by Ben Kane
By the time the sun had set, they were sitting by a small fire, blankets around their shoulders and skins of wine in hand. The tethered horses watched them, happy now that they had been watered and fed. As usual, their camp was close to a stream and out of sight of the Via Annia. They had tracked uphill some quarter of a mile through the woods, coming upon a little dell that was dominated by a massive fallen beech. Placing its bulk between them and the road had been a natural choice. Although they’d had no indication that there had been any pursuit from Rome, it paid to be cautious.
‘That messenger mentioned that he was travelling to Messana,’ said Spartacus.
‘On Sicily, yes. What’s that got to do with us?’
‘Two slave rebellions took place there in the last hundred years, didn’t they? Do you know much about them?’
‘Only what my father told me when I was younger.’
‘Try to remember everything you can.’
Carbo’s curiosity grew. ‘The first one started sixty-odd years ago near the city of Enna. It was led by a slave called Eunus, a Syrian who was reputed to be able to predict the future thanks to messages sent to him by the gods.’
Spartacus thought of Ariadne, and a half-smile tugged its way on to his lips.
‘Eunus had been approached by some slaves who were being mistreated by their masters. Encouraged by his prophecies, several hundred of them fell upon the inhabitants of Enna. They slaughtered everyone, even the babies and the domestic animals.’ Carbo thought with repugnance of the carnage he’d seen in Forum Annii the day that they had attacked it. Of the violent end that Chloris had suffered. Yet thanks to Spartacus, the violence had not been as severe as it had in Enna. It was something to be grateful for, he supposed bitterly.
‘Go on.’
‘Hearing the news, many slaves ran away to join Eunus. Soon he had more than ten thousand men under his command, and he crowned himself king. In the subsequent weeks, he and his troops fought the local Roman forces several times and overwhelmed them by sheer weight of numbers. Before long, another uprising began elsewhere on the island. It was led by a Cilician by the name of Kleon. However, instead of fighting Eunus as the Romans hoped, he united with him. The slaves inflicted numerous more defeats on the Romans over the next three years. Finally, the Senate sent Publius Rupilius, one of the consuls, to deal with the uprising.’
‘I wonder if they took so long to react properly because Sicily is so far from Rome,’ mused Spartacus.
‘That’s what people say.’
‘And the second rebellion?’
‘It followed much the same path. Bad treatment of slaves. A charismatic leader, who was supposed to be able to talk to the gods. Widespread massacres of the local population.’
‘How long did it last for?’
‘Four years, until the Senate sent a senior general to deal with it.’
‘Were the leaders of either uprising trained soldiers?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
Spartacus’ heart leaped. What could I do in a place like that then! ‘Why Sicily, though?’
‘My father always said that it was because of the density of its farms, and the huge number of agricultural slaves.’
‘They would provide us with thousands more recruits, eh?’
‘Two legions are stationed there.’
‘Two legions haven’t posed much problem for us before, have they?’
‘I suppose. But how would we get our soldiers across the straits?’
‘Simple. Sicily grows much of the grain that feeds Italy, doesn’t it? The ships that carry the grain are immense. I’ve seen them. We’d just need to get a thousand or so men over to the main merchant port, seize as many as we could, and sail them back to the mainland.’ Spartacus grimaced. ‘Our main worry would be the Roman navy.’
‘I doubt they’d be much problem. Since the last war with Carthage, the navy has been in decline. Pirates from Cilicia and Crete all but control the Mediterranean. They frequently take ships off the southern Italian coastline.’
‘Is that right?’ asked Spartacus, smacking one fist into the other with delight.
‘That’s what I’ve heard. The bastards even sail up the coast as far as Ostia. The Senate makes angry noises about them, but nothing much has been done since Publius Servilius Vatia’s campaign ended early three years ago. Any ships the Republic has have been busy in the war against Mithridates of Pontus.’
‘That’s excellent, Carbo. Maybe pirates can carry us over to attack the grain ships, eh?’
