by Ben Kane
If Spartacus had known that so many of his soldiers would die in such a manner, would he have crossed the Alps? she wondered. The answer was still a resounding ‘No’. He had known throughout what might happen. Wasn’t that half the reason he had staged the munus with the Roman prisoners?
‘Marcion!’ cried Carbo. He tore to the far side of the road, where a black-haired man with deep-set eyes hung from a cross. Rank-smelling liquid ran from a terrible cut in his belly.
Checking that the travellers had gone around the next bend, Ariadne and Navio followed.
‘He’s still alive,’ whispered Carbo. He reached out and brushed the hair that hung over Marcion’s face. ‘Can you hear me? It is I, Carbo, who stood near you during the battle.’
Ariadne paled. Near Spartacus too, then.
Marcion’s breathing, which was loud and rasping, checked. After a moment, his eyelids flickered. A low moan left his mouth.
Carbo stroked his cheek as tenderly as he might a baby’s. ‘Two of your comrades are here. Spartacus’ wife is here. Your pain will soon be over.’
Marcion’s head came up slowly. His eyes took in Carbo, but there was no recognition. ‘Kill me,’ he croaked. ‘Please.’
Ariadne saw Carbo’s dagger rise. This time, she couldn’t bring herself to order him to put it away.
‘Elysium awaits,’ whispered Carbo. ‘Just answer me one question.’
Marcion’s grunt might have been a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’.
‘Did you see Spartacus fall?’
They all stared. Ariadne was very aware that behind her on the mule Maron was stirring. That the sun was illuminating every line of blood, every cut and bruise on Marcion’s battered body. That her heart was pounding in her chest fit to burst.
‘Marcion?’ asked Carbo again.
There was no answer.
‘He’s too far gone,’ muttered Navio.
Please, O Great Dionysus, prayed Ariadne. Great Rider, give him the strength to speak.
‘Saved . . . life.’
‘Spartacus saved your life?’
‘Yes.’ A shuddering breath; a sense of energy being rallied. ‘Soon after, he took a bad cut to one of his legs. Even that didn’t stop him, but then three legionaries attacked him. He went down under a flurry of blows. That was when I gave up. No reason to go on, was there?’ Drained, his head sagged down again.
Ariadne felt faint. She was aware of Carbo and Navio’s grief-stricken faces, of her own knife-edged sorrow dulling somewhat. Most of all, she felt an overpowering feeling of relief. After the battle, she had thought Spartacus was dead, only to have Navio place the doubt in her mind that he might be suffering on a cross like the near-dead wretch before her. That doubt had vanished. Spartacus had died on the field, as he would have wished. In the circumstances, it was the best she could have hoped for.
A glance up and down the road. Thank the gods, she thought. Not a soul in sight. Her eyes slid to Carbo. His face looked haunted. When she looked at his dagger meaningfully, though, he gave her a resolute nod. On impulse, Ariadne unstrapped Maron and carried him back to the cross. ‘Do you see this man Marcion?’ she whispered. ‘He fought with your father until the end. Now he is going to meet him again. Let’s ask Marcion to carry a message for us.’
Maron gurgled with happiness, unaware of the dreadful reality in front of him.
Tears welled in Ariadne’s eyes as she went up on tiptoe to reach Marcion’s ear. ‘When you reach Elysium, tell Spartacus that he died well. That his soldiers loved him. That we loved him also, his wife and his son. That Atheas, Carbo and Navio are alive and as faithful as ever. Tell him too that he will never be forgotten as long as men draw breath in this world. That Crassus will have a dreadful death, the worst of ends a man can have, and will be remembered more for his failures than for what he did at the Silarus.’
Marcion’s breathing settled. Ariadne wasn’t sure, but she thought that there was a faint nod. She waited, but he didn’t move again.
‘I think he’s gone.’ Carbo’s tone was wondering.
