘Without a doubt!’
‘Will you help to break through the Roman defences?’
‘That depends. What are you planning?’
‘The ridge is the only place to do it. Anywhere else, and we’d have to fight nine legions on the other side.’
Gannicus tugged on his moustache, thinking.
You bastard, thought Carbo. You and Castus can just hang back while Spartacus’ men take all the casualties.
‘I’ll bring one cohort of my best men,’ said Gannicus after a moment. ‘That’s it.’
‘My thanks.’ Spartacus knew he was wasting his breath, but he had to ask. ‘And Castus?’
‘He won’t help.’
‘Was he scared of saying that to my face?’
Gannicus shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He’s in a funny mood today.’
‘A funny mood? Him and me both!’ growled Spartacus. ‘He had better be armed and ready the next time we meet. If he’s got any wits, though, he’ll stay well clear of me.’
‘I’ll tell him,’ replied Gannicus with a sneer.
‘You know the ridge where the Roman defences are?’
A nod.
‘Have your men there no later than midnight. The rest are to follow at dawn. By the time they reach the top, it will all be over one way or another.’
‘What’s your plan?’
‘We climb up there once it gets dark. Make a full-scale frontal assault through the centre-’
‘Have you seen the defences?’
‘Of course I have!’ snapped Spartacus.
‘Desperate measures for desperate times.’
‘You’d be well advised to follow the same plan, or you’ll find yourself in Hades quicker than you think.’
‘D’you think you’re the only tactician in this army?’
Spartacus’ anger overflowed. He no longer cared whether Gannicus worked with him or not. ‘Maybe not, but I’m certainly the best! You and Castus wouldn’t know how to surround an army of blind men.’
‘Hades take you! You can do this on your own, and when you cock it up, we’ll be there to finish the job for you.’ Gannicus spun on his heel and walked off.
‘So ends the pretence,’ said Spartacus quietly. Although his casualties the next day would be heavier, it was