A slow smile spread across Carbo’s face. Spartacus’ plan sounded crazy, but they had succeeded so often before when the odds were stacked against them. Why couldn’t they one more time? ‘That sounds good.’
‘It’s time to get some rest,’ said Spartacus with a yawn. ‘Your turn to take first watch. Wake me in a few hours.’ Arranging his blanket, he lay down by the fire. He was asleep within moments.
Carbo placed another piece of wood on the flames. Then he sat back and listened and watched. The fire crackled and spat a stream of orange sparks into the air. Fifteen paces away, the horses were two large black shapes spotlit against the beeches. A gentle breeze carried up from the valley below, making the branches of the trees creak. Fallen leaves rustled nearby as a small creature went about its night-time business. An owl called. From the stream came the reassuring murmur of moving water. Carbo relaxed. Before he had moved to Capua, he had lived for years on the family’s farm outside the town. The sounds of nature were familiar, and comforting.
Soon his eyelids drooped. Carbo fought the creeping languor for a little while, but every time he roused himself, he heard and saw nothing of concern. It had been the same since they’d left Rome, he thought sleepily. What could it matter if he had a brief rest?
Some time later, he awoke with a start. He glanced around, heart pounding. A few paces away, Spartacus was sound asleep. The clearing was empty. The stream pattered down the slope, talking to itself. Far off, a wolf howled its loneliness at the sliver of moon that was just visible through the canopy. Everything was as it had been, apart from the fire, which had all but gone out. Carbo’s blanket had slipped off his shoulders, and he felt chilled to the bone. Gods, I must have been asleep for hours. Feeling guilty, he began poking at the ashes with a stick to see if there was any chance of rekindling the blaze. He was pleased to see that there were still some hot embers.
One of the horses nickered and shifted from foot to foot.
Carbo froze. Grateful now for the night vision that the fire’s absence gave him, he peered in the direction of their mounts. As before, he could only see their outline against the darker shadows of the trees.
Nothing happened for several moments, and his concern eased.
The horse nickered a second time.
Carbo tensed again. Pricking his ears, he stared at the beasts.
Nothing.
There was silence for a short while.
Then the horse stamped a hoof on the ground.
Now Carbo’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. Letting the blanket slip from his shoulders, he crept over to Spartacus. He placed a hand on the Thracian’s shoulder, praying that Spartacus wouldn’t make a noise.
To Carbo’s relief, he came awake instantly – and silently. He sat up.
Carbo placed his lips against Spartacus’ ear. ‘One of the horses isn’t happy.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I heard a wolf. Far off, though. That’s it.’
Spartacus nodded. He pointed with a finger around the dell and then put to a hand to his ear.
They sat side by side, waiting. Listening with all their might.
An owl hooted off to their right. The sound didn’t concern Carbo, but he felt Spartacus stiffen.
When the cry was answered from the trees to their left, Carbo was nearly sick. The horse being unsettled and two owls being so close could not be a coincidence. When a third call reached their ears, any doubts in his mind vanished.
Shit.
Spartacus moved his face close to Carbo’s. His mouth framed the words ‘Let’s go.’
‘The horses?’
‘Leave them.’
Carbo saw Spartacus draw his dagger, and quickly did the same. On hands and knees, and making as little noise as possible, they crawled uphill, away from the fire. Twenty paces on, Carbo heard more owl calls to their rear. His skin crawled. They were closer this time. Expecting to feel a blade sinking into his spine with every step, he followed the Thracian.
Spartacus didn’t look back. He increased his speed, aware that they had to get out of the clearing fast. Every instinct was screaming that there were men out there who had come to kill him. There were three at least, but that wouldn’t be all of them. Anyone who wanted to slay Spartacus would send no less than six to eight men, perhaps more. He ripped open his knee against a protruding root, and had to bite his lip against the pain of it. He crawled on, cursing the fact that there was almost no undergrowth. Although there was little to impede their progress, it also meant that there were far fewer places to hide.
