back by Spartacus, who had driven sideways into him with his scutum. Stooping over the officer, the Thracian ran him through the throat. Dismayed cries rose from the legionaries who’d seen what had happened, and they fell back a step or two. Spartacus quickly resumed his position, throwing Carbo a grin. ‘Push the whoresons back!’ he yelled.
Carbo took a step forward with the rest. He glanced at his sword arm, which was trembling like a leaf. Snap out of it! he told himself. You’re still alive. The battle’s not over. Steeling himself for more carnage, he looked up. The centurion had been replaced by a furious-looking legionary. Perhaps five paces separated them. ‘I’m going to rip your head off and shit down your neck!’ the Roman screamed.
Behind the ranks of enemy soldiers, Carbo caught sight of a red cloak. It was Crassus, dismounting from his horse. Standard-bearers swirled around him, including one bearing a silver eagle. Carbo couldn’t believe his eyes. He’s concerned enough to make a stand right here. ‘Spartacus! This is our chance!’
A moment later, there was a shout of acknowledgement. ‘CHARGE! CHARGE!’
Carbo’s gaze returned to the legionary. Cold rage now filled him. All he wanted to do was reach Crassus. ‘I’m coming for you, you fucking maggot!’
There was a surge behind him as he advanced. It was the men in the ranks behind, Carbo realised with exhilaration. He made short shrift of the legionary, dispatching him with a couple of vicious stabs to the face. The man after him was a barrel-chested individual who spat obscenities with each thrust of his gladius. Carbo had little difficulty in dodging the powerful but inaccurate blows, but soon the press grew so great that he was driven right up against the legionary. Neither was able to use his sword.
‘Slave filth!’ screamed the soldier. ‘You’re dead! Dead!’
‘Fuck you!’ Carbo let go of his gladius, which, jammed between them, didn’t even fall to the ground. With a struggle, he reached around to his left side and tugged out his dagger. Drawing up his arm with great care, he whipped it up, above the crush. Panic flared in the legionary’s eyes, more curses filled the air, but he could not prevent Carbo from hammering the blade down into his neck. Carbo stabbed him several more times for good measure. Gouts of blood splattered his forearm, his face, the front of his shield. He didn’t care. ‘Crassus, I’m coming for you!’ he shouted, spittle flying.
But he couldn’t move — forward or back. In fact, the pressure from both sides was starting to become uncomfortable. The cursing legionary had slumped forward; he was now being held upright by Carbo’s scutum. Blood ran in streams from the wound in his neck, covering Carbo’s left hand and arm. There was nothing he could do about it. He was glad that the Romans in the second rank weren’t trying to get at him. They had to be as tightly compressed as he and his comrades were.
‘Gods above, what do we do now?’ roared Zeuxis.
The red mist receded a little. Carbo glanced at Zeuxis, who had also killed the Roman in front of him. ‘We’re stuck!’
Zeuxis glowered. ‘Bloody genius, aren’t you?’
Fighting a crazy urge to smile, Carbo looked to his right. Unsurprisingly, Spartacus had slain his man. He was helping Taxacis to slaughter his opponent. Carbo waited until it was done. ‘What do we do now?’
Spartacus’ head turned. His face and helmet were covered in blood, and his eyes had a mad gleam to them. Carbo had difficulty holding his gaze.
‘We’ll have to withdraw a few steps. The sheep-fucking Romans won’t do so, that’s for sure. This kind of stalemate suits them. Crassus will be trying to wear us out.’
Carbo was suddenly aware that his muscles were screaming for a rest.
‘Fall back!’ cried Spartacus. ‘Fall back ten steps. Only ten! Pass the word along!’
Carbo leaned over to Zeuxis. ‘Tell your mate to spread the word. We’re to pull back ten steps, no more.’