‘He was waiting for us,’ said Ariadne with utter conviction. ‘Once he’d heard my message, he let go.’ Thank you, Dionysus, for that gift. I am in your debt, Great Rider.
Carbo and Navio stared at one another, both taking comfort from the knowledge that Spartacus had died in combat. That he would soon receive word from Ariadne and Maron. That Crassus would not die as a contented old man.
It seemed justice of a kind.
‘I don’t want to see every crucifix,’ Ariadne announced. ‘We have discovered what we needed to, thank the gods.’
‘There’s no point in torturing ourselves further,’ added Carbo. ‘Or endangering you and Maron.’
‘Where shall we go?’ asked Navio.
‘They say that many hundreds of men are heading for the mountains above Thurii,’ answered Ariadne. They will honour me not just as a priestess, but as the mother of Spartacus’ son.
‘That sounds as good a place as any. It’s easy terrain to hide in if you don’t want to be found. Maybe Arnax will find us there too.’ Carbo glanced at Navio.
‘I can hardly let you go on your own. You haven’t got the first idea about how to turn men into soldiers!’ Navio indicated Maron. ‘He’ll need instruction from the best.’
Carbo was surprised to feel a smile tug its way on to his face. His grief for Spartacus was yet raw, but he still had many of the people who had become his family around him. It was a blessing that he could not ignore. ‘It will be good to have you with us.’
‘Life will be different,’ said Ariadne, kissing Maron, ‘but it will go on.’
Author’s Note
IT DOESN’T SEEM more than a few months ago that I sat down to write what I thought would be one book about Spartacus. Over a year later, I find myself at the end of a second novel, bereft of the presence of a man whom I’ve always admired but have come to regard even more highly. During this time, I’ve lived and breathed little else than things to do with Spartacus, even travelling to Italy to journey in his footsteps. Nearing the end of the second book and the final battle therein was something that I came to dread, because of the well-known outcome. Committing the scenes to paper (screen) was an emotional experience, yet one of the best periods of writing that I have experienced. I wrote the final 15,000-plus words in about five days, often working more than twelve hours a day. The words just flooded out of me and when I had finished, I felt more drained than I have ever been. I hope that the intensity of my experience is conveyed on the pages throughout the book, but especially in the final sections.
This volume takes up Spartacus’ tale directly after the conclusion of the first novel. I have tried hard to stick to the known historical facts. Any notable changes are mentioned below and any errors that you might find are mine. Sadly, only about four thousand words about Spartacus have come down to us through the tides of time. As I’ve mentioned before, this is frustrating but does leave a novelist a great deal of leeway when constructing a story. It would have been good to have more historical material, but it wasn’t to be.
Crixus and his men faced Gellius’ legions on Mount Garganus, today’s Promontorio del Gargano; I’ve shared what details we know of their final battle. I made up the details about the Romans amputating his and his men’s hands. The gory munus celebrated by Spartacus and his soldiers is known to have occurred, although it was my idea to allow one man – Caepio, a fictional character – to survive. Obviously, Carbo and Navio’s mission into Mutina is imagined; so too is the manner but not the outcome of the clash against Longinus. A man called Publipor did guide Spartacus and his men through the mountains of southern Italy in the early months of the rebellion, but my fictional version of him comes into the story later on. I do think it’s entirely possible that the Romans tried to plant spies in the slave army; this could, as I have written, account for some of Spartacus’ failures.
Unless one day an historical document is unearthed that gives us Spartacus’ a
ctual voice, we will never truly understand why he marched all the way to the Alps only to turn around and return south. It’s no surprise that his reasoning has been the subject of much debate. The subject is covered very well in Professor Barry Strauss’s excellent text, The Spartacus War. My incarnation of the man didn’t want to give up his army; it’s unlikely that he would have heard about Lucullus’ successes in Thrace, but for me it gave him a better motive to remain in Italy.
