‘Let’s kill Crassus right now. End the battle at a stroke. Are you with me?’
‘YES!’
‘ARE YOU WITH ME?’ Spartacus began hammering his sica off his shield.
‘YESSSS!’ Carbo screamed with everyone else.
‘THEN CHARGE!’ Spartacus shot forward so fast that he caught Carbo and the man on the other side by surprise. He was five strides ahead before they had even started running. Carbo sprinted to catch up. To his left, he sensed Zeuxis. He knew in his gut that the rest were coming too. Every man who had heard that cry would answer it. Would give his life to be with Spartacus as he descended on the Romans in a dreadful, killing rage. The words ‘Victory or death’ had never been more true.
He drew alongside the Thracian. Heard him muttering.
‘Great Rider, watch over me. Great Rider, protect me. Great Rider, help me to kill Crassus.’
The prayers made Carbo’s spine tingle. He could feel the gods’ presence. Let them be on our side.
Ten strides until the Roman lines. Carbo could see Crassus at the back. His heart jolted with hope. The legionaries opposite him were no more than six ranks deep. They could do it! Five steps. Imagining that he’d been stabbed in the guts, Carbo let out a piercing shriek. The man facing him flinched, which was what he’d wanted. He covered the last two paces in a blur, smashing into the soldier with all the pent-up hatred that he’d ever felt towards Crassus. He felt the impact as Zeuxis and Spartacus hit their opponents. Still yelling like a madman, Carbo rammed his gladius into the space between the two scuta before him. His blade struck, and then slid deep into something. A scream, and the legionary facing Spartacus dropped his sword. Surprised, Carbo’s eyes shot to his own opponent who, with teeth bared, was trying to reach around and stab him in the belly. Too late, Carbo pulled his right arm back to retaliate.
When Zeuxis’ gladius slid over to take the Roman in the throat, he could have cried with relief. ‘Thanks.’
Zeuxis threw him a broad wink. ‘Just do the same for me if you can.’
‘I will.’
‘ON! ON! ON!’ roared Spartacus.
Having smashed the first enemy rank, they shoved into the next. Punching with their shields, thrusting with their swords, howling like wolves. Blood sprayed in the air, covered their faces, showered on to the muddy ground. Cries of triumph mixed with shrieks of pain and the gurgles of men drowning in their own blood. They pushed forward another hard-fought two steps. A few paces to his left, Carbo saw a legionary lose an arm to a sword cut; with a stunned expression, he raised the stump into the air, showering his comrades in crimson liquid. As if he’d only realised what had happened, an inarticulate wail left his throat. Those of Spartacus’ soldiers who could see laughed and jeered. The man wasn’t just useless, he was now a danger to his comrades. It didn’t take long for a legionary to stab the unfortunate in the neck from behind and step over his body to fill the gap.
Carbo was vaguely aware that Spartacus was fighting another centurion, but his next opponent was a skilful legionary who pre-empted his every move. For long moments, they each battered their shield off the other’s and thrust at one another’s faces to no avail. Carbo’s throat was so dry that he couldn’t shout any more. His arms kept moving of their own volition — punch, thrust, punch, thrust — but he began to feel as if he were no longer within his body. Deep inside his head, a voice was screaming at him to come back to reality or he’d end up dead, but it was more than Carbo could do to obey.
To his surprise, the legionary’s gaze shot to his left. A gasp of dismay, the briefest moment of hesitation. Carbo didn’t know what had caused the distraction, but he took his chance, ramming his gladius into the soldier’s open mouth so hard that the blade ran out of the back of his neck. Gouts of blood and pieces of broken tooth flew into the air. Making a terrible choking noise, the legionary dropped out of sight. Carbo glanced first to his left. Zeuxis was still there. Beyond him, so too was Marcion. A look to his right then. Creeping exultation filled him. The centurion was down, screaming. They had broken through another rank.