Zeuxis nodded and did as he was asked. Spartacus was doing the same to Carbo’s right. Soon the air was filled with the shouted command. As the men in the ranks behind realised, they began to shuffle backwards. Feeling the pressure on his chest reduce, Carbo sucked in a deep breath. He gripped his gladius again and took a couple of steps away from the big legionary. The man’s corpse slumped to its knees. A heartbeat’s delay and it toppled on to its face. Carbo tensed, preparing himself for an enemy charge, but it didn’t happen.
Keeping in line with Zeuxis and Spartacus, he walked back six, seven, eight more paces.
‘HALT!’ roared the Thracian.
His command was obeyed.
Carbo saw Spartacus eyeballing the Romans, but they did nothing. They had to be grateful for the breather too, he thought.
‘Pull back another ten steps!’
Carbo glanced at Spartacus in alarm. ‘Why?’ he hissed.
‘I need to see what’s going on at the flanks. This is the only damn way I can do it.’
The word went out again. Counting carefully, they withdrew. Still the Romans did nothing. Carbo’s eyes travelled up and down their line. All he saw were men heaving bodies out of the way, spitting or drinking from water bags. Some legionaries shouted insults, but most were ignoring them. It was a small relief.
Spartacus strode out into the gap between the armies. His head swivelled from side to side for a few moments. A javelin was hurled at him, and another, but he ignored them, standing on tiptoe to get a better view. Then a third pilum came scudding in and he had to dodge out the way in order to avoid being struck.
‘They’ve recognised him,’ muttered Carbo. He could see enemy javelins being handed forward for the men at the front to throw. The taste of fear was acid in his mouth. Spartacus’ extraordinary charisma was what held the centre together. If he went down, they were finished.
‘What in Hades is he doing?’ growled Zeuxis.
Carbo explained.
‘A bit fucking risky, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe, but there’s no other way.’ Even as he defended Spartacus’ actions, Carbo wanted to scream at him to return to safety.
He soon got his wish. Turning his back on the Roman lines, Spartacus sauntered back to their position. Two javelins followed him, one landing right by his feet. He didn’t even look at it. A smile played across his face. ‘Is that the best they can do?’ he shouted, turning to make an obscene gesture at the Romans.
Whoops and cheers rose around Carbo, and a sea of hands went up in the air, mimicking Spartacus’ sign.
Doing the same, Carbo grinned. He couldn’t help it. ‘Fuck you all!’ he bellowed.
Spartacus shoved in beside him.
Carbo turned, his face alight. Spartacus’ words hit him like a hammer blow.
‘It’s not going well with Pulcher on the right. The Romans must have brought up every spare catapult they have. The whoresons are hammering our ranks behind where the fighting is going on. The men there are starting to waver.’
Carbo’s next insult turned to ashes in his mouth. If the rearmost soldiers turned and fled, the ones at the front wouldn’t be far behind them. And if that happened, the enemy’s left flank could wheel around to hit the centre — their position. An abyss had just opened at their feet. ‘And the left?’
‘It’s all right, thanks to Navio. I can’t see the damn cavalry anywhere, though. On either side. I’m concerned that the ditches were too deep for them. That they haven’t been able to sweep around to the enemy’s rear. We’d have heard something, seen something by now if they had.’
Carbo’s hopes plummeted. He searched Spartacus’ face for a hopeful sign. ‘What can we do?’
A savage, unforgiving smile. ‘I’d wager that we’ve got the time for one more roll of the dice before the left flank gives way. Will you come?’
Carbo knew in that moment that his death was near. He fought the urge to vomit. ‘I’m with you.’
Spartacus’ eyes softened. ‘I never thought to say this, but I’m proud to stand and fight beside a Roman.’
Carbo had to fight back tears. Unable to speak, he just nodded.
Spartacus threw back his head. ‘My soldiers, listen to me!’
Somehow, amid the din from the fighting to either side, the nearest men’s heads turned.
‘I ask you for one more effort. One more charge! I can see Crassus there, opposite us. Do you see the bastard, in his red cloak, behind his legionaries?’
Silence for a moment as men’s eyes searched for their enemy, and then an angry roar went up.
