‘Scared?’
‘Of you?’ retorted Spartacus contemptuously.
His needling worked. Crixus snarled with fury and darted forward, swinging his gladius overhead like a Gaulish longsword. If he’d had a shield to take the impact of Crixus’ attack, Spartacus would have risked it and tried to run him through the armpit, but without protection, he risked losing his head. He shuffled back a few more steps and Crixus followed, grinning with delight. ‘Ready to die?’
Spartacus’ answer was to pick up his amphora and hurl it underhand at Crixus. As the Gaul ducked, he was charging forward, hacking sideways with his sica. He grinned with satisfaction as the blade sliced open Crixus’ upper left arm.
‘Bastard!’ Dodging out of range, Crixus eyed the flesh wound with contempt. ‘Think that’s going to stop me?’
‘It’s just a start,’ Spartacus replied coldly.
‘Yes? Well, how about this?’ Moving surprisingly fast for a man of his size, Crixus thundered forward. Spartacus thrust his sica at him, and the Gaul smashed it out of the way. Rather than withdrawing, Crixus ploughed on, crashing into Spartacus and delivering an almighty headbutt. Only Spartacus’ lightning-fast reaction — turning his head — saved his nose from being split in two like a ripe plum. As it was, Crixus’ forehead smacked into his cheekbone, sending him reeling backwards. Then Crixus punched him in the side of the head, making his ears ring. The Gaul leered in triumph and raised his gladius. Great Rider, help me, thought Spartacus. The next blow won’t be from a fist, but a blade.
Blind inspiration struck him. He dragged the strings of spittle in his mouth together and spat the lot into Crixus’ face with all his might. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted.
Shock and utter outrage twisted the Gaul’s features, and Spartacus thrust his sica at him, forcing him to parry rather than attack. Regaining the initiative, Spartacus launched a savage offensive. It was time to kill the bastard. My blade won’t break. The Rider won’t let it.
‘One. Two. Three!’ roared Gannicus. Together, he and Castus hurled the contents of two amphorae over Spartacus and Crixus.
Spluttering with indignation, the pair separated. ‘What in the name of Hades is that for?’ roared Crixus.
Both Gauls advanced, their swords at the ready. ‘This has gone on long enough,’ said Gannicus. ‘You’re going to kill each other.’
‘I’m going to fucking kill him, you mean!’ snarled Crixus.
Spartacus barked a scornful laugh. ‘In your dreams.’
‘Stop this bullshit!’ shouted Castus. ‘If you start again, we’ll stab both of you in the back.’
Cold reason overtook Spartacus, for which he was grateful. The Rider is at work here. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because you’re both too damn valuable to lose,’ said Gannicus. ‘The army needs you. Not one slain, and the other so badly injured he can’t fight. And that’s what would probably happen if we left you to it.’
Crixus’ eyes narrowed.
Gannicus is right, thought Spartacus. And only the gods know which of us would be the one lying dead on the ground by the end of it.
‘Have a drink, and forget about it!’ Castus produced another amphora and tossed it at Crixus. The big Gaul caught it one-handed. He looked at it for a moment, and Spartacus prepared to duck. Instead of throwing it, however, Crixus laughed. He eyed Spartacus balefully. ‘We can do this another time, eh?’ Throwing back several mouthfuls, he proffered the amphora.
Castus and Gannicus gave each other a relieved look.
Gauls! They’re fucking crazy. Without dropping his guard, Spartacus took the vessel and drank. ‘To finding Varinius, and wiping him off the face of the earth!’ he cried.
Remarkably, even Crixus joined in the roar of approval that followed.
Yet everyone who had witnessed the confrontation knew that the matter had not been settled.
Merely postponed.
Chapter XVIII
In the days that followed, Carbo did his best to avoid all human company. He fulfilled his duties as second- in-command of his cohort, marshalling the men together and ensuring that they were all ready to leave the smoking ruins of Forum Annii behind. He followed Egbeo’s orders, keeping the slaves in line as they marched and supervising them as they set up camp each evening. He even persisted with the training of the new recruits, hundreds of whom were joining them every day. But Carbo did it all automatically, because he had to. Inside, his anger and grief knew no bounds. Navio was the one person he confided in, and that was just once, the day Chloris had died.
Navio had gripped his shoulder in sympathy. ‘I know how hard it is,’ he’d said.
Aware that his friend had had terrible things happen to those he cared about, Carbo had nodded and turned his rage further inwards. Locking it deep inside was all that allowed him to continue functioning. Only the sight of Crixus or Lugurix caused his volcanic emotions to overflow. It was fortunate that Navio had been present on each occasion he’d spotted the Gauls. He’d physically held Carbo back. ‘You’ll end up dead.’
‘So what?’ Carbo had hissed. As long as he gained vengeance, he didn’t care. Thoughts of death occupied his every waking moment. Each night, his dreams were the same. Yet some small part of him had retained its sanity, because he’d let Navio restrain him, although he ground his teeth in frustration and rage. He was grateful that the army’s large size now meant that seeing the Gauls was quite a rare occurrence. All the same, the knowledge that they were alive and unpunished ate away at his soul.
One evening some three weeks after the sacking of Forum Annii, he was startled to see Spartacus approaching his tent. Carbo’s memories of the stand-off with Crixus flooded back, and he ducked his head down, hoping that the Thracian was looking for someone else.
‘Carbo.’
Unwillingly, he looked up. ‘Spartacus.’
‘Can I sit?’
‘Of course,’ he replied guiltily. He gestured at the rock where Navio, who was checking on his men, sat. ‘I’d offer you some wine, but I don’t have any. A piece of bread?’
‘I’ve eaten, thank you.’ Spartacus’ grey eyes regarded Carbo keenly. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’
‘No. I’ve been busy.’ Carbo cursed his poorly chosen words even as they left his lips.
Spartacus smiled. ‘I know how it is.’
Blushing to the roots of his hair, Carbo looked down.
‘I have some news for you.’
Carbo’s gaze rose slowly. ‘Oh?’
‘Lugurix has had a nasty accident.’
His heart filled with a dark joy. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. This morning, he slipped off a narrow section of the path. He fell about two hundred paces and landed on a ledge just above the river at the gorge’s foot. He didn’t die from the initial fall. From the look of it, he’d broken his back, because he was screaming like a man gut-shot by an arrow. Rescuing him was out of the question, so we had to leave him there. If he’s not dead yet, he will be by morning. A terrible way to die,’ said Spartacus casually.
Carbo’s head was pounding with rage and happiness. ‘He fell?’
Spartacus winked. ‘Well, he had a little help from Atheas. No one else saw, naturally. Crixus won’t suspect a thing.’
Carbo stared at Spartacus, uncomprehending.
‘I understand what Chloris meant to you. I also wanted you to know that I hadn’t forgotten about Lugurix, or what he did. He was always going to be punished. The time had to be right, that’s all.’
A pulse hammered in Carbo’s throat. ‘And Crixus?’
‘I told you before: he’s too important to the rebellion. For now anyway. Can you live with that?’
Carbo swallowed. He was overjoyed that Lugurix had suffered a lingering death, but the sweetness of that
