by Ben Kane
‘You’re going ahead with your plan to talk to the men.’
‘Of course. This is an immense step that we’re taking. I have to check that they’re all of the same opinion.’
There it was, she thought. The festering worry that both of them had been feeling for some time, but neither had mentioned. She couldn’t have been alone in hearing the discontented talk around the campfires. ‘You think some of them won’t?’
He didn’t answer.
‘Who? Castus or Gannicus?’
Spartacus sighed.
‘What is it?’
Despite his wish to avoid confrontation with Ariadne, he’d always known that he would have to tell her. It had to be before he addressed his soldiers too. He owed her that much. ‘A lot of men aren’t happy with the idea. There has been grumbling about it for a while, but over the last couple of nights, it has grown worse. You might not have noticed it, but I hear it all as I move through the camp.’
‘But—’
‘It’s not surprising, Ariadne. The bulk of them were born here in captivity. They weren’t freeborn, like you and I. They don’t know what it’s like to live in their own homeland, with no one to call master. As far as they’re concerned, Italy is a land rich for the plunder. It’s fertile, with countless farms and latifundia to prey upon. Why would they want to leave it? A lot of those who weren’t born into slavery think that too.’
‘They should leave because they would get away from the damn Romans!’ she said, feeling her cheeks redden with anger.
‘Yet the majority think that they can beat any army that they face. Why wouldn’t they?’ His lips twisted in a wry grimace. ‘Look at what they’ve done. I’ve told them over and over that the Romans never give up, but words mean little when they’ve never known anything except victory.’
‘There must be a way to convince them.’
‘At the end of the day, I can’t make the army follow me. It’s not as if there aren’t other leaders who will be reluctant to cross the Alps, men who want to stay in this land that has given them so much.’
‘You mean Castus and Gannicus.’ This time, she spat their names.
‘Yes. They stayed with me when Crixus left, but you know how unpredictable they are, especially that piece of dirt Castus. He has never liked following my lead. This is when he’ll make his move, and I wager Gannicus will go with him. A good chunk of the army will follow them.’ And the pricks don’t even know about Lucullus. If they did, and told the men, most would leave.
‘If that happens, what will you do?’
They stared at each other without speaking.
‘The Thracians would come with me. Carbo, Navio, the Scythians, obviously. I’d say that maybe ten to fifteen thousand other men would do as I ask. But the rest I’m not sure about—’
‘Leave them then!’ cried Ariadne. ‘They can choose their own fates! To be slaughtered in a month, or a year, by another Roman army.’ She saw the pain in his eyes. ‘I know that they’re your men, but you don’t have to act as they do.’
‘I know,’ he said stiffly. ‘But there’s more to it than that.’
She gave him a searching look. ‘Is this what have you been holding back from me?’
He didn’t answer her question. ‘When Carbo and Navio were in Mutina, they heard word of Marcus Lucullus, the Roman general who has been fighting in Asia Minor. He has defeated the Thracians who were in Mithridates’ pay and moved into Thrace itself. Large areas have been laid waste.’
‘The Romans have campaigned against Thracian tribes on and off for more than thirty years. Hitherto they’ve never bothered to mount a full-scale invasion. Why would things have changed?’
‘I don’t know, but his campaign is continuing.’
Dionysus, no! How can you have let this happen? Ariadne wanted to scream at the heavens, but she held in her rage and fear. ‘Surely it’s even more reason to leave? You could lead the fight there.’
‘That might appeal to you and me, maybe, but not to the majority. What do Castus and Gannicus care about Thrace? Or the rest of them?’
‘Do the Gauls know?’ She couldn’t take her eyes off his face.
‘No, thank the Rider. I’m not planning on telling them either. Carbo and Navio know not to say a word to a soul.’
That was some consolation, she thought bitterly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, there was little point until Longinus had been defeated.’
