happening. At least, that was the theory. In reality, he couldn’t be everywhere at once, but his presence in the central forum, where thousands of the slaves had gathered to celebrate, would be a moderating one. And that, he thought, surveying the general mayhem, could only be a good thing.
Huge fires burned all around him, fuelled by an endless supply of furniture from the surrounding houses. Dozens of sheep and cattle had been dragged from their pens and slaughtered on the spot, hacked into pieces of meat that could be skewered on lengths of wood and roasted over the flames. A number of musicians — men who had been freed during the attack? — played drums and lyres, reminding Spartacus of Thrace. The pounding rhythm had crowds of enthusiastic gladiators and slaves on their feet, dancing, swaying, stumbling from side to side. Guzzling down wine, they bellowed out songs at the tops of their voices. The differing tunes clashed to provide a jarring cacophony of sound, but they couldn’t conceal the animal noises of lust and pain coming through the darkness from every direction. Spartacus took a small swallow of wine. Much as he would have liked to blank out the dreadful sounds by drinking himself senseless, he would not do so. I need to stay alert. Rape is part of war, and war is what I am engaged in. I could not stop it all, even if I tried.
‘There you are,’ cried a voice.
‘Gannicus.’ Spartacus smiled as the moon-faced Gaul wove towards him. In one hand, he gripped a small amphora; in the other, a half-eaten hunk of meat. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he asked.
‘Yes, by Belenus! This is far better than freezing my arse off in a tent in the middle of nowhere.’ Gannicus belched. ‘You?’
‘It’s good to sit by a fire and drink some wine,’ replied Spartacus evasively.
Gannicus didn’t notice. He slumped down beside Spartacus with a great sigh. ‘The men needed this. Too much marching in the mountains with no damn food and they’d have started deserting, eh?’
‘True enough,’ admitted Spartacus ruefully.
Gannicus gave him a hard nudge. ‘But now even more will come flocking to join us!’
‘Which means we have to keep moving. More men means that more provisions will be needed.’
‘Where to? South again?’
‘Yes. The coastline along the Ionian Sea is said to be incredibly fertile. It has plentiful small towns for us to attack. The area was good enough for Hannibal for a decade or more, so it should be fine for us.’
‘Sounds excellent.’ Tearing off a piece of meat, Gannicus sat chewing contentedly.
‘I thought I’d find you two together,’ boomed Castus’ voice from the shadows. He emerged into the light, adjusting his belt.
Dirty bastard. I know what you’ve been doing. ‘Welcome!’ said Spartacus.
Wordlessly, Gannicus held out his amphora. Castus held it up to his mouth, letting the ruby liquid within pour down his throat. Much of it spilled over his face and neck, but he didn’t stop until he’d downed a good amount. ‘Gods, that’s tasty,’he declared, wiping droplets from his moustache. ‘I have a thirst on me tonight like I’ve never known.’
‘Find your own then,’ growled Gannicus, reaching out a meaty hand. ‘You’re not finishing mine.’
With a filthy look, Castus passed it back.
‘Here.’ Spartacus handed over his vessel.
Castus took it with a grin.
‘Where do you think Varinius is?’ asked Gannicus out of the blue.
Castus’ face soured. ‘Who cares? He’s nowhere near here.’
‘He’ll be looking for us. Be sure of that,’ said Spartacus.
The Gauls sucked on the bitter marrow of that, pleasing Spartacus. They need to know that the Romans won’t ever forget about us.
‘Another secret meeting without me? This is becoming a habit,’ sneered Crixus, swaggering in from a side street.
Castus and Gannicus bellowed with laughter. ‘Come and have a drink.’
Grumbling, and throwing sour looks at Spartacus, Crixus approached. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you preferred to meet without me.’
Spartacus wanted to smash his amphora over the big Gaul’s head, but he held his peace.
‘Shut up!’ cried Castus. ‘You’re the one who avoids our company.’
‘Aye,’ growled Crixus. ‘Well, you know the reason for that.’
‘Peace,’ said Gannicus, but Crixus was having none of it.
‘Not only does he tell us what to do all the time, but he interferes in business that isn’t his. Isn’t that right, Thracian?’
Spartacus felt a throbbing anger in his chest. He noted that Crixus’ tone was more belligerent than ever. The prick hasn’t forgotten what happened earlier. This is no time to be sitting. He stood carefully, pretending to smooth his tunic down. ‘We all agree on our tactics, and where we march. Don’t we?’ Gannicus nodded, Castus grimaced, and Crixus spat with contempt. As I expected. ‘You talk of business that isn’t mine. Care to explain?’
‘You know exactly what I mean!’
‘But the others don’t.’
Crixus grunted angrily. ‘Me and a pair of my lads were searching a house earlier, and we chanced upon two fine bits of stuff. Both slave girls. We were just starting to have fun with them when that little sewer rat arrived — what’s his name?’
‘You know what he’s called,’ said Spartacus icily.
‘ Carbo. Carbo burst in, telling some bullshit story about how one of the whores was his woman. I told him to piss off, so he scuttled off and came back with his master. Spartacus. With his two hunting dogs, the Scythians, in tow. They caught us hard at it, with our trousers down, and forced us to back off the women.’ Crixus glared as Castus chuckled. ‘Next thing, Carbo’s bitch somehow picked up Segomaros’ knife. She stabbed him to death with it! I wanted vengeance, but Spartacus was having none of it. This, when I’m one of the fucking leaders of the whole damn army!’
Castus’ and Gannicus’ expressions soured. ‘Is this true?’ demanded Castus.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Spartacus calmly. ‘Except Carbo wasn’t telling lies. One of the girls was his woman. Chloris, her name was. She used to be Amatokos’ lover, before he was killed. Since then, she’d been with Carbo. Which meant, after Carbo asked for help, that it was very much my business.’ He eyed them all. Crixus was the only one to look defiant. Prick.
Gannicus frowned. ‘Her name was Chloris?’
‘Yes. She’s dead. The poor creature bled to death after what they’d done to her.’
Crixus laughed, and Spartacus felt his anger go white-hot.
Gannicus blinked. ‘Well, that’s an end to it, surely? The bitch who killed your man is dead. Stop thinking about it. Have another drink,’ he said bluffly, offering Crixus his amphora.
The big Gaul dashed it out of his hand. ‘So what if the whore did belong to Carbo? I had every right to fuck her if I wanted to! Carbo is nothing. A speck of shit on the sole of my sandal!’
‘Carbo is my man, and he’s loyal.’
‘Which is more than you can say for me,’ hissed Crixus.
‘That’s right,’ said Spartacus.
‘Screw you!’ roared Crixus, tugging his sword from its scabbard.
Discarding his wine, Spartacus drew his sica. And so it comes to this, he thought. Fine. The whoreson has it coming to him. He’s going to split from the army anyway.
The two others scrambled out of the way. ‘There’s no need for this,’ cried Gannicus.
‘Piss off!’ shouted Crixus, thrusting his blade at Spartacus.
Spartacus parried the blow. The Gaul spun around, carried by the force of his swing and Spartacus brought his sword back down. His intent was to slice open the back of Crixus’ sword arm, but the sica met only thin air.
‘Think you can hit me with something that simple?’ Crixus danced away, out of range. Instantly, he was on the offensive again, his gladius probing back and forth like the tongue of a metal snake. They traded several massive blows, and Spartacus grew wary. The Gaul’s iron blade was thicker than his weapon, and if he wasn’t careful, the sica could shatter. If that happened, he’d be dead meat. He slid his feet backwards, forcing Crixus to pursue him.