More owl calls. Spartacus counted them. One. Two. Three. Four. He thanked the Great Rider that none originated in front of their position. They hadn’t been surrounded – yet.
Finally, he reached the dell’s edge, and a large oak tree with a split trunk. He stood up. Carbo bundled in beside him and without speaking, they both looked back towards their fire, which was discernible by the faint orange light of the last glowing embers.
Show yourselves, you bastards, thought Spartacus.
Carbo felt as if he were in a nightmare. It was his fault for falling asleep. Who in the name of Hades was hunting them?
Nothing happened for the space of thirty heartbeats. ‘They’re making sure that we’re asleep before they move,’ Spartacus hissed.
First one horse, then the other whinnied.
All at once, four shadows emerged into sight, three spilling over the fallen beech and one rushing in from its far end. They could just make out the spears gripped in each figure’s right fist. The men ran straight at the piles of discarded bedding. A brief, frenzied flurry of blows rained down on the blankets, but the assassins soon realised that their quarry had vanished. Muttered curses filled the air, and one man growled, ‘The bastards have gone!’
A hefty cuff round the head from one of his companions silenced him. Another owl call rang out, more urgent this time. The men spread out, moving on the balls of their feet across the clearing. Towards Spartacus and Carbo.
‘Time to go,’ whispered Spartacus.
‘Which way?’ asked Carbo, desperation tearing at him.
‘Up. We’ll go slowly at first, but when I say, we run like the wind. That is, if you want to live!’ Spartacus’ teeth glinted in the moonlight, and Carbo wished again that he had his leader’s courage. Jamming his knife back into its sheath – he didn’t want to drop it – he nodded grimly.
‘I’m ready.’
‘Good lad.’ Spartacus turned and padded away as silently as a wolf.
Carbo’s memories of that night would stay with him for ever. He had never had the need to travel in the mountains at night before, and hoped that he never had to again. At least not when he was being pursued by an unknown number of armed men, when all he had was a measly dagger. At first, the going was easy enough, but soon Spartacus began loping up the slope with long, ground-covering strides. How the hell can he see where he’s going? Carbo wondered, following as fast as he could. His heart hammered in his chest, not from the effort of running, but from fear. He felt as if he were a deer being pursued by a group of hunters. Behind every tree and bush lurked a potential enemy, and with each step he risked breaking his ankle on a jutting root or a piece of deadwood. He had previously thought that he had a good sense of direction, but their journey changed his opinion. The dense canopy overhead afforded only the occasional glance at the night sky, which confused him even more. Spartacus, on the other hand, sped onwards and upwards as if Hermes, the messenger of the gods, was guiding his every step.
Every so often, they halted to listen out for sounds of pursuit. On the first occasion, they could discern the faint noise of men moving below them, but these had receded by the time they paused a second time. After that, to Spartacus’ satisfaction and Carbo’s immense relief, they heard nothing else. Carbo hoped that the Thracian might slow down after this, but he was sadly disappointed. Spartacus began to move even faster, his feet flying over the ground as if they had wings. It was hard for Carbo to keep up, and to avoid having his eyes taken out by the whipping recoil of the branches that Spartacus pushed aside.
Perhaps an hour had elapsed when they reached the crest of a ridge. Moving along it for a short distance, they came to a clearing. For the first time, they had a good view of the sky, which was illuminated by a myriad of glittering stars. The moon’s position overhead told them that there were still many hours until daybreak. Spartacus peered into the open space for a moment before he entered it, cat soft on his feet. Carbo followed, casting frequent uneasy glances to their rear. He heard nothing. For the first time, his unease settled a fraction.
‘If there was any light, we’d have a good view from here.’ Spartacus pointed out into the blackness.
‘Where in Hades are we?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Spartacus with a grin. ‘But I think this ridge is the same one that flanks the Via Appia, which means it runs roughly in a north–south direction. We’ll just follow it.’
‘We could end up miles off course.’ Carbo instantly felt like a fool. ‘But we don’t really have an alternative, eh?’
