distinctive column of a Roman army, marching towards Vesuvius. Even if it only comprised a thousand men, it would look the same as the ones Spartacus had grown used to during the conquest of Thrace. Scouts and skirmishers to the front. Cavalry, and then the main body of infantry. The camp surveyors and their equipment, followed by the commander and his bodyguards. More cavalry. The senior officers with their escort. The rearguard. And after them, the raggle-taggle that trailed in the wake of every army since the dawn of time. Whores, traders of every description, soothsayers, shysters, entertainers and slave traders. Perhaps even the man appointed in Phortis’ place, sent by Batiatus to bring back those unfortunate enough to be captured alive.
I won’t be among them. Nor will Ariadne, Spartacus thought grimly. Death was far more attractive than returning to captivity, especially when it was achieved by hacking apart as many legionaries as he could. While that end appealed, it was impossible to deny that it was futile. Why not just leave?
‘Was this the mountain you dreamed of?’
Ariadne’s voice by his ear made Spartacus jump. ‘You crept up on me!’ he muttered, a trifle embarrassed. He studied his surroundings more closely. In the adrenalin rush of events since their escape, he hadn’t had the leisure to reconsider his dream. ‘Possibly. It’s certainly remote enough.’
‘And you have a sica.’ She tapped the sheathed weapon hanging from his baldric.
‘True.’ He’d been delighted to find a Thracian sword in the consignment that they’d chanced upon on the road from Capua.
‘You’re at altitude.’
‘Yes, but I’m not alone.’ He gestured at the camp below.
‘Not everything about a dream has to be accurate.’
Spartacus’ stomach tightened, and he scanned her face for clues. She spent much of her time praying to Dionysus. Maybe her prayers had been answered at last. ‘Have you gained an understanding of what I saw?’ He saw the regret flare in Ariadne’s eyes, and once again, he felt the snake wrapped around his throat. Does it represent the soldiers sent by Rome? Or the fate that awaits me if I try to return to Thrace? He lifted his eyes balefully to the heavens. What end have you planned for us, Great Rider?
‘It might not mean what you think.’
‘It’s hard to see how it doesn’t.’ Patting his flat belly, Spartacus changed the subject. ‘I’ve a mind to fill this with meat. Any meat will do. Beef. Pork. Lamb. Even goat. We need supplies too — particularly blankets and leather for making sandals. I’ll round up the men and search out an easy farm to raid. I’ll take everyone except Getas. He will stay here with you.’
Ariadne knew better than to ask if she could come. As a priestess, her value to the gladiators was incalculable. Besides, she didn’t want to see the casual slaughter and rape that would be an integral part of the expedition.
Spartacus slipped to Carbo’s side as they followed the game trail downwards through the forest. Atheas and Taxacis, the two Scythians, followed him silently, barely moving the thick bushes as they passed. Atheas was the one with the bushy black beard, while Taxacis had a broken nose like a squashed sausage. Since escaping the ludus, the pair had become his shadows. They even slept outside his tent, like faithful hunting dogs. Spartacus didn’t know why the skilled warriors had chosen to become his bodyguards, but he rested easier because of them. Getas couldn’t do it all on his own. Having to contend first with the fearsome Scythians would make any disgruntled gladiators think twice before trying to kill him.
He eyed Carbo sidelong. With all that had been going on since their escape, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to the young Roman. This was a chance to gauge Carbo’s loyalty once more. Inside the ludus, it hadn’t truly been tested, but things were about to change. ‘With luck, this little jaunt will bring us some sheep, or even cattle. Nothing like fresh meat roasted over a fire, eh?’
‘My belly’s rumbling already,’ admitted Carbo. His face clouded. ‘Will anyone be killed?’
‘I hope not. We’ll only be facing farm slaves and whatever arsehole owns them.’
‘I didn’t mean any of us.’
Spartacus shot him a sharp look. ‘I expect there’ll be a few casualties, yes. Don’t be surprised when escaped gladiators take their vengeance on some of the people that treated them like animals.’
‘I thought you were looking for food.’
‘We are,’ replied Spartacus innocently. ‘And if we happen to kill a Roman or two, it will be an added bonus.’
‘That’s not right!’ The words had escaped Carbo’s lips before he could stop them.
‘Is it not?’ Spartacus jabbed a finger into Carbo’s chest. ‘Your fucking legions have done far worse to my people. I’ve watched innumerable settlements being razed to the ground. Lost count of the old and infirm who were butchered because they were no use as slaves. Have you ever seen a baby that’s been gutted? Or a woman who’s been raped so many times that she’s lost her mind?’
Carbo flushed, and had the wits not to reply. He’s probably right.
‘If you don’t want to be part of it, you can piss off.’
Carbo’s feet stayed on the path.
There was a long pause.
‘Well?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘I’m staying.’
‘And when the time comes to fight?’ demanded Spartacus in a grating tone. ‘It’ll be legionaries who come against us next. Will you run rather than kill your own countrymen?’
‘No.’ Where would I go? To Rome, to become a lawyer? I’d rather be a latro.
‘How can I be sure?’ Spartacus’ grey eyes were threatening. ‘I have no need of a man I can’t rely on.’
‘You looked out for me in the ludus. No one else did, so I’m loyal to you,’ said Carbo passionately. ‘Even if it means fighting my own kind.’
Spartacus’ anger subsided a fraction. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he warned.
Carbo nodded in grim acceptance. It’s no different to the arena. Kill or be killed. That’s my only choice.
An hour later, Spartacus genuinely felt like a latro. The estate they’d found had seemed perfect. It was typical of the large latifundia in the area. Sprawling fields full of crops and livestock surrounded a yard, farm buildings and an enormous villa. The gladiators had headed for the latter before bothering with the sheep and cattle. It was unlikely that anyone would come to the owner’s aid but it paid to be cautious. They’d rounded up all visible slaves too. Spartacus didn’t understand it but some slaves felt an allegiance to their owners. He didn’t want anyone running off to spread the news until they were gone.
The killing had started soon after they reached the buildings. Hearing the commotion, the owner had emerged from his front door. A stocky man in early middle age with close-cut hair, he’d looked like an army veteran. Taking in the yelling gladiators and his wailing, terrified slaves, he’d plunged back into the villa. A few heartbeats later, he’d emerged at the head of a group of armed retainers. Waving an old but serviceable gladius, the Roman had charged straight at Crixus. Whooping with delight, the Gauls had closed around their attackers like a pack of hungry wolves.
Now, covered in stab wounds, and with his head almost severed, the man lay in a huge pool of blood. Similarly treated, the corpses of his domestic slaves lay all around him. His wife and two teenage daughters were on their backs nearby, screaming at the top of their lungs. On top of each was a bare-arsed gladiator, shoving away between their open legs. Laughing and joking with one another, a dozen others waited their turn. Spartacus, who was sitting on the edge of a fountain by the entrance to the yard, kept his gaze averted. He was waiting for the most disciplined of his men — the Scythians and two of the Thracians — to return and report what they’d found in the way of weapons, grain and other supplies.
‘Can’t you stop this?’ Carbo waved at the baying mob of fighters. ‘It’s disgusting.’
‘It is,’ agreed Spartacus wearily. ‘But it’s also inevitable. Moreover, if I tried to stop what was going on, those men would kill me without batting an eyelid. So I let them get on with it.’
‘They’re animals!’ spat Carbo.
‘No. They’re warriors who haven’t had a woman in months, or even years. Do your precious legionaries act any differently when they sack a town? I doubt it very much.’
‘Legionaries would never carry on in such a sickening manner.’ Carbo knew the words weren’t true as they left his lips.
‘Believe that if you will.’
