‘That’s useful to know.’ Spartacus pointed north. ‘Leave now, and you could reach your master’s property by nightfall. They might not have even noticed your absence.’
‘No,’ protested Aventianus. ‘I came here to join you!’
‘We’re all going to be killed,’ advised Spartacus softly.
‘I don’t care!’ Aventianus pointed at the irregular scar on his face. ‘See this? That was made by a hot poker. My punishment for a minor offence two years ago. Dying here with you — as a free man — is far more appealing than returning to that.’
Spartacus threw a meaningful look at the three Gauls. Why can’t you pricks be like him? ‘In that case, we’d be proud to have you join us.’
‘Thank you.’
‘You must be tired and hungry,’ said Spartacus. He glanced at Atheas again. ‘Take Aventianus to the cooking area. See that he is fed and watered. Afterwards, he’ll need a weapon and somewhere to sleep.’
As the pair disappeared, he turned to the others. The news had made his determination resurge with a vengeance. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think that we’re fucked,’ snapped Castus.
Spartacus bit down on his anger. If you and your men had bothered to do some training, you might not be so damn pessimistic. ‘Oenomaus?’
‘It’s hard to disagree with Castus. Unless we want to find ourselves alone, however, we should keep it to ourselves. I’m not running away and I’m not about to surrender. I’m here to fight.’
Crixus bristled. ‘So am I!’
‘And me,’ added Gannicus quickly.
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Oenomaus replied. ‘The first thing to do then is to come up with a plan of action. Decide on the best way to cause maximum casualties among the whoresons before they overrun us.’
A cruel smile spread across Castus’ face. ‘Sounds appealing.’
‘And to me,’ said Spartacus. Well handled, Oenomaus. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought. With only one decent path to the summit, it’s obvious which way they’ll come. I’ve earmarked a good position at the steepest point. If we stockpile large stones and boulders there, they can be easily rolled down on any attackers.’
‘The track is very narrow,’ added Crixus. ‘By my reckoning, three men with shields standing abreast could hold it against all comers.’
‘Shields?’ asked Spartacus.
‘I know, I know. We don’t have any. But once we’ve killed a few of the dogs, that will change.’ Crixus glared at them, daring them to challenge his idea.
‘I was thinking along the same lines,’ said Spartacus. He didn’t say what else was on his mind. How many men will we lose in the process? ‘The two Nubians have slings. They can rain down stones on the Romans the moment that they come within range; smaller rocks can be gathered for the rest of us to throw. Their shields will give the bastards some protection, but we’ll injure plenty of them. They won’t be able to do a thing about it.’ Don’t fool yourself. It will be like trying to halt a column of ants. Easy to stamp on a few hundred, but impossible to stop them all.
But his words had the desired effect. Castus in particular looked much happier. ‘I’ll get my men to start searching out boulders. The more we have, the better,’ he said, stamping off. Gannicus walked away with Crixus, already arguing over who would stand in the front line.
Oenomaus waited until the Gauls were out of earshot. ‘What if they don’t attack?’
Spartacus had half thought of this option, but dismissed it. After all, the Romans were fond of confrontation — open battle. But not always. ‘You think they’d do that?’
‘Unless Glaber wants to lose scores of soldiers before they’ve even reached our lines, it’s the sensible choice. I would set a couple of hundred men to watch the path and then just sit and wait.’
‘Starve us out of here, you mean,’ growled Spartacus.
‘Yes. It’s slow, but effective, and far less costly in human lives.’
‘If we charge down to attack them, we lose our only advantage. That of height.’
They stared at each other without speaking. The good feeling that had been present a few moments before had vanished. Their cause seemed hopeless once more.
Spartacus set his jaw. This is no time to give up. I chose to be here. ‘Let’s prepare everything as we discussed. There’s no point worrying about things we can do nothing to prevent.’
‘Agreed.’
‘I’ll talk to Ariadne. Maybe her god will give us some guidance at last.’
Oenomaus grinned. ‘That’d be most welcome.’
If it doesn’t come soon, it will be too late.
Chapter XI
It was mid-afternoon when Glaber and his soldiers were spotted. Hearing the lookout’s yell, everyone in the camp stopped what they were doing and climbed up to the crater’s lip. In the middle distance, a long, winding black line could be seen on the road that led from Capua. It was too far away to make out the individual figures of men or beasts, but after Aventianus’ news, the column could be but one thing. The instrument of their doom. For a long time, none of those watching spoke to, or even looked at, another. All eyes were locked on the approaching troops. The ominous silence was broken only by the faint whistle of the wind.
Eventually, Spartacus stirred. It wasn’t just pointless staring at the Romans, it was dangerous. He could feel the gladiators’ morale diminishing with every moment that passed. ‘Back to work! There is still plenty to do,’ he shouted. ‘I want hundreds of large rocks ready to roll down at the enemy. Thousands of stones to throw, and for the slingers to use. Every sword and dagger needs an edge on it that will shave the hairs off your arm. Those whoresons are going to regret that they ever came here!’
All the men did as they were told, but few smiled. Even fewer laughed.
Spartacus threw Ariadne a questioning look. The tiny, dismissive shake of her head that he received in return felt like a punch to his solar plexus. Is this it, Great Rider? He shook his head, pushing away his worry. ‘Atheas, Taxacis. Follow the path down the mountain. Get as close as you can to the Romans without being seen. I want to know their every move. How their camp is laid out. The number of sentries. Be sure to return before sunset.’
Grinning fiercely at their new duty, the Scythians trotted off.
Spartacus went to pray to the Great Rider.
And to sharpen his sica.
Thanks to the trees blanketing Vesuvius’ upper slopes, the Roman column was lost to sight as it reached the base of the mountain late that afternoon. If anything, its disappearance increased the tension. Tempers grew short, and men snapped irritably at each other. Some distance from the camp, a German gladiator who was collecting rocks ran away when his comrades’ backs were turned. Angry shouts went up when he was spotted, but Oenomaus ordered that the fugitive should not be pursued. ‘Who wants a man like that by his side when the fighting starts?’ he bellowed.
The sun was low in the sky when Atheas and Taxacis reappeared. Spartacus was conferring with Oenomaus and the three Gauls, but their conversation stopped the instant the warriors approached. ‘Well?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘They have made… camp. Typical type,’ Atheas began.
Spartacus saw the others’ confusion. Born into slavery, they would never have seen the temporary fortifications thrown up every night by Romans on the march. ‘It will be rectangular, with an entrance on each side,’ he explained. ‘The whole thing will be surrounded by an earthen rampart the height of a man, topped with stakes. Outside that, they’ll have dug a waist-deep protective ditch.’
Atheas nodded in agreement. ‘We count… one picket in front… each wall. Hundred paces out.’
‘Is that all? Arrogant bastards,’ sneered Crixus.
‘Any activity on the path to the peak?’ asked Spartacus, his stomach clenching.
