‘What about you?’
A harsh laugh. ‘I’m going nowhere. The Rider is waiting for me.’
‘And me!’ Taxacis had never sounded fiercer.
Carbo’s mind raced as it had never done. He knew the chaos that descended on battlefields when one side began to run away. That was when most casualties were suffered. Panicking men without weapons made the easiest targets. Apart from women and babies, that was. Even with Aventianus and the Scythian to hand, they would have little chance of survival. He stared at Spartacus, torn between his need to stay loyal and the desire to honour his leader’s request. ‘I-’
‘Please. I ask you as a friend.’ Spartacus’ eyes held his like a vice.
Throat closed with emotion, Carbo nodded.
‘Go, or it will be too late!’ Spartacus pushed at him weakly with his shield.
Carbo obeyed, stumbling away like a drunk man. The tears that had not come before flowed at last, half blinded his vision. He wiped them away savagely, aware that if he wasn’t careful, he would trip over a body. Around him, soldiers were shouting, crying, turning to flee. The sense of panic was thick enough to cut with a knife. At times like this, men lost all reason. If he went down, he’d be trampled into the bloody earth. Carbo didn’t care about himself, but he had to save Ariadne and Maron. He’d given his word.
Gripping his sword and shield tightly, Carbo began to run. With every step, shame cut at him like butcher’s knives. He had abandoned Spartacus, who had saved his life so many times. Left him to his death.
Carbo did not look back.
Chapter XIX
South of the Silarus valley
Maron whimpered. It was his new sound, thought Ariadne sadly. Pulling down the neck of her dress, she put him to the breast. Although she had precious little milk, it would keep him quiet for a while. She stared down at him, feeling a mixture of love and immeasurable sorrow. You look so like Spartacus
It wasn’t surprising that Maron was unsettled, she thought, gazing around their small forest camp, which contained only a rough shelter fashioned from branches and outside it, a stone ring fireplace. He hadn’t known what was happening two days previously either, when the tide of battle had swung in Crassus’ favour. He’d been fast asleep until the clash of weapons and the screaming had woken him. That was when Atheas had ordered her to grab him and to throw a few things in a pack. She’d never seen the Scythian so worried. ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ he had shouted as she’d fumbled a couple of blankets and a spare swaddling cloth into a satchel and handed him the basket containing her snake. Outside, they had found Aventianus standing guard, a gladius clutched in his fist. It was at that moment that Ariadne had stared down at the battle and seen how bad things were.
Their army’s flanks had lost all semblance of order. Thousands of men had been streaming away from the Roman trenches, pursued by waves of legionaries. In the centre, she had made out a small bloc of soldiers still fighting — had Spartacus been among them? — but the overwhelming enemy numbers surrounding them offered but one outcome. The sight had frozen Ariadne to the spot with shock and grief. Only Atheas’ arm around her shoulders had brought her alive again, and given her the strength to move.
It had soon become apparent how fortuitous the tent’s position near the back of the camp had been. The rocky massif to its rear had afforded no escape route, so most soldiers were fleeing through the tent lines some distance below them. A few, mad with panic, had climbed up to the same level, but the sight of Atheas’ and Aventianus’ naked blades had kept them at a respectful distance. Having to threaten their old comrades seemed insane, but it had since become their reality. Ariadne had thought to be safe once they’d reached the mountains, but scores of stragglers had continued to cross their path. On Carbo’s advice, they were shunning all contact unless it was unavoidable. In his opinion — and Atheas agreed — no one could now be trusted unless he was known to them, or had proved himself. It was part of the reason why they were hiding like wild animals in the most remote spot that the Scythian could find. Five soldiers approved by Carbo had joined them subsequently. Ariadne felt a little safer for their presence. Extra men to hunt also meant more food. More than one of the new arrivals had mentioned the rumour they’d heard: that thousands of survivors were heading for the hills above Thurii, but she didn’t want to consider following until her grief had subsided a little. Until she could bear the idea of leaving the battlefield — and Spartacus’ body — behind for ever.
Maron made another grumbling noise as he snuffled at her breast.
‘Is he sick?’
Ariadne looked up. She managed a half-smile. ‘No, he’s just tired, and upset. And hungry.’
‘Like us all,’ replied Carbo with a sigh.
‘We should be grateful to be alive. If it wasn’t for you and the others-’
‘I didn’t do much,’ he said, waving a dismissive hand.
Ariadne remembered the pack of terrified men who’d come pounding towards them as they had reached the edge of the camp. They probably hadn’t even known who she and her two companions were. The fact that they had been blocking the path eastward, the only direction not filled with Roman troops, had been enough for the deserters to threaten them. Shoving her and Maron to the rear, Atheas and Aventianus had prepared to sell their lives dearly. Ariadne had begun to pray for a quick death when, from nowhere, Carbo had appeared behind the gang. Drenched in blood, screaming like a lunatic, he had cut down two men with savage thrusts of his gladius. The rest had taken to their heels. ‘You saved our lives, Carbo,’ she said quietly.
His gaze slid away.
She touched his arm. ‘It’s true. I cannot thank you enough.’
‘I left Spartacus behind,’ he muttered. And Arnax. The boy had probably got away, he told himself yet again. The same couldn’t be said of his leader.
‘It’s pointless torturing yourself. It wasn’t for you to choose the way he died, any more than it was mine.’
Carbo was shocked out of his own grief for a moment.
‘Spartacus was his own master. You must respect his decision to die fighting. As, somehow, must I.’ Her gaze grew distant. Deep in her gut, Ariadne worried that her dream of the crucifixes would now come true. If it did, she prayed that Spartacus would not have suffered that degrading fate. That was why she had not seen him, she thought, trying — and failing — to wrest certainty from the dream.
‘I do respect it,’ he protested.
She saw that there was more. ‘You think that you should have died with him.’
Carbo didn’t answer, but the agony in his eyes said it all.
‘What would have happened to me and Maron if you’d done that?’
‘I don’t know,’ he replied uneasily.
‘I think you do. Can you not remember the group of deserters that attacked us?’
No answer.
‘Is that the end you would have wanted for me? For Spartacus’ son?’
‘Of course not!’
‘Doing what you did — leaving him — means that Spartacus’ memory will live on. Not just in men’s hearts and minds, but in real flesh and blood.’ She caressed Maron’s head. ‘Is that not a worthwhile deed?’
He stared at the baby, his face twitching with unreadable emotion. ‘Yes,’ he muttered. ‘It is.’
‘I cannot think of a finer legacy. A better way to ensure that Rome’s victory was not total. Can you?’ The words were to assuage her own savage grief as much as to help Carbo. To Ariadne’s ears, they rang hollow. That might not be the case for ever, but for the moment she knew that if it weren’t for Maron, she might have already given up.
Carbo’s lips finally tugged into a smile. ‘Crassus would hate to know that Spartacus’ son was alive.’
‘He would.’ She touched Maron’s smooth cheek, and he redoubled his efforts on her breast. ‘That is why he must never know about him.’
Their conversation was disturbed by Aventianus. ‘Pssst!’ He pointed beyond the clearing. Hearing movement in the undergrowth, Carbo ushered Ariadne into the shelter. He ran to join Aventianus. They both drew their
