what had happened clutched at his vitals. The shitbags have left their weapons and run already. Suddenly, Cossinius’ mouth was as dry as the bed of a desert stream. This kind of misfortune did not happen to him. Half the men under his command did not just run away. Slaves did not overwhelm regular legionaries. The world’s gone mad.
‘Sir?’
Cossinius was dimly aware of someone tugging at his arm.
‘What are your orders, sir?’
He looked stupidly at the more senior staff officer. ‘Eh?’
The officer gestured at the carnage with a trembling arm. ‘What shall we do, sir?’
An image of Glaber falling on his sword filled Cossinius’ mind. Not for him the ignominy of that end. He would not leave such a shameful stain on his family’s good name. Far better to die in battle, facing the enemy with a sword in his hand. He felt a passing twinge of regret. He’d never get to screw the attractive slave now. ‘We advance,’ Cossinius said calmly.
‘A-advance, sir?’
‘You heard me. Roman senators and noblemen do not run from slaves!’ He reached down and picked up a discarded scutum, the back of which was spattered with blood. Its owner’s blood, thought Cossinius vaguely. ‘Find shields, both of you. We’ll show these whoresons how Romans can die.’
‘Yes, sir!’ The officer grabbed a scutum. Shamefaced, his companion did the same. They drew their gladii.
‘Form up either side of me,’ ordered Cossinius. ‘Stay close.’
As the officers obeyed, a group of nearby slaves saw their pathetic shield wall. Without hesitation, they charged in a heaving, screaming mass. Swords and javelins waved, promising death in all kinds of ways.
‘Prepare to meet an enemy attack,’ ordered Cossinius. Crassus was right, he thought wryly. Spartacus is a man to be respected.
Chapter XVI
The sun was dropping in the sky as Spartacus worked his way through the camp, which now sprawled over a huge area, far beyond the earthen ramparts erected by Glaber’s men. Greetings rang out from everyone who noticed him, and he made sure to smile in return or engage in a few words of encouragement before moving on. Inside, Spartacus was troubled by the number of gaunt faces on view.
After Cossinius’ defeat and death, the tide of new recruits seeking to join him — men, women and children — had turned into a veritable flood. The camp at the top of Vesuvius had rapidly swelled to bursting point. With more severe weather imminent, he had taken the decision to move everyone down to the remnants of Glaber’s encampment at the bottom of the mountain. While this meant that his fifteen thousand followers were shielded from the worst extremes of the elements, it did not provide them with any food.
It also left them open to attack from Varinius, who had regrouped his forces and camped about five miles away. Despite the swelling of his forces’ strength, Spartacus still did not want to fight the Romans in open battle. Perhaps five thousand men were trained to the standards he’d want, but the rest weren’t nearly ready for face-to- face combat; nor did they have enough equipment. Slave chains gave Pulcher and the other smiths limited amounts of iron to forge swords and spears, and fire-hardened sharp-ended stakes would only go so far when fighting fully armoured legionaries. Sometimes Spartacus wished that he were in Thrace, with as many battle-hardened warriors as he had followers here. He didn’t dwell on the pleasing thought, because having that many Thracians under one banner — his — was little more than a fantasy. His quest to unify the tribes against Rome might have succeeded, but it was as likely that he’d have been slain during his attempt. His men here were real. He just needed to train them, and keep the army from splitting up. Damn Crixus for a fool!
Brooding, he approached the fire by his tent, where Ariadne stood. She was tending a blackened pot that hung over the flames. Spartacus’ breath plumed in the chill air. He rubbed his hands together and extended them towards the heat. ‘That smells good. What is it?’
Ariadne looked up. ‘It’s what’s left of last night’s stew, with more water added.’
He shrugged. ‘The men are raiding every farm, and killing whatever game they can. But the Romans are everywhere now. It’s difficult to hunt when you’re keeping one eye out all the time for an enemy patrol. At least we’ve something to eat. There are others in the camp going hungry.’
She sighed. ‘I’m sorry. You have enough to worry about without me complaining.’
‘It’s all right.’ He put an arm around her waist. ‘But we need to move from here. Soon, too.’
She cocked her head at him. ‘Why now?’
‘We might have defeated Varinius and his men twice now, and raided their camps as well, but he has learned from his mistakes — and those of his officers. The fortifications around his new encampment are taller than I’ve ever seen, and the defensive ditch is deep enough to float a damn ship in. We’d have more chance of storming Hades than it.’ He scowled. ‘Winter is coming too. It’s going to get harder to find supplies. The best way to avoid people starving is to find a safer place to camp.’
‘Surely that’s simple enough?’ She looked at his face and used her intuition. The same thought had troubled her since they’d broken out of the ludus. ‘Let me guess. Crixus won’t go along with your idea.’
‘Of course not. He wants to fight Varinius. He says only cowards run from an enemy. Castus agrees with him.’
‘But we wouldn’t be running! Merely moving to a more secure base.’ There was another option, thought Ariadne guiltily. She and Spartacus and a few others — the Scythians, the Thracians and maybe Carbo — could leave. Make their way out of Italy. It seemed cowardly even to think it, so she did her best to bury the idea.
‘I told him that,’ said Spartacus. ‘It’s not as if we won’t have to fight the Romans again! The prick wasn’t having any of it, though. He’s talking about leaving, taking his men with him. Castus might go too.’
The Gaulish leaders had quickly realised that the recruits flooding in were a source of recruits to their own factions. All three had won great popularity among countless hundreds of the slaves. If Crixus and Castus departed, it would considerably reduce Spartacus’ strength. Worried now, Ariadne stared at him. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to enjoy my stew, and then I’m taking my wife to bed. Maybe she can warm the chill from my bones.’ He squeezed her hip.
Ariadne wanted the same thing too, but she forced a frown. ‘I’m being serious.’
His grin faded. ‘I know you are. I’ve called a council of war for the morning.’
‘And?’
‘With the Great Rider’s blessing, I will persuade them both to stay with us.’ The muscles in his jaw worked. ‘If they have any sense at all, they’ll have come to that conclusion anyway.’
She pulled away from his embrace. ‘Feed yourself,’ she said crisply, reaching for her cloak. ‘I’ll be back in a while.’
Spartacus’ eyebrows rose. ‘Where are you going?’
‘To ask for Dionysus’ support. We need all the help we can get.’
Spartacus’ thoughts of sex faded. He stared grimly after Ariadne as she vanished into the gloom. She’s right.
Reluctant to turn in before he heard whether Ariadne had any news, Spartacus stayed by the fire. Wrapping a pair of blankets around himself to ward off the cold, he poured out a bowl of stew and sat down to eat. The food was gone all too soon, but his still grumbling belly was the least of his concerns. Crixus. It always came down to the arrogant and argumentative Crixus. I could fight him again. Spartacus dismissed the idea at once. After their previous clash, the Gaul would insist on fighting with weapons. Even if he beat Crixus, he’d probably have to kill him, which would be counter-productive. There was no guarantee that Castus would stay in that instance either. Take him on too? No. I can’t fight everyone in the damn army. There must be a way of convincing them not to leave.
More than two hours passed. Full night had fallen, and the moon was climbing from the distant horizon. It was growing steadily colder, and the camp had gone quiet. Apart from the sentries, everyone had sought the
