Spartacus: Rebellion

by Ben Kane

  ‘YES!’ To his delight, Pulcher began the cry: ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’

  At once the reply was shouted back. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’

  Castus tried to speak again, but no one was paying him any attention. The chant was already spreading through the assembled troops. Spartacus found himself grinning. How could I ever leave them? He signalled at the musicians once more. The men’s clamour abated before the trumpets’ crescendo. Castus’ mouth opened as their sound died away, but Spartacus was having none of it. ‘I would take you south again. To our old stamping grounds around Thurii, where the land is rich and fertile.’

  ‘And there are plenty of farms to plunder!’ roared the soldier.

  ‘And women to screw!’ shouted another voice.

  ‘That’s right.’ Spartacus didn’t like the way his men sometimes behaved, but he didn’t try to control every breach of discipline. Indiscriminate killing and rape had been part of warfare since time began. The troops regarded such things as part of their pay, and in a way he did too. If he tried too hard to stop them, they would turn on him. ‘In the south, we will continue to recruit men. To train. To arm ourselves. To prepare ourselves for the legions that will come after us.’

  ‘And we’ll thrash them, just as we’ve done the previous ones!’

  ‘Yes,’ said Spartacus confidently. Inside, he felt less certain. But he had chosen his path. All he could do now was tread upon it, to the best of his ability. With as many men as would follow him. Already part of him had begun to exult at the thought of defeating more Roman armies. ‘Will you march with me to Thurii, and to victory?’

  ‘YES!’ The soldier in the horsehair helmet punched the air with a fist.

  ‘SOUTH! SOUTH!’ yelled the closest men.

  This time, the runners were not needed. Everyone who heard the cry repeated it, and the two words spread like wildfire through the host. ‘SOUTH! SOUTH!’ the soldiers roared, stamping their feet and clashing their weapons off their shields.

  Despite his concerns for the future, pride filled Spartacus at the sound.

  ‘You sly Thracian bastard. You always try to get one up on us, don’t you?’

  He turned at the sound of Castus’ voice. ‘Try? I think I just did.’

  Castus’ lips peeled back into a snarl and he took a step forward. ‘You—’

  ‘Not in front of the army,’ snapped Gannicus. ‘Not now.’

  Breathing heavily, Castus stopped.

  ‘Who told you about Lucullus?’ demanded Spartacus coldly.

  ‘Fuck that!’ shouted Castus. ‘You were supposed to tell the men that you were going to Thrace.’

  ‘I changed my mind.’ I had to.

  In a flash, Spartacus’ motives became clear to Ariadne. He saw that they knew. The realisation did nothing to ease her disappointment.

  ‘The clever bastard did it because he knew that the men wouldn’t follow him, and he didn’t want to relinquish command to us,’ said Gannicus, his eyes bright with malice.

  ‘My reasons are my own,’ growled Spartacus. ‘Are you coming south with me? Or are you going to leave now, as you planned?’

  ‘Damn you to Hades, Spartacus!’ Castus’ right hand dropped to his sword.

  Spartacus’ fingers caressed the wooden grip of his sica. It would be a bad idea to fight in front of his men, but his anger at the Gaul had overflowed. ‘Try it. Go on!’

  Castus let his hand fall to his side. ‘Now’s not the time, you Thracian goat-humper.’

  ‘I’d rather screw goats than corpses, like you do.’

  Castus ground his teeth, but he kept his hand off his sword. ‘I think we’ll keep you company for a little longer, eh, Gannicus?’

  ‘Breaking the army up now would only make the Romans’ task easier. When they hear that we have turned around and marched south, the consuls might join forces. I wouldn’t like to be facing that army with anything less than our full strength.’

  Always the shrewd one, thought Spartacus. ‘And after that?’

  ‘We’ll find a suitable time,’ replied Gannicus in a sly tone. He held up a warning finger. ‘But pull any more tricks like the one about Lucullus again, and I’m leaving with every man who will follow me.’

  ‘And me!’ added Castus.

  ‘You can do what you like,’ growled Spartacus. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. ‘But until that point we’ll continue to fight as one army?’