‘I see.’ Although she was angry, Ariadne was partly glad that she hadn’t known until now. She had enjoyed her fantasy – which had just been replaced by a tide of acid disappointment. Her gaze moved to the bright sunlight entering the tent, and outside, the towering spectacle of the Alps. They seemed far larger than they had a few moments prior. ‘Even if we cross the mountains, the Romans will find us in Thrace.’
He scowled in agreement. ‘It wouldn’t take long for news of our arrival to reach Lucullus’ ears. He’d want to take us on – and that’s assuming that the Senate doesn’t send an army after us as well.’
‘Have you forgotten the other tribes? You planned to unite them under one banner. To lead the fight against Rome. Surely they would come together when they saw how many men followed you?’
‘I thought about this long and hard. You know how quarrelsome our people are. They like to call no man leader. It’s as likely that they would attack us as join us. It would be an enormous task to bring together more than two or three tribes. Only one man has ever ruled all of the Thracians, and he did not do so for long.’ He let out a long, weary breath. ‘Father was wrong. Thrace is not a land that can be united.’
‘You could do it,’ she urged.
‘Maybe. And maybe not. It’s probable, however, that I’d have to fight to control at least some of the tribes, handing the advantage to Lucullus. That’s if someone didn’t assassinate me first. Here, on the other hand, I already have an army in excess of fifty thousand soldiers. Men who do not need convincing to follow me. In Italy, there is also an endless source of recruits to our cause. If I stay, even the troublemakers such as Castus will continue to follow my lead. For the moment at least.’
‘I can’t believe you’re saying this!’
In that instant, Spartacus silently voiced the truth that had come to him during the long dark of the previous night. The rumblings of discontent in his forces were all too real. It was by no means certain whether the men would follow through on their threats, but he had a bad feeling about it. I will not leave the majority of my soldiers behind. Not to end up where I began – in Thrace, with every man’s hand turned against me and the Romans plundering the land at will.
‘You don’t want to give up command of your army, that’s what it is.’ She glared at him.
He met her stare. ‘No, I don’t.’
‘I knew it!’ she screamed. ‘You’re too damn proud.’
‘If the men will leave, I shall go. If the vast majority will not, then I am staying,’ he replied, jutting out his chin.
‘And if I decide to cross the Alps without you?’
‘I would be saddened to see you go. Naturally, I would send men to protect you.’
‘You would choose your troops over me?’ Tears – of sadness, of rage – sprang from her eyes. ‘Your wife, who is bearing your son?’
‘First and foremost, I am a soldier, Ariadne,’ he growled. ‘Not a husband. You’ve known that from the moment we met.’
Ariadne’s joy at seeing the Alps vanished. She felt as if Dionysus and every other deity in the pantheon had just withdrawn their goodwill. Somehow, she rallied herself. ‘You’re talking as if it’s certain that the men will refuse to follow you over the mountains. You could be wrong.’
‘Perhaps.’
Ariadne felt her shoulders sag. ‘So we have marched the length of the land for nothing?’
‘It wasn’t for nothing. When we left Thurii, I fully intended to cross the Alps. And I still wi
ll—’
‘If the army follows you,’ she interjected furiously.
‘Yes.’
Her eyes filled anew.
Spartacus reached out a hand to comfort her, but she recoiled as if his touch was poisonous. He let her be. ‘I am a leader. A general. I have come to my position through merit. I will not just give it all up and hand my power to a sewer rat like Castus or a schemer like Gannicus.’ Even if it hurts you.
‘You’ve said before that Rome’s legions were like the monster Hydra. For every one head that is destroyed, two more grow in its place. If you stay here in Italy, they will raise ever more legions against you.’
‘Maybe they will. But Hercules bested the Hydra. Perhaps I can too,’ he replied, the pride she had accused him of filling his voice.
‘But in Thrace you would have a better chance—’
‘In Thrace?’ Spartacus laughed, angry now. ‘For what I have done, the Romans will never leave me alone. They will send their legions after me even if I travel to the ends of the earth.’
