overhead, their lilting song providing a welcome break from the sound of hooves striking off the road’s stone paving and the heavier tread of thousands of hobnailed sandals. Men bawled out verse after verse of filthy songs about the carnal proclivities of a young man on the island of Lesbos, or the habits of a sexually rapacious merchant’s wife. Half listening, Spartacus was considering whether he would save the piece of cheese in his pack or eat it now when through the haze that shimmered over the road, he spotted a pair of riders. A dust cloud trailed behind them, evidence that they were riding hard.
The cavalry officer he was riding with saw them at the same time. ‘Who in Hades could that be, sir?’
‘Good question.’ The news of their approach had taken all traffic off the Via Appia. Only an occasional slave came walking along it now, their mission to join them. But slaves didn’t generally ride. The horsemen wouldn’t be Roman envoys either. The bastards hadn’t tried to negotiate with him before. Why would they start now? ‘I’d say it’s Carbo and Navio,’ he said with a scowl.
Hearing the anger in Spartacus’ voice, the officer did not reply.
Spartacus’ tension grew as the parties drew nearer. It was all he could do not to gallop out to meet the pair, but that would have looked panicky. Who else could it be? His mind tossed around every possible answer to their early return. Unless the pair’s horses had grown wings, they hadn’t had time to ride to Brundisium and back. Could they have been ambushed by latrones, and lost their spare mounts?
Finally, Spartacus urged his horse forward, away from the front ranks of riders. He wanted to hear their report in privacy. Only the Scythians loped beside him. Close up, there was no mistaking Carbo and Navio’s dejected expressions, or the sweat lathering their mounts’ flanks. Spartacus’ belly gave a painful clench, but he smiled in greeting anyway. ‘Gods above, those horses you have must be related to Pegasus! Either that, or it’s not nearly as far to Brundisium as you thought.’
Carbo and Navio exchanged a quick glance. ‘We didn’t get as far as Brundisium,’ said Carbo.
‘Oh. Why not?’ Although he longed to shout, Spartacus kept his tone light.
‘Two nights ago, we hid the horses in an olive grove and went to a nearby roadside inn for some wine,’ said Navio, shooting a guilty glance at Spartacus. ‘I know you’d told us to avoid public places, but we were both dying of thirst.’
‘You both seem to make a damn habit of disobeying my orders,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘What you’re going to say had better be good.’
‘It’s not good, sir, it’s fucking awful,’ said Navio.
Spartacus became very still. ‘Go on.’
‘There was an official messenger staying in the inn. The prick was telling anyone who’d listen that he’d been sent to find Crassus at all costs.’ Carbo hesitated.
‘Why?’
‘Lucullus has been recalled from Thrace,’ said Carbo quietly. ‘He’s already marched his legions over the mountains and into Epirus. A fleet of ships was sent there to meet him.’
Time felt as if it had stopped. Spartacus was acutely aware of his horse shifting beneath him, of the sun beating down on his face, of the larks trilling above. Of all the reasons for their return, he had not expected this hammer blow. ‘How many soldiers?’
‘It depends whether Lucullus brings his entire army or not. He has six legions, two of which have already landed. The messenger seemed to think that he would leave one behind to garrison parts of Thrace.’
Five extra legions to fight. Five. ‘When will the rest arrive?’
‘He wasn’t sure. Apparently, two of the legions are much closer than the rest. They’ll sail within the next week to ten days. The last will embark within a month or so.’
Spartacus wanted to curse every god in the pantheon. This was the cruellest joke that had been played on him yet. What had he done to deserve this? Gritting his teeth, he held his fury in. It was pointless to insult the gods, even if they had sent him this misfortune. With luck, he could win back their favour yet, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t need all the help he could get. ‘Did you kill the messenger?’
‘We were going to,’ said Navio, ‘but it seemed pointless. He mentioned being one of four. They had been sent out separately, to make sure that Crassus received the news.’
‘And if by some small chance we’d been caught doing it, you wouldn’t have found out,’ added Carbo.
Screw the consequences. I would have killed the messenger anyway. Spartacus took a deep breath and let it out again. That was just his fury speaking. He stared east, towards the sea, imagining that he could see the glitter of the sun off the waves, and a fleet of ships bobbing at anchor. Shoving away the fantasy, he returned his gaze to Carbo and Navio. ‘Crassus could well have already heard the news. If not, he’ll receive it today, or tomorrow at the latest.’
They nodded miserably.
‘There’s no point continuing towards Brundisium. Knowing what he does, Crassus would march after us at double pace. Once he’d caught up, the prick would seek battle on open ground. Even if we somehow manage to evade him on the road to the coast, he would hound us all the way. We could arrive with him at our backs, to be greeted by two or even four of Lucullus’ legions. Being caught between the hammer and the anvil is not a good place to be.’
Carbo and Navio glanced at one another. This was what they had talked about, argued about, since they’d set out. ‘What can we do?’ ventured Carbo.
‘There’s only one damn option left,’ grated Spartacus. ‘Turn around and head for the mountains again. We have to find a suitable place to fight Crassus, and fast. With him defeated, we can try for Brundisium again, and smash Lucullus on the way there.’
Apart from the defeat on the ridge, thought Carbo, Spartacus had always led them to victory. Despite the fearful odds that were stacking up against them, why should that change now?
‘And Pompey?’ asked Navio.
‘We’ll just have to keep our ears to the ground for him. In our favour, it’s likely that Crassus will want to fight us without Pompey’s help. If I know one thing about the fucker, it’s that he’s arrogant. He’ll want the glory for himself. Yes, he will unite with the other generals eventually — he’ll have to. But if we can stay two steps ahead of them, we’ll be fine.’ He searched their faces for signs of dissent. He didn’t see it. There was a hint of fear in Carbo’s eyes, which Spartacus had expected, but the young Roman gave him a resolute nod. Navio looked as keen as ever, which didn’t surprise him either. All he wanted was vengeance for his dead family. It was a quest that could never end until Navio, or every Roman who lived under the Republic’s rule, was dead. Spartacus wondered which would come sooner.
He wondered the same thing about himself.
Chapter XVIII
The upper Silarus valley, north of Paestum
Spartacus’senior officers began assembling outside his tent when the sky was still full of stars. Hearing their low murmurs, the Thracian stirred from his position by the cot, but he didn’t move further. It was hard to turn away from his sleeping son. Tousle-headed, beautiful, with a thumb stuck in his mouth, Maron was the picture of innocence. Long may he remain like that, thought Spartacus. Before life changes him. Makes him hard. He kissed the first two fingers of his right hand and trailed them across Maron’s forehead. Sleep well, my son. I will see you later.
He was already fully dressed. Tunic, padded jerkin, mail shirt, studded sandals. Baldric over his shoulder, sica in its scabbard by his left side. A leather belt with a sheathed dagger on it. He reached down to the stool by his bedding and picked up his Phrygian helmet.
‘Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘I thought you were asleep.’
Ariadne let out a dismissive snort. ‘I’ve spent the night praying. Staring at the ceiling. Or you.’ In fact, she had slept for a time, but her head had been filled with the crucified men again. She wasn’t going to mention that now, or ever. It was just her imagination running riot. Let it be no more than that, Dionysus.
‘At me?’ He sounded amused.