  The Gauls exchanged a look, and then a nod. ‘Yes,’ said Gannicus. ‘But we decide on any strategy together.’

  ‘Fine.’ You both know that I am the best tactician. Spartacus’ mind was filled again with one burning question. ‘Who told you?’

  ‘It’s annoying you not knowing, eh?’ asked Castus, gloating. He glanced at Gannicus. ‘Shall we tell him?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. He’ll work it out soon enough.’

  ‘Arnax,’ revealed Castus.

  ‘Arnax?’ Of course. ‘He was also there in Mutina.’

  ‘That’s right. He heard every word that your Roman lapdogs did. It didn’t take much for him to tell me. A bit of friendship, a couple of hot meals. A coin or two. He sang like a songbird. A good lad, he is.’

  ‘I see,’ said Spartacus in an offhand tone. Inside, he was raging. What a stupid mistake! When he’d told Carbo not to speak to anyone, he hadn’t even thought of the boy. With an effort, he reined in his bubbling fury.

  ‘I would watch your back from now on,’ said Castus.

  Gannicus snickered.

  ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘Me? Threaten you?’ Castus’ tone was mocking.

  ‘Piss off,’ said Spartacus. ‘Unless you want a fight right now.’

  Castus hawked and spat. ‘Come on, Gannicus. Something around here stinks.’ Stiff-legged, like male dogs walking away from a rival, the Gauls stomped off the platform.

  Spartacus watched them go. As when Crixus had finally made plain his intentions, he was relieved to know that the pair would leave. Yet he hoped that they could maintain some kind of working relationship. Keep the army together for at least another couple of months. That would give him enough time to find new recruits to replace the men who would leave.

  He realised, that, having reached safety, he had just decided to walk back into the lion’s den. Remaining in Italy was provocation of the most severe kind, greater even than the munus he had celebrated. The Romans would never leave them in peace. As far as Spartacus knew, the Senate had not sued for peace in its own land since it had lost a war to the Samnites more than two centuries before. It certainly wasn’t going to do so with a slave.

  He glanced at Ariadne, still wondering what her response would be. ‘I had little choice – I saw that Castus and Gannicus knew about Lucullus. Fucking Arnax! It’s all his fault. He’ll soon be sorry.’

  ‘What are you going to do to him?’

  ‘Crucify the little bastard. It’s no less than he deserves.’

  Horror filled her eyes. ‘You can’t do that.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for him, the army might well have done what I asked! That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean I would kill a child over it. Especially one who didn’t know any better. It wasn’t as if he’d been told not to say anything!’

  ‘That’s of no matter,’ he grated. ‘Men – or boys – are either with me, or against me.’

  Ariadne thought of the baby in her belly, and of Arnax’s youth. No more than a decade in the difference, she thought. Outrage filled her. ‘Do it, and you risk bringing down the wrath of the gods upon yourself and your army. I can see this.’

  He stared at her for a moment. She glared back, daring him to challenge her. ‘Very well. I’ll just give him a good thrashing.’

  Ariadne let out a sigh of relief. He had not become totally unreasonable.

  ‘If I hadn’t spoken when I did, they would have accused me of lying,’ he said in a conciliatory tone.

  ‘I know.�
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  ‘This is my army, not theirs. I’m damned if I’ll hand it over to them.’

  ‘I know that too.’

  Spartacus thought that her voice sounded less angry than before, but he wasn’t sure. ‘The war is only beginning. It will be more bitter and more bloody than anything that has happened thus far.’ He wanted to ask her to stay, but his pride wouldn’t let him. ‘What will you do?’

  If I remain, our son will be born in Italy. What will happen to us, great Dionysus? The silence that met her question was resounding, but Ariadne firmed her resolve. She had chosen to accept Spartacus as he was. She would make the best of this situation, even if it was not what she wanted to do. ‘You are my husband.’ She moved to his side. ‘I would not be separated from you. We will face the future together, as we have always done.’

  ‘I am glad.’ Drawing her closer, Spartacus surveyed his army. Pride filled him once more. Rome’s pool of manpower might be immense. Its determination might be never-ending. The tasks before him might be comparable to those faced by Hercules. Yet he had more than fifty thousand brave soldiers who would follow him to the doors of Hades. The Gauls would leave, but the losses in his ranks could be replaced. More slaves came to join them every day.