In her heart, Ariadne knew he was right. If her husband left his soldiers secretly, and found with her some remote place to live in, they would have a life untroubled by Rome. But he would no more do that than the sun would dance in the sky. Warfare is his destiny. It always has been. She could not change that, any more than she could his nature. Nor did she want to, she realised sadly. She loved him as he was. Brave. Fierce. Charismatic. Clever. Reckless at times. And, above all, proud.
What did it mean for him, though? she wondered. And for her?
He began to get dressed. ‘I told Egbeo and Pulcher that I wanted the men assembled after they had eaten. Will you come to hear me speak?’
‘Yes,’ she heard herself say.
‘Will you stay or go?’
‘That depends on what you do.’
They stared at each other.
‘Your answer is ambiguous. Will you follow me?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ she replied, lifting her chin.
I’m not the only one with pride, thought Spartacus. ‘I see.’
Neither spoke again as he prepared himself.
Ariadne remembered her hideous dream. Was that the fate that the gods held in store for him?
Spartacus would do his best to win the men over. That way, he and Ariadne would definitely stay together. His gut told him a different story about his soldiers, however. That didn’t weaken his resolve. His troops needed a leader. And he was that man – whatever the path they chose.
Spartacus had ordered the construction of a raised platform at the edge of the camp the night before. Ten men from every century in the army were to gather in front of it where they could easily hear what he said. The senior officers of each cohort were also to present themselves there. The rest of the host was to stand as if on parade, behind and to either side of the chosen soldiers. Spartacus’ plan was to speak slowly and to pause regularly, allowing runners from the central group to carry his exact words to their comrades. If he could win over the gathered men, he stood a chance of doing so for the whole host. But a chance was all it was. The waiting faces he saw on his way to the dais were not happy.
He threw back his shoulders. This was the most important address that he would ever make. It was good that the Roman battle standards they’d seized had been put on display. The evidence of his successes, six silver eagles, the wooden staffs bearing the insignia of more than thirty cohorts and two dozen sets of fasces were arrayed behind the platform. It was an incredible haul, he thought proudly. Even a general such as Hannibal would have been impressed. It could not fail to make an impact on his men. Would it be enough, though? He climbed the steps, past the trumpeters who stood ready to attract everyone’s attention. His mood soured further. ‘Castus and Gannicus are already here,’ he muttered to Ariadne, who was a pace to his rear. ‘Look.’
The Gauls were moving among the soldiers in front of the stage, chatting genially and slapping men on the shoulders. Treacherous bastards.
‘They’re trying to pre-empt me.’ Whatever chance he’d had of convincing the men was slipping away before his eyes. Spartacus told himself that it was his imagination, but the roar that met his appearance was more muted than usual. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’
He raised his arms in acknowledgement. ‘I see you, my brave soldiers!’
The assembled men liked that. So too did the troops within earshot. There was no need for what had been said to be passed on. The chant was taken up with huge enthusiasm. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’ Weapons were hammered off shields, adding to the din. The wall of sound rose up into the clear blue sky.
Spartacus saw the Gauls’ annoyance and was inwardly pleased. They love me more than you two arrogant pricks. He beckoned them up on to the platform. As they did, he walked up and down, indicating the standards. Then he barked an order to the trumpeters, who blew a short but piercing series of notes. A silence quickly fell. The men were eager to hear his message, whatever it was.
‘Do you see these?’ Spartacus shouted. ‘We have six silver eagles. That’s six legions we have beaten! And that’s not taking into account all the Roman troops that we sent packing! You are brave and valiant soldiers, who have stood toe to toe with legionaries and come out as winners!’ He let the nearest men roar themselves hoarse before he went on. ‘Three praetors. One legate. One proconsul. Two consuls. Those are the generals you have faced and bettered. It’s an incredible achievement. Be proud of yourselves – very proud!’ He could see the surprise on Castus’ and Gannicus’ faces. They’re wondering why I’m boosting their egos. Soldiers from the central grouping sprinted off, bearing word of what he’d said. Their messages were greeted with unbridled delight by the rest of the army.