‘No,’ replied Spartacus grimly. ‘Those whoresons will be on our trail the moment it gets light, so we have to travel as far as we can before then. Gods, but I’d love to stay behind, though. Lay an ambush for them, maybe take a prisoner.’
‘Find out who they are?’
‘Yes!’
‘I don’t think they were Roman.’
‘Nor do I. If we’d been followed from Rome, they would have already attacked us. It’s nothing to do with the messenger whom we spoke with either. He wasn’t interested in us.’
‘It’s not just that. The man who spoke had a strong accent. There’s no way that he was a native Latin speaker.’
‘It’s as I thought. Only someone who knew that we’d gone to Rome could be responsible.’
Alarm filled Carbo. ‘You mean Castus or Gannicus?’
‘Yes, or someone else with a grudge against me.’ The bastards. How dare they, after all I’ve done for them? If the pair had appeared at that moment, Spartacus would have torn them apart limb from limb.
‘Damn traitors!’
‘It’s to be expected. Many men don’t like following one leader. If it had been in Thrace, it could have happened before now,’ said Spartacus, glad that he’d stayed.
‘Maybe we could grab one,’ Carbo began.
‘No! We saw four of them, and I’d wager that was less than half their number.’
‘Then we’ll have no way of finding out who sent the treacherous bastards,’ protested Carbo.
‘Sometimes you have to live with uncertainty.’ Spartacus nudged him. ‘It keeps a man on his toes!’
Carbo pulled a smile, but it felt more like a grimace.
‘We’ll find out more when we get back,’ Spartacus declared. ‘You did well to wake me when you did. I don’t think it’s too much to say that I owe you my life. Thank you.’
Pride filled Carbo. Then, remembering how he’d only woken from his nap by chance, his throat closed with guilt. He could never admit to it. ‘A-any time,’ he managed to mumble. ‘It’s no more than you’ve done for me.’
Spartacus flashed him a confident grin. ‘Come on. It’s a long way until we reach safety.’ He didn’t voice the worry that had been gnawing at him since he’d had time to consider who might have sent out the killers. Great Rider, I ask you to keep Ariadne – and our baby – safe. He turned and sped towards the f
ar side of the clearing.
Dusk was falling the next day when they reached the army’s camp. Carbo was footsore, thirsty and more hungry than he ever could remember being, but he was alive. He wanted to cheer. ‘We’ve made it.’
‘Not yet, we haven’t.’
He stared at Spartacus in shock. ‘But that’s our army. It won’t take long to go down the slope.’
‘We’ve been gone more than two weeks. Who knows what’s happened in that time?’ If Castus and Gannicus were capable of sending assassins after him, what else might they have done?
‘What shall we do then? Do you want to’ – Carbo swallowed the word hide – ‘stay here while I check things out?’
Spartacus chuckled. ‘I’m not scared – I’m just being cautious. We’ll aim for the larger tents in the middle. That’s where Ariadne and the Scythians will be.’
‘What are your plans after that? Are we going to round up a few cohorts and kill the Gauls?’
‘There’s nothing I’d like to do more if it’s they who are responsible,’ snarled Spartacus. ‘But they’ve been hard at work ensuring the loyalty of their followers. If they were killed, upwards of ten thousand men might desert. That’s a loss I can’t afford right now.’
‘So you’re going to let them get away with it?’
‘That’s not what I said at all,’ replied Spartacus with a small smile. ‘Let’s go. Keep your head down as you walk. Most men won’t even notice us.’
‘If you say so.’ Carbo nervously touched the hilt of his dagger for reassurance.
‘I do. You go first. I’ll follow.’
Praying that Spartacus was right, Carbo led the way. It wasn’t long before they started meeting soldiers: men who were returning from an afternoon hunting, a tryst with a woman in the privacy of the woods, or simply those who needed a place to void their bowels. Carbo ignored everyone he met. If a greeting was thrown in his direction, he grunted a reply and moved on. Spartacus kept close behind him, his gaze aimed at the ground.