A stifled gasp by his side doused his joy like a lamp that is suddenly snuffed out. His head turned. Wincing, Spartacus met his gaze. Blood was running from a cut on his forehead into his eyes. ‘The bastard got me, Carbo.’
‘That’s only a flesh wound!’
‘Not that. In my sword arm.’
Time stood still. Carbo wanted to weep, but he had no tears. ‘Can you fight?’
‘For a while.’
A shout to his front dragged Carbo’s attention back to the fight. This time, an optio was coming for him. I’ll kill you too, cocksucker! Then he saw the fresh legionaries piling in behind the back ranks, and his heart sank. There were now at least eight rows of men between them and Crassus. Even if Spartacus had been uninjured, they might not have been able to reach him. As it was, they had no chance. He met the optio’s shield with a fierce drive of his own. To Spartacus, ‘We’ve got to pull back!’
‘Never! We can still kill that son of a bitch Crassus!’
Carbo parried a gladius thrust by raising his scutum. In return, he lunged forward with his blade; withdrawing, he looked again. Crassus now looked as far away as the moon. It was asking the impossible even to try. He wasn’t going to leave Spartacus, though. Never. A strange madness took him. ‘All right then! CRASSUS! CRASSUS!’ He saw the ornate helmet turn; saw the arrogant expression he’d seen in Rome. Hatred twisted his guts. ‘We’re coming for you, Crassus!’ It gave Carbo the most intense satisfaction to see a flicker of fear pass across the general’s face.
Punch. The optio’s shield boss smacked into him. Carbo was driven back a step; he fought not to fall over.
‘Think you can kill our general?’ roared the optio. ‘You’ve got to get through me first.’
Bellowing with rage, Carbo went on the attack. His speed caught the officer by surprise, and he managed to slice open the Roman’s cheek, a minor but painful injury. Encouraged, Carbo pressed forward.
‘You’re crazy,’ spat the optio. ‘Don’t you know when you’re beaten?’
‘Piss off!’
‘Take a look around you, fool! You’re almost alone.’
The back of Carbo’s throat filled with acid. The optio pulled back a step, as if to invite him to check the veracity of his words. At first glance, all seemed well. Taxacis was still on Spartacus’ far side. Carbo could see other soldiers beyond. Then his head turned to the left. Horror filled him. Zeuxis was still on his feet, but the deep gash on his neck told its own brutal story. Marcion was there, ducking to avoid the thrusts of a bearded legionary, but that was it. He twisted his neck further. No, please, no. Perhaps forty or fifty men were still behind them. The rest were backing away, some slowly, fighting the Romans who were charging forward, but the majority had turned to run. Shields and swords already littered the ground. Despair took Carbo. The dream was over.
‘Convinced?’ The optio swept forward, lunging with his gladius.
Carbo spun back, raised his guard too late.
With incredible speed, Spartacus’ sica came scything around from the right. It took the optio in the neck, removing his head with ease. Carbo had never seen blood fountain so high in the air. It rose in a thick jet to eye height as the head, helmet and all, spun gracefully to one side. The optio’s body took another step forward before it crumpled, twitching, to the ground. The nearest legionaries pulled back in instinctive horror, granting the pair momentary respite.
Even injured, he’s still more skilful than me, thought Carbo in amazement.
‘Help me take off my helmet.’
He didn’t understand. ‘Eh?’
‘Do as I ask!’
Carbo shoved his gladius under his left armpit, then leaned over and fiddled with the chinstrap. After a moment, it came undone. Spartacus ripped off the helmet and flung it to the ground.
‘Why did you do that?’
‘Go. Leave. Get away. It’s over.’ There was a touch of grey to Spartacus’ face now, but his voice was still commanding.
With sickening insight, Carbo understood. He threw it away so he can’t be recognised after he’s been killed. ‘I’m staying right here!’
‘Find Ariadne. Protect her and the baby. Get them away from here with Atheas, before the madness begins.’