It took a long time for the cheering to die down, but Spartacus waited patiently, ignoring the glowering presence of Castus and Gannicus nearby. Finally, it was time to speak again.
‘For all of our successes, we have not won the war. Unfortunately, the Republic can take far more of a battering than we have given it and still remain standing. Hannibal annihilated four legions at the Trebia. Three legions at Trasimene. Eight legions at Cannae. Yet in the end he was still beaten. Why? Because Rome never gives up. Its people are more stubborn than you can ever understand. They will not accept defeat. The manpower available to them is inexhaustible. Even now, new legions are being recruited to replace the ones we massacred. Give it six months or a year, and they will have an army, stronger than any we’ve yet fought, ready to confront us.’ Spartacus saw disgruntled looks being exchanged, mutters passing from man to man. They don’t like hearing that.
Ariadne didn’t like his words either. O gods above, please let them agree. Let us leave this cursed land behind for ever.
‘You know why I have asked you here this morning. Many months ago, I said to you that I would lead you out of Italy. Away from Rome and its damn legions!’ He pointed at the Alps. ‘When we cross those, which at this time of year is not difficult, we shall be totally free. Not just at liberty to do as we have here, but free in the truest sense of the word!’ Spartacus cast a glance at the two Gauls. Castus had a sneer spread across his ruddy face, and Gannicus looked downright angry. In that moment, Spartacus sensed that they knew about Lucullus. How, he wasn’t sure, but they knew. The cold realisation of what they had been telling the men as he arrived slid into his mind.
A scan of the nearest soldiers told him that his encouraging words had only had a partial effect. Many men were still unhappy: scowling, frowning or listening as a comrade whispered in their ear. Even the threat of more legions did not compare with the idea of leaving Italy and entering unknown lands. Lands where other legions waited for them. That was it. He had to tell his troops about the Roman threat to Thrace, or Castus’ and Gannicus’ underhand tactic would work. The soldiers would know him for a liar, and might not follow him anywhere. Spartacus felt bitter at being forced to reveal his secret, but the gods had taken matters into their own hands
– as they so often did. He just had to accept what had happened, and make the best of it. He had to seize back the initiative.
He held up a hand. ‘At least that is what I would have wished. News came to me near Mutina, however, that troubled me deeply. That caused me to reconsider my plans. We will stay in Italy!’
A loud cheer rose from the nearest men, and Ariadne let out a hiss of dismay and anger.
Spartacus ignored her, instead rejoicing in the dismay coating both Gauls’ faces.
‘What made you change your mind?’ shouted a soldier with a horsehair-crested helmet.
‘Apparently, Lucullus, the Roman general, has attacked Thrace. His campaign continues even as we speak.’
‘Attacked Thrace? Why in the gods’ names would we leave here then?’ shouted the soldier, aiming his question at those all around him. They roared with laughter.
Spartacus did not answer. He watched as the news spread through his army like the ripple of wind through a field of wheat. It moved faster than any of his words about glory, victory or freedom. Castus’ face had now gone purple. Gannicus looked stunned. Their reactions were proof that his hunch had been right. He felt a grim satisfaction at having stolen their thunder. Of course they might still break away, but the advantage was with him. He cast his eyes over the army, and listened to the swelling roar of approval.
‘Where would you lead us instead, Spartacus?’ cried the soldier in the horsehair helmet.
The men around him quietened.
From the corner of his eye, Spartacus saw Castus moving forward, but he half turned and made a chopping gesture at the trumpeters.
Tan-tara-tara-tara. The noise drowned out all sound on the platform. Castus went puce with fury, but there was nothing he could do until the instruments fell silent. The instant that they did, however, Spartacus leaped in. ‘Do you want to know where I would go now, my soldiers?’
