‘No fucking way. You had your chance.’ Ham-like fists reached out to grab Spartacus’ tunic.
Spartacus ducked back, out of the way, and then darted forward to plant a fist in the other’s solar plexus. He used all his strength. The bearded man’s mouth opened in a great ‘O’ of surprise as the air left his lungs, and he sank to his knees like a stunned ox.
There was instant uproar. Benches clattered to the ground. A dozen Germans jumped up. Weapons glinted as they were whipped out, and Spartacus knew he had the briefest instant to speak before they were buried in his flesh. ‘Oenomaus! I regret downing your man, but he wouldn’t listen to me. There is something else.’
To his surprise and relief, Oenomaus raised a hand. His glowering supporters held back. He raised an eyebrow. ‘This had better be good.’
‘It is,’ promised Spartacus. ‘As Crassus went upstairs yesterday, I heard him say that he needed twenty skilled fighters for a munus. He seemed keen to buy them from here.’
‘Nothing remarkable about that,’ snapped Oenomaus. His men took a step towards Spartacus and this time, he didn’t stop them.
‘They are all to fight in contests to the death.’ Again he had all of their attention. What Spartacus didn’t say — didn’t need to say — was that at least half of the men would be German.
‘You’re lying!’
Spartacus stared straight at Oenomaus. ‘I swear on the grave of my mother, and by Dionysus and the Great Rider, that I am not.’
Oenomaus frowned.
Spartacus threw up another prayer, asking the gods for their help.
‘Who would lead this enterprise?’
Another loaded question, thought Spartacus. Thank the Rider he’d come up with the answer beforehand. ‘No one man. Both of us will look after our own followers. The same will apply to Gavius and the Gauls’ leaders, if they want to be part of it.’
Oenomaus grunted. ‘Where would we go?’
‘I don’t know yet. But one of my men is the new auctoratus. He knows the area, and can give us some ideas.’ That’s it. I’ve done my best.
There was a long pause.
Then Oenomaus leered. His expression was all teeth, like a wolf’s. ‘Count us in.’ He winked at those around him, and like a pack who have spotted an easier prey to take down, they growled in agreement.
Spartacus’ heart leaped. He gave a tiny nod, as if he’d expected nothing else. ‘Good.’
‘Can you persuade the others to join too?’
He offered the German a confident smile. ‘Leave them to me.’
‘Keep me informed.’
‘I will. Not a word to anyone.’ Movement flickered at the edge of Spartacus’ vision. A quick look told him it was Phortis. Shit! He framed the Capuan’s name with his lips.
Oenomaus winked to show he’d understood.
Spartacus kicked the bearded German. ‘Tell this idiot to watch his step.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ yelled Oenomaus.
Spartacus backed away slowly, as if wary of being attacked. The Germans showered him with insults as he went. When Spartacus looked again, Phortis was smirking at the apparent enmity between him and Oenomaus. He’s taken the bait. Good.
Encouraged by his early success, Spartacus spent the rest of the day approaching other leaders in the ludus. When Gavius, the stocky fighter who led more than forty Samnites, heard of Oenomaus’ involvement, he was quick to promise his support. So too were the majority of the Thracians. Spartacus had no such luck with Castus and Gannicus, who led two separate groups of Gauls. Neither seemed as if they’d inform on him, but the pair couldn’t put aside their suspicion of the other factions, let alone of each other. He made no effort to talk to the remaining fighters. They were made up of too many nationalities. Spartacus didn’t bother trying to win over Crixus either. The big man’s glare followed him around the yard and told him his likely response.
Troubled by his failures, he took counsel with Getas and Seuthes. Carbo lingered in the background, feeling honoured to be included.
‘Maybe we should just forget about the Gauls,’ said Getas, scowling. ‘They’re troublesome bastards at the best of times.’
Seuthes chuckled. ‘He’s not wrong there.’
‘Yes, but they’re fearsome bloody fighters,’ added Spartacus. ‘Once we’re on the outside, we’ll be completely alone, with no friends. Every man’s hand will be turned against us. Think of that.’ If we succeed, where will we go? He felt a thrill of hope. I could go back to Thrace. Find Kotys.
‘It’s true,’ said Getas gloomily.
‘Fifty Gauls would make a huge difference to our capabilities,’ admitted Seuthes. ‘But you’ve already failed to persuade Castus and Gannicus, and Crixus is unapproachable. What else can we do?’
Spartacus frowned. ‘There has to be some way around this obstacle.’
‘Would they follow you if you beat them individually in combat?’ asked Carbo suddenly.
‘Eh?’ Seuthes rounded on him. ‘You want Spartacus to take on three champion fighters, one after another? Why don’t you do it instead, fool?’
Flushing, Carbo buttoned his lip.
‘I think you’re on to something.’
Spartacus ignored Getas and Seuthes’ shocked expressions, and Carbo’s confused one. ‘Obviously, I don’t want to fight all three of them. Even if I succeeded, I’d probably end up in the infirmary for a month. Neither Castus nor Gannicus would necessarily join if the other did.’
‘Of course not. They hate one another’s guts,’ said Getas.
‘But if I were to beat Crixus and he joined us, they might change their minds.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ whispered Seuthes. ‘Your arm isn’t healed. And the man’s a beast.’
‘Just leave it,’ advised Getas. ‘We can do it without the Gauls.’
‘Can we?’ Spartacus inclined his head at the patrolling guards. ‘Think of the casualties that those whoresons could cause in the first few moments. We’ve all seen attacks broken by a volley of arrows before. The same could happen here.’
A grim silence descended, and Carbo wished he’d kept his mouth shut. They had all seen the guards practising in the yard. Most could feather a target with half a dozen shafts inside sixty heartbeats.
If there was ever a time to fight Crixus, it was now, thought Spartacus. Up till now, he’d avoided confrontation because it would have been pointless. Now, there was so much to gain. If virtually every man in the ludus was taking part, they had a much greater chance of success. His gut feeling was that he should do it, and if he admitted it, Spartacus knew it was also because he wanted to be seen as the man who had unified the gladiators. Regardless of what happened once they’d escaped, that would not be forgotten. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? Crixus might break a few of my ribs,’ he joked.
Getas’ mouth opened in protest, and shut again. ‘When?’
‘In the morning,’ replied Spartacus. ‘After a good night’s sleep.’
‘But-’ said Carbo, worried now.
‘Leave it,’ warned Seuthes. ‘I’ve seen that look in his eyes many times before.’
‘You’re risking your life.’
‘And that’s my choice,’ grated Spartacus.
Carbo looked down. What if he fails? he thought in anguish. What if Crixus kills him? I’ll have no one to protect me. Guilt suffused him for being so selfish, but he couldn’t help it.
Chapter IX
The following day, Spartacus did not bother with breakfast. Having an empty stomach might give him an
