that he’d had to fight three men fewer than his opponent, it wasn’t surprising that the experienced officer dispatched him with ease — nor that he won the final bout either. He stood with bowed head over the body of his last victim, his lips moving in silent prayer.
The raucous cheering that had accompanied the bloody combats died away. A strange quiet fell over the thousands of gathered men. Carbo felt his skin crawl. He glanced into the gathering darkness, almost expecting to see Charon, the ferryman, or even Hades himself, the god of the underworld, appearing to claim the great pile of dead legionaries.
‘What’s your name?’ asked Spartacus.
The centurion lifted eyes that were bleak with horror. ‘Gnaeus Servilius Caepio.’
‘You’re a veteran.’
‘Thirty years I’ve served. My first campaigns were with Marius, against the Teutones and the Cimbri. I don’t expect you know of them.’
‘Indeed I do. You look surprised, but I fought for Rome for many a year. I must have heard about every campaign since the Caudine Forks.’
Caepio’s eyebrows rose. ‘It’s commonly said that you served in the legions. I dismissed it as rumour.’
‘It’s true.’
‘Rome is your enemy. Why did you do it?’
‘To learn your ways, so that I could defeat you. It seems so far that I was an apt pupil.’
His men roared with approval. Pride filled Ariadne.
Caepio glowered and muttered something.
‘What was that?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘I said that you haven’t yet faced the veteran legions from Asia Minor or Iberia. They’d soon sort you out.’
‘Is that so?’ Spartacus’ tone was silky. Deadly. The icy rage gripped him again, in part because the centurion’s words had an element of truth to them. Many of the soldiers whom they had faced had been newly recruited.
‘Damn right it is.’ Caepio spat on the ground. Spartacus’ troops jeered and he made an obscene gesture in their direction. Their response, a simmering cry of rage, shattered the silence. Dozens of men drew their weapons and moved towards him.
‘Hold!’ Spartacus barked. He stared at Caepio. ‘My soldiers would slay you.’
‘That’s no surprise! Scum do not honour their promises.’ Caepio threw down his sword and raised his hands in the air. ‘Let them do what they will. It matters not. I’m damned for what I have done here tonight.’
‘Maybe you are, and maybe you’re not. Before you die, however, I have a task for you. A message to take to your masters in the Senate.’
‘You want me to carry word of this so-called munus.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘I thought you would,’ sneered Castus.
‘Not because of your threats. I do not fear death,’ said Caepio, the pride returning to his voice. ‘I accept because it is my duty to tell Rome of the depths to which you savages have sunk. Of the barbarity which you forced me and my comrades to inflict on each other.’
A furious roar met his words.
‘We’re no savages!’ cried Gannicus. ‘What happened here is no different to the way you treat slaves.’
‘Slaves,’ Caepio repeated. ‘Not free men.’
‘Rome lives by double standards,’ said Spartacus harshly. ‘During the war against Hannibal, when its need was great, it liberated enough slaves to raise two new legions. They were freed in return for fighting for the Republic. Those men proved that they were the equal of any citizen.’
‘I cannot deny what you say, but I also know how my people’s leaders will respond when they hear about this munus. This is not really about the rights and wrongs of who is made a slave and who is not, about who fights and who does not. It is about humiliating Rome, and that you have done, by defeating both consuls, by taking four silver eagles and, last of all, by putting on this display. Am I not right?’ Caepio met Spartacus’ stare and held it.
‘You are,’ Spartacus admitted, as his men howled with glee.
‘It will not be forgotten, I can promise you.’
Spartacus raised a hand, halting Castus, who looked as if he was about to attack Caepio. ‘Good. Because that was my intent! Tell them that Spartacus the Thracian and his men can fight as well as any of your legionaries, and by defeating the consular armies we have proved it twice.’ This time, Spartacus caught the sour look that Castus gave Gannicus. ‘Tell the Senate that I am not the only general here. These men, Gannicus and Castus’ — he indicated them — ‘played pivotal roles in the defeats of Lentulus and Gellius. Rome had best look to its security! The next army it sends our way will suffer an even greater defeat. More eagles will be lost.’ Spartacus was pleased to see broad grins spread across the Gauls’ faces. He had lied — neither of them were tacticians as he was — but thousands of men looked to them as leaders. He had to keep them on board.
‘I shall tell the Senate everything you said. Am I free to go?’
‘You are. Give him enough food to last him to Rome! He is to have no weapons,’ Spartacus ordered.
‘And the bodies of my comrades?’
‘You expect me to say that they will be left in the open air for the carrion birds to pick on, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘They died the deaths of brave men, so they will be buried with honour. You have my word on that. I cannot say the same of the soldiers who were slain on the field, however. Many of them were cowards.’
Caepio’s face hardened, but he did not argue. ‘I pray to the gods that this is not the last time we meet.’
‘I shall not be merciful the next time.’
‘Nor shall I.’
‘Then we understand each other.’ Spartacus watched Caepio walk away. Another brave man, he thought. He spoke the truth too. Rome would not let this humiliation go unanswered. It made sense, therefore, to cross the Alps and go beyond the legions’ reach. A sneaking doubt crept into his mind. What if the Senate sends armies after us? It is not as if they don’t know where Thrace is. He shoved the disquieting idea away. That will never happen. Deep in his guts, though, Spartacus knew that the possibility, even the likelihood, was there. Rome would not forgive, or as Caepio had said, forget, this many defeats.
Little did he know that Ariadne was thinking similar thoughts. When Hannibal Barca was forced to leave Carthage, he was pursued for the rest of his life by Roman agents. She clenched her fists. Stop it. Dionysus, let us escape Italy, I beg you. Watch over us always and keep us safe.
Carbo too was watching the centurion; then, almost before he’d realised what he’d done, he had set off after Caepio. Hearing his tread, the centurion spun around.
‘It’s all right. I’m not going to stab you in the back.’
Caepio looked even more suspicious. ‘What do you want?’
Carbo suddenly felt embarrassed. This close, Caepio did not resemble his father in any way. ‘I–I just wanted to say that you’re a brave man.’
‘You’re Roman?’ Complete disbelief filled Caepio’s voice.
‘Yes.’
‘What in the name of sacred Jupiter are you doing with this rabble? Have you no pride?’
‘Of course I have.’ Carbo was furious to feel his cheeks going red.
‘You make me sick.’ Caepio began to walk away.
‘Hey! I would not have made you fight each other that way.’
Caepio turned again. The contempt on his face was writ large. ‘Really? Yet you’ve chosen to ally yourself with a host of murdering, raping slaves. Scum who have ravaged towns and cities the length and breadth of Italy, who have massacred thousands of innocent citizens and brave legionaries. In my mind, that makes you a latro of the worst type.’ He hawked and spat at Carbo’s feet. ‘That’s for being a traitor to your own kind.’
Anger flared in Carbo’s belly. ‘Piss off, before I gut you!’
Caepio didn’t bother replying. He stalked off, muttering insults.
So that’s how it is. There can be no going back now. Ever. Why did I even think it was possible? It had been
