Again Carbo shook his head in refusal.
‘Finish the stupid bastard!’ roared Crixus.
‘ Iugula! Iugula! ’ shouted many of the gladiators. ‘Kill him!’
Spartacus glanced up at the balcony. There was no longer any sign of Batiatus. Phortis merely shrugged. He didn’t care whether Carbo lived or died.
The roar of ‘ Iugula ’ swelled until the very walls of the ludus rang with it.
Spartacus glanced around the square, and saw the fighters’ bloodlust. He felt it himself. The decision was down to him. His strength and the proximity of the strike meant that even with a wooden sword, Carbo ran a real risk of dying. He hardened his heart. Is that my fault? The fool had had two chances, and refused both. If he didn’t follow through now, the other gladiators would see him as weak. He’s only a fucking Roman after all. With a snarl, Spartacus pulled back his right arm.
Suddenly, Carbo realised that he might have pushed things too far. He clenched his teeth in bitter acceptance.
‘No,’ whispered Ariadne. ‘You can’t kill an unarmed man.’
‘ Iugula! Iugula! ’
Closing his left eye, Spartacus took aim at the small hollow at the base of Carbo’s throat. If he drove the wooden sword in hard enough there, it would kill the Roman. So be it.
‘Hold!’ bellowed Batiatus through the shouting.
Spartacus barely heard. He just managed to check himself. Confused, he squinted up at the lanista.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘He won’t give in,’ replied Spartacus. ‘And Phortis didn’t say not to.’
Batiatus rounded on the Capuan. ‘Idiot! I step away from the balcony for a moment, and this is what happens? Why didn’t you end the fight? Carbo fought well enough for a tiro. He might be inexperienced, but he’s no good to me as a damn corpse. Eh?’
‘No, sir,’ muttered Phortis. He shot a vengeful look at Spartacus.
‘Step away from him,’ ordered Batiatus.
Spartacus did as he was told.
Ariadne felt a wave of relief. The Roman would live. She glanced at Spartacus again, feeling awe, and a little fear. Gods, but he is a tough bastard.
Slowly, the Roman sat up. Thank you, Jupiter.
‘I didn’t expect you to fight so well, Carbo. But your inexperience was also obvious. You have a lot to learn,’ said the lanista. ‘The first thing should be that if you go into a fight looking to die, you’ll probably succeed.’ He smiled at the guffaws this produced.
Carbo nodded wearily. With an effort, he took off his helmet.
‘Return tomorrow. You’ll be paid your joining fee, and you can start training at once. My lawyer will have drawn up the contract by then.’ Batiatus turned and was gone.
‘The entertainment is over. Back to your training!’ Phortis shouted. He threw another venomous stare at Spartacus, but the Thracian ignored him.
Carbo’s voice broke into his reverie. ‘You were going to kill me.’
‘Of course I was, idiot. What do you expect me to do when you wouldn’t give in — try to talk you out of it?’
Carbo flushed. ‘No.’ There’s no mercy in this world.
‘You were foolish not to yield when I knocked you over,’ said Spartacus harshly, feeling a trace of remorse. He’s only a boy.
‘I see that now. I was trying to…’ Carbo hesitated.
‘You want to die? There’s no need to come here. Why not fling yourself in front of a chariot at the races? Or off a bridge into a damn river?’
‘It’s not that. I wanted to prove to Batiatus that I was brave enough,’ muttered Carbo.
‘Eh?’ Spartacus barked. ‘Well, you did that. You showed real ability too.’
Carbo blinked in surprise. ‘Ability?’ he repeated.
‘That’s what I said. Why not put it to some use?’
Carbo met Spartacus’ unwavering gaze, and saw that he was not joking. His chin lifted. ‘All right. I will.’
‘Good.’ The Roman had humility as well as courage, thought Spartacus. Despite the fact that Crixus’ and Phortis’ animosity towards him had deepened, he was glad now that he hadn’t killed Carbo. ‘Keep your mouth shut. Listen to your trainer. Watch men like Crixus, the big Gaul. Learn how they fight. If you can do that, you might still be alive in six months’ time. That’s all any of us in here can expect.’
‘Thank you.’
Spartacus stalked back to where Getas and Seuthes were standing with Amarantus. From the corner of his eye, he was aware of other gladiators giving him approving nods. Excellent. In being prepared to kill Carbo, he’d done the right thing.
Unaware of the politics, Carbo looked around for Phortis. He needed to ask if he could stay immediately. There was little point returning to his garret, where his rent would run out again in a week. He could use some of his joining fee to pay it, but it would be a waste. His bed and board here came with his contract. It would be tough here, however. Already there were lascivious glances coming his way from a few fighters. Carbo squared his shoulders. Screw them. I’ll make a go of it.
Ariadne also noticed the favourable looks being thrown at Spartacus. She was surprised by the sudden pride that filled her. Her husband was making a name for himself. No doubt that had been his primary motive in being prepared to kill Carbo, she reflected. She knew enough of Spartacus now to know that he was not a cold-blooded killer. His new status would make life in the ludus safer for her too. Then Ariadne saw Phortis leering at her, and her fears resurged.
Safer from the gladiators, at least.
Over the following few days, two other gladiators picked quarrels with Spartacus. He’d gone for the kill in both fights, battering one of the men, a Nubian, until he was unconscious, and the other, a blocky German, until he’d begged for mercy. After that, it was if Spartacus had passed some kind of test. The fighters began to give him a wide berth. Soon after, he was approached by a number of Thracians. They came offering their allegiance. Their approach was most welcome. Spartacus had realised that survival and status in the ludus was all about being a member of a group. The oddments of the ludus, a disparate group of nationalities, were the only ones who were leaderless. Under Oenomaus, the Germans were well organised into one bloc. The Samnites were loyal to the charismatic but dangerous Gavius. Even the quarrelsome Gauls had Crixus, Castus and Gannicus. Three factions rather than one, but both were a damn sight stronger than the ten or more bunches of Thracians that had gradually evolved.
Spartacus was therefore content to accept the warriors’ fealty. The knowledge that they regarded him as their leader gave him a warm feeling in his belly, like the times he’d recruited war bands in Thrace. It was only a start, but a start nonetheless. Certainly it felt better than just waiting to be killed in the arena. While word had got out that Ariadne was a priestess, making men look at her with more reverence than they had, it didn’t mean that she was safe. His increased number of followers meant that he could ensure she was watched over far more closely. It also meant that Crixus, who was still clearly spoiling for a fight, kept his distance. Spartacus knew that this was putting off the inevitable, but when the time came to take on the huge Gaul, he wanted it to be on his terms. ‘More often than not, the general who chooses the battlefield wins the fight,’ his father had often said. To this end, Spartacus drove himself to new lengths with his training, continuing to run around the courtyard and lift weights long after Amarantus had finished with him for the day. While Getas and Seuthes moaned bitterly, they too stuck to his regime.
One evening, Spartacus was actually glad to call an end to his exercise. Thanks to the dark, threatening clouds filling the sky, it was growing dark earlier than normal. A bitter autumn wind was whipping down into the yard, penetrating his tunic with ease. The sweat that coated his body was being cooled even as it formed. Spartacus didn’t want to catch a chill for the sake of a few extra laps. ‘Let’s call it a day,’ he said.
‘Thank the Rider,’ said Getas, purple-faced. ‘I thought you’d never say that.’
‘To the baths?’ asked Seuthes.
‘Where else?’ Spartacus led the way.
