‘Fall back!’ roared Spartacus. He thumped the side of Carbo’s shield with his own. ‘Ten paces, no more.’
As he dumbly obeyed, Carbo felt the sweat drenching him. The felt liner beneath his helmet was saturated. There were rivulets running down his forehead and continuing, stinging, into his eyes. He wiped a bloody hand across his face.
‘You’ve done well, lads. Time for a breather!’ shouted Spartacus. ‘Help the wounded to move back, away from the front ranks. If you’ve got any water, have a drink. Share it with your comrades. Do the obvious. Those with damaged weapons or equipment, try to find replacements from the dead and injured. Clear the ground around your feet so that you don’t trip up when the fighting starts again. Check the rest of your gear. Make sure that the straps on your sandals aren’t loose.’ He broke out of formation and began to move along the ranks to the left, muttering encouragement to the soldiers.
No more than twenty paces away, the Romans were doing the same thing. Carbo felt odd standing so close to men whom he’d been trying to kill just a moment earlier, and with whom he would shortly resume hostilities. Best to make the most of it. He stabbed his gladius into the earth before him and let his scutum rest against it. Relieving himself of that weight felt so good. Next he tugged up the bottom of his mail shirt and freed himself from his undergarment. At once his urine arched out in a yellow stream. Carbo thought it would never stop. He had never known such relief. From the jokes and sighs of satisfaction he could hear, plenty of other men felt the same way. Finishing, he became very aware of his overwhelming thirst.
‘Here.’
Zeuxis had shoved a small clay vessel with a strap around its neck in his face. Carbo put it to his lips and took a mouthful. The water was warm and stale, but it tasted better than anything he’d ever drunk. ‘Thanks,’ he said, handing it back.
Zeuxis grunted. He took a long pull himself and passed it to the soldier on his left. He leaned back towards Carbo. ‘Never thought I’d stand this close to Spartacus in battle, I can tell you.’
‘He’s some warrior, eh?’
‘It’s like watching a god take to the field.’ The awe in Zeuxis’ voice was palpable.
‘I’d be a dead man if it wasn’t for him.’ Carbo undid his chinstrap and took off his helmet. He let it drop.
‘I saw some of that fight. Sorry I couldn’t help. I was a bit caught up.’
‘It’s all right.’ Carbo pulled off his liner and wrung it out. Streams of water ran between his fingers. A light breeze tickled his soaking hair. It felt wonderful, but he jammed the felt back on his head and put on his helmet again, tying the strap securely. ‘You been in the army long?’
‘I joined before the battle against Lentulus. Marcion here’ — he jerked his head at the man to his left — ‘came along at the same time. So did most of our contubernium. And you?’
‘I was in the ludus with Spartacus.’
Zeuxis’ mouth fell open. ‘Really?’
Carbo nodded.
‘So you took part in the attack on Glaber’s camp? And the fight at the villa when Cossinius was caught naked?’
Carbo grinned. ‘I was there.’
‘Hear this, Marcion!’ He muttered a few words to his comrade, who gave Carbo a look of awe. ‘Those were the days, eh?’ said Zeuxis. ‘When we won every fight.’
Carbo gave him a grim smile. ‘With the gods’ help, this could be another one.’
Zeuxis’ eyes flickered away from his. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Spartacus came hurrying back to his position. ‘READY, LADS?’
‘YES!’ Carbo shouted, his voice one of hundreds. Tugging his gladius free, and picking up his shield, he scanned the enemy lines. The legionaries were moving closer together, and he could hear their officers roaring at them to prepare to advance.
‘Let’s hit them hard, eh?’ said Spartacus to Carbo.
‘Of course!’ His heart began to race again.
‘The left flank looks to be holding its own from what I can see, but I’ve got no idea how things are on the right, or what the cavalry have achieved. To be sure of victory, we have to break through here.’
The pressure mounted. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will.’ Spartacus flashed him a smile, and Carbo’s devotion to him grew yet stronger.
‘READY? CHARGE!’ roared Spartacus.
They pounded forward at the Romans, who shouted a challenge and broke into a run of their own. Carbo was more prepared for the fight this time. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man closing in on him had a limp. He was already injured: a weakness to exploit. As their shields cracked against each other and they both began to push, Carbo hacked down at his opponent’s sandals. There was a loud cry as the tip of his blade connected with the toes on the man’s left foot. It was only a small wound, but it was painful enough to make the legionary lower his guard a fraction. Carbo raised his gladius and shoved it forward, around the other’s scutum. There was a heartbeat’s delay and then it had punched through the iron rings of the man’s mail shirt. It sank deep into his belly, and his mouth opened in an ‘O’ of pure shock. Carbo twisted the blade as he’d been taught, and wrenched it free.
‘Jupiterrrrrr, that hurts!’ screamed the legionary. He dropped his shield and clutched a hand to the bloody hole in his mail.
Carbo smashed his scutum forward, knocking his opponent into the soldier immediately behind.
‘FORWARD!’ shouted Spartacus.
Blood pounding in his ears, Carbo advanced two steps. Then another. Despite the protests of the man to his rear, the injured legionary staggered backwards. Carbo’s eyes shot from side to side. Zeuxis was at his left shoulder; Spartacus was to his right and beyond him was Taxacis. Further out, their comrades also appeared to be moving forward. His heart leaped. He took another step.
‘FORWARD!’ roared Spartacus again.
Pace by pace, they walked towards the Romans, who continued to retreat. It went on for about twenty steps, and Carbo began to hope that their enemies would break. They didn’t. His attention was drawn to a couple of centurions in the front rank near him. They were screaming blue murder, threatening their men with the most terrible punishments if they did anything but hold the line. Their tactic was working. The legionaries slowed down and came to a halt.
‘When we hit the whoresons, I want every centurion killed! Hacked into a hundred pieces! Do you hear me?’
The nearest soldiers bellowed in assent.
‘If we can do that, they’ll fucking run,’ Carbo heard Spartacus mutter. Then, ‘CHARGE!’
They ran forward. This time, the Romans did not come to meet them. Carbo took some solace from that. The enemy officers didn’t trust their men to advance. That meant they were worried.
Carbo saw that the man to face him would be a centurion, and his breath caught in his chest. The previous bouts he’d fought would be as nothing compared to this. Centurions were veterans of at least twenty years’ service, brave men who led by example, who stuck at nothing to win a fight. He struggled against the first tinge of panic, knowing that if he gave in to it, he was sure to die. The centurion was staring right at him and roaring insults at the top of his voice. Blocking out the sound as best he could, Carbo tried to spot any detail that would help him win. He saw nothing except the scarlet-dyed horsehairs on his opponent’s helmet crest and the merciless eyes beneath its tinned brow. Death was waiting.
Three paces out, it came to Carbo. The centurion was a short man. In turn, that meant that he was a lot heavier than him. Praying that his idea would work, he ducked as low as he could behind the rim of his scutum. Pulling his left arm close in against his body, he slowed down a fraction before throwing his entire body weight forward with his shield. He struck the centurion with such force that the Roman was shoved several steps backwards. Carbo lifted his head, readying himself to land the killer blow. He got the shock of his life. Incredibly, the centurion had maintained his balance, and was waiting for his chance. Carbo had just enough time to register the other’s blade as it swept forward at his face.
I’m dead.
There was a loud crash.
Carbo blinked. The gladius was gone. He looked again. The centurion had been knocked on to the flat of his
