a relief. He was better off without the murderous, quarrelsome pair. It was a pity about their followers, but it couldn’t be helped. With the help of the Great Rider, I will replace them once we get out of here.
The next day would be hell, thought Carbo, his guts twisting. It was easy to imagine the bloodshed when trying to scale a wall manned by thousands of legionaries armed with javelins and catapults.
‘Are you ready for this?’
Carbo met Spartacus’ gaze. ‘Yes,’ he said calmly. Given the choice between a chance of survival and the certainty of death, he would take the former.
‘Good. Thirty-five cohorts will march up with me tonight.’
‘What about Ariadne and Maron?’
‘You’re to stay here, with your unit.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘As before: I want you to protect them.’
Carbo felt a mixture of relief and guilt. ‘But I-’
‘This is as important as being in the first rank when we attack,’ said Spartacus in a low voice. ‘Please.’
Carbo swallowed hard. How could he say no? ‘Very well.’
‘Once we we’ve broken through, and it’s safe, I’ll send a messenger. The rest of the army can make it up there under Egbeo’s command. We’ll meet on the far side of the Roman wall.’
‘Very well.’ Carbo was pleased how firm his voice sounded.
‘We march at sundown, from the eastern edge of the camp. Tell Navio to be ready.’ Spartacus turned his back.
Carbo was about to go when he remembered Heracleo’s head. ‘Can I take this?’ he asked, lifting the bag. ‘The poor bastard deserves for this part of him to be buried at least.’
‘Do as you wish.’
Carbo walked away with his grisly trophy.
Ariadne awoke as Spartacus re-entered the tent. Worn out by a sleepless night looking after Maron, she had been asleep for much of the morning and had missed Spartacus’ conversation with Carbo and Gannicus. His grim expression hit her like a bucket of cold water in the face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘The pirates won’t be coming.’ He filled her in quietly. Emotionlessly.
Ariadne felt sick. She wondered again if she should have left and instantly hated herself for it. ‘So we’re trapped?’
‘Trapped?’ His laugh was fierce. ‘No more than a wild boar that’s been caught in an old, worn hunter’s net.’
Ariadne had not seen the Roman fortifications on the ridge, but she had heard about them. ‘Many men will die.’
‘They will,’ growled Spartacus, ‘but by the Rider, that won’t stop us forcing our way through. Nothing and no one will. And as for Castus and Gannicus — fuck them!’
‘They’re not going to help?’
He shook his head angrily.
Ariadne’s pulse quickened. ‘Were they here?’
‘Gannicus was. Castus didn’t have the balls to come and tell me what he was going to do.’
He was too damn scared that I’d told you what happened, thought Ariadne with relief. She knew Spartacus well. If he’d found out, nothing would have held him back from killing Castus. She would have liked nothing more than to have seen the Gaul bleeding to death outside their tent, but their position was precarious enough without trying the gods’ goodwill further. For whatever reason, Castus was not to be punished at this time.
Ariadne took in a deep breath. ‘Where will we go?’
‘North.’
She gave him a blank look.
‘I was thinking of Samnium, east of Capua. The people there hold no love for Rome. The farms are rich too. There will be plenty of grain to be had.’
‘Crassus will follow us.’
‘He will, but the whoreson can’t march as fast as we can. By the time he catches up, we’ll have thousands of new recruits.’ He flashed a confident grin and kissed her. ‘I’d best start spreading the word. There’s a lot to arrange by nightfall.’
Hiding her concern as best she could, Ariadne nodded. She had made her decision to stand by Spartacus and she would stick to it. Great Dionysus, she prayed, watch over us all. After the way the snake had saved her, Ariadne’s belief was still fervent. She felt her resolve stiffen. Heracleo’s death was nothing more than a setback. They would win tomorrow, and escape Crassus’ blockade.
Zeuxis was first to notice Marcion swaggering up to their tent with Arphocras at his heels. ‘Hey! You fuckers are supposed to be cooking! It’s nearly dinner time, and you haven’t even started.’
There was an angry rumble of agreement from the others. Marcion eyed his comrades as he approached. They were slouched around the fire, picking their nails with their daggers or pretending to scrub rust spots from their mail shirts. He wasn’t surprised. Since their hopes of sailing to Sicily had vanished, his tent mates’ morale had been suffering, like everyone else in the army. Their mood had soured even further since the order had come around, not two hours since, that their cohort was to take part in an attack on the Roman defences at the ridge. With stress rising to new highs, routine, especially that to do with meals, was not to be disturbed. Hopefully, this will cheer them up.
‘Where in Hades have you been?’ demanded Zeuxis.
Marcion lowered the sack from his right shoulder with a contented sigh. ‘That’s better.’
‘Quite the joker, aren’t you?’ sneered Zeuxis. ‘I’ll soon wipe the smile off your face if our dinner isn’t ready on time. I bet the other lads will help me too, eh?’
‘Damn right!’ growled Gaius. ‘A man has to eat well before battle. Woe betide the cook who doesn’t provide a decent-’ He turned the word last into a muffled cough. ‘-meal for his contubernium.’ An unhappy silence followed his words. Flushing, Gaius made the sign against evil.
‘Aye, well,’ muttered Zeuxis after a moment. ‘There might only be fucking porridge to eat, but we want it hot, and we want it now. Get on with it!’
Arphocras, who had unslung his sack, swung it on to his back again with one smooth movement. He turned as if to go. ‘Very happy to jump to the conclusion that we’ve been skiving, aren’t you?’ He glanced at Marcion. ‘I reckon we should keep this grub for ourselves. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re right. It’ll last us at least a week.’
‘Hold your horses,’ said Zeuxis, suddenly keen. ‘What have you got there?’
‘Nothing much,’ replied Marcion in an offhand tone. All eyes were on him, however, as he reached into his bag. With a flourish, he pulled out a whole ham. ‘Just this.’
Amazed gasps rose from around the fire. There were jealous looks from the soldiers outside other tents. Gaius gave an appreciative whistle. ‘Where in the gods’ names did you get that?’
Marcion didn’t answer. He just looked at Arphocras, who produced a large round of cheese. He clutched it to his body so that others could not see what he was holding. ‘No point upsetting our neighbours even more,’ he said with a chuckle.
‘What else have you got?’ asked Zeuxis greedily, his bad temper forgotten.
‘A pot of garum and another of olives,’ answered Arphocras. ‘And Marcion has an amphora of wine.’
‘You’re a pair of magicians,’ said Gaius, beaming from ear to ear.
‘Damn right,’ agreed Zeuxis with a rare smile. He whipped out his knife. ‘Are you going to let us starve to death looking at your haul?’
Zeuxis hadn’t thanked them, but the lift in his comrades’ mood was so marked that Marcion didn’t care. He took out the wine and then laid the ham on the sack. ‘Get stuck in.’
There was a rush forward. Soon the only sounds were those of chewing and loud appreciation. Marcion’s belly grumbled, reminding him that it had been many hours since he’d eaten. He didn’t mind. There was enough food for all. Life was still good, he thought. Tomorrow was another day.
Conversation vanished as the eight soldiers devoured Marcion and Gaius’ haul. It wasn’t long before most of it was gone. Satisfied belches and farts filled the air, and the soldiers’ faces grew more contented than they had in