  Give me time, Great Rider, and I could raise an army of one hundred thousand men, or even more. That will make the senators tremble in their beds.

  Especially if one day we arrive at the gates of Rome.

  Chapter VII

  Picenum, near the coast of north-eastern Italy, summer 72 BC

  MARCION STAMPED HIS feet up and down, hoping that nobody would notice his anxiety.

  An instant later, Gaius nudged him. ‘Feeling nervous?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’ hissed Marcion.

  ‘No. Today’s not the day I’m going to die.’

  ‘How can you know that?’ demanded Marcion. ‘Our damn cohort is near the centre of our line, where the heaviest casualties will be.’

  ‘Gaius is too stupid to know if Hades is coming for him,’ said Arphocras with a snicker.

  Gaius scowled as the rest of them winked and smiled. They might not be admitting it, but apart from Gaius, there was a nervous tinge to everyone’s expression, Marcion noted. His gaze was drawn again to the massed ranks of legionaries on the slope high above. ‘I can’t believe that we’re going to charge up there!’

  All eyes followed his. The enemy’s position – at the top of a ridge – was daunting to say the least. A rocky peak prevented any chance of outflanking to the left, and the Roman right flank was protected by a large section of catapults.

  ‘Our cavalry are useless here. It’s a frontal assault by us – or nothing,’ said Arphocras sourly.

  ‘Good!’ exclaimed Gaius. ‘The quicker we get to grips with the stinking Romans, the better.’ He looked around for support, but all he got was filthy stares.

  ‘Spartacus has gone bloody mad,’ grumbled Zeuxis. ‘His victories have gone to his head. I told you this would happen.’

  ‘We’re going to die.’ Arphocras sounded resigned. ‘Even if the Romans lose, we’ll never know about it.’

  Zeuxis rubbed the double-ended phallic amulet that hung from a thong around his neck and mouthed a prayer. Several of the others did the same.

  They’re really scared. Somehow, Marcion rallied his courage. ‘Spartacus knows what he’s doing.’

  ‘Does he?’ Zeuxis sounded even more dubious than ever.

  ‘He’s never made a mistake yet, has he?’

  ‘That means nothing. No one’s perfect,’ replied Zeuxis angrily. ‘And what’s his secret plan here? Any fool can see that charging up a slope is tantamount to suicide, yet that’s what we’re about to do.’

  ‘There are only two legions on the ridge,’ growled Gaius. ‘We outnumber the bastards by six to one.’

  ‘But we can’t all engage at the same time: their front is too narrow. Besides, the odds aren’t as great as you say. The other consul’s legions won’t be far away,’ snapped Zeuxis. ‘They’ll fall on our rear at the first opportunity.’

  Gaius glowered, and Marcion intervened. ‘Spartacus is no fool. Remember how he set the trap for Lentulus? How he had Longinus’ hidden catapults destroyed the night before we marched?’

  Zeuxis’ lip curled. ‘I don’t know. This attack seems like a very good way to get a lot of men killed.’

  Trumpets blared from some distance to their right, and they craned their necks to see what was going on.

  ‘It’s Spartacus!’ Marcion pointed at the horseman who had emerged from the ranks some two hundred paces away. He began riding up and down, addressing the troops nearest him.

  ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ The usual chant began.

  Marcion was delighted. The closest soldiers also seemed pleased, and the news rippled through the cohort.

  ‘Bloody typical,’ said Zeuxis. ‘We can’t hear a damn word.’

  Marcion glared, but the older man ignored him.

  ‘How are we supposed to feel encouraged by this? We might as well just pray to the gods. Or talk among ourselves. That’d be as much use as standing here pretending that we have a clue what’s going on.’

  Marcion’s anger overflowed. ‘Stop your moaning, will you? Either that, or piss off!’

  Zeuxis gave him a startled look.

  ‘Like it or not, we’re going to fight this cursed battle soon. Some of us might get killed, but at least we’re free men. We’re here of our own choice! I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be here than back on the shitty latifundium where I grew up. I was treated like an animal.’

  ‘Damn right!’ shouted Gaius. ‘There’s no going back.’

  ‘Well said,’ Arphocras elbowed Marcion. ‘We’re Spartacus’ men, whatever happens.’

  The rest of their comrades gave each other sheepish grins while Zeuxis glowered in resentful silence.

  Marcion’s attention returned to Spartacus. He drew his sword, and Marcion’s breath caught in his chest. The sica was stabbed repeatedly at the Roman lines, and the soldiers near Spartacus roared in appreciation. ‘This is it. We’re going to attack.’

  To his surprise, the command was not given. Instead Spartacus rode along the front of the army, towards them. He came to a halt not twenty paces from where they stood. The soldiers went crazy, cheering and banging their weapons and shields together. Marcion and his comrades joined in. Even Zeuxis.

  Spartacus raised his arms for calm. ‘You know that there are only two legions facing us. That the other two are in the area, waiting for their chance to strike at us. Most likely, you’re worried, even a little scared. I’d wager that Lentulus is banking on your fear. The toga-wearing man-humping piece of filth is also relying on his colleague Gellius to arrive and fall upon the rear of our army.’ He smiled at the unhappy murmurs which followed.

  Zeuxis glared at Marcion.

  Marcion held his breath. This wasn’t all that Spartacus had come to say – was it?

  Spartacus watched them, let them stew in their uncertainty for several moments before he spoke again. ‘Our scouts have done us proud. Yesterday they brought me news of Gellius’ position. More than twenty thousand of your comrades are about to march out under Castus and Gannicus and confront him. Rest assured, your backs are safe! We have plenty of time to demolish Lentulus’ spineless rabble.’

  The mood changed, as a spring gale clears out the last traces of winter. Men laughed and cheered and thanked the gods.

  ‘Will you help me to go and do that?’ shouted Spartacus.

  The roar that followed proclaimed his soldiers’ enthusiasm in no uncertain terms.

  Inevitably, the cry began again. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’

  The Thracian rode up and down, acknowledging the acclaim.

  Marcion gave Zeuxis a not entirely friendly nudge. ‘Happy now?’

  ‘I’ll follow him up there.’

  Marcion grinned. From Zeuxis, that was an endorsement of the highest kind.

  Some weeks later . . .

&
nbsp; The Apennines, south-central Italy

  Carbo got up and adjusted the large rock that served as his backrest. He sat down again with a contented sigh, pulling the blanket around his shoulders and moving his feet closer to the burning logs. The days were still hot, but at night the altitude meant that temperatures fell fast. Thankfully, sitting by a fire was enough to keep a man’s bones warm.

  ‘I’ll be glad to see Thurii,’ said Navio.

  ‘It isn’t far now, thank Jupiter,’ said Publipor.

  ‘I can’t wait for some flat ground. I’m sick of going down one hill only to climb another,’ Arnax piped up.

  They all chuckled. The bruises from Spartacus’ beating had faded within days, but it had taken weeks for Arnax to get over the shame of having talked to Castus. He had recently started coming out of his shell.

  ‘It’s practically your home territory, Publipor, eh? Brundisium isn’t that far from where we will overwinter,’ said Carbo with a wink. After his arrival, the Apulian had joined a century in his cohort. In the time since they had left the Alps behind, he had become a constant companion and friend.

  ‘You’re not wrong.’ A shadow passed across Publipor’s face.

  Carbo took it to be worry. ‘Have you got a woman there you left behind? A family?’

  The shadow became sorrow. ‘I did. A wife. Three children.’

  Silence fell. Navio busied himself by loading more logs on to the fire. Arnax, who was scouring Carbo’s sword with a piece of wire, found a rust spot to concentrate on above all else. Carbo let his gaze follow a stream of sparks upwards into the brilliant night sky. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t discovered this about Publipor before. Few men in the slave army bothered to tell their comrades of their past – himself included. ‘What happened to them?’

  Publipor cleared his throat. ‘They were carried off last year. Cholera.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Carbo.

  ‘That is a hard burden for anyone to bear,’ added Navio with some feeling. ‘War is one thing, but sickness . . .’