It’s not clear how Crassus managed to worm his way into command of the Republic’s armies, but his wealth and influence would have helped enormously. He was famed for being the richest man in Rome, as well as one of its canniest politicians. It was my decision to describe the young Julius Caesar as one of Crassus’ officers, but the suggestion is not unreasonable. He served as one of the twenty-four military tribunes in either 72 or 71 BC, and there is no mention of him going overseas, which means that he could well have been posted within Italy. Given the slave rebellion that was raging at the time, it’s likely in that case that he could have served in Crassus’ army. There is absolutely no evidence to suggest that Spartacus ever visited the capital, or attempted to assassinate Crassus. I liked the idea of him trying, however, and of imagining: ‘What if he had succeeded?’
I’m tired of receiving emails about wagons not being allowed in Rome during daylight hours, so let me set the record straight. That law was not passed until more than forty years after the events related in this book. The speed with which Crassus raised his legions and marched south has been exaggerated, but not by much. The punishment meted out to a soldier who had laid down his sword as he dug a trench was not ordered by Crassus, but it did take place some generations before. The decimation I described was carried out by Crassus’ specific command. Spartacus did try to recruit pirates to carry some of his men to Sicily; one of them was called Heracleo. I made up what befell Heracleo and his men; we don’t know why they never honoured their side of the bargain. The manner in which Crassus and his men walled Spartacus’ army into the ‘toe’ of the ‘boot’ is true; as is so common with ancient transient constructions that have not survived, its location is hotly debated. Having driven the area, I agree with Barry Strauss’ suggestion that the Melìa Ridge, which runs east to west across the peninsula about fifty miles north of the modern-day city of Reggio di Calabria (ancient Rhegium), was the site of the Roman fortifications. Of course that’s just my opinion!
The slaves’ failed attack on the enemy defences happened. They suffered huge casualties, but then, spurred on by Spartacus’ crucifixion of a Roman prisoner, they succeeded in breaking out. There is no evidence that captured legionaries were executed to fill the ditches, but the bodies of men and animals were used for this purpose. The bitter rivalry between Spartacus and Castus and Gannicus throughout is my invention, but it’s not an idea without basis, because the pair did split off from the main army around this time. The exact manner of their fate and the location where they met it are not clear, but they were saved once by Spartacus’ intervention as I described, only to go down fighting courageously soon after. Of the 12,300 men reputed to have been killed by Crassus’ legionaries, just two had wounds in their backs. Spartacus is then reported to have headed for Brundisium, only to hear of Lucullus’ arrival. The site for his final battle is also uncertain, but many have mooted it to be the valley of the River Sele (historically, the Silarus), near the modern town of Oliveto Citra. I have been there, and recommend anyone who’s visiting the Naples area to go and take a look. It’s quite atmospheric.
As far as I know, there is no evidence for the use of whistles by Roman officers to relay commands. Trumpets and other instruments were used for this purpose. However, whistles have been found in sites all over the Empire, including in the proximity of the legionary fortresses at Regensburg in Germany. It’s not too much of a jump after that for me to have one in Spartacus’ hands during a battle. A whistle could have been very useful in getting the attention of men who were only a few steps away.
On that momentous day in spring 71 BC, Crassus ordered his men to dig ditches; Spartacus’ response was to have his soldiers go on the attack. The battle developed slowly from these skirmishes. The dramatic image of Spartacus sacrificing his horse is recorded; so too is the bitterness of the combat that followed. Crassus is known to have stayed close to the fighting, and Spartacus to have led from the front, and to have aimed straight for his enemy’s position. Although he personally killed two centurions, he failed in his attempt to kill Crassus. Injured, he fought on until he and the men around him were cut down. Significantly, his body was never found (this was why I had Spartacus remove his helmet near the end – so he could not be identified). As was so often the case in ancient times, the news of their leader’s death made his army break and run. They were pursued from the field with savage zeal; perhaps as many as ten thousand were killed, and about two-thirds that number made captive. Many more escaped, however, and were pursued by Crassus’ legionaries. All were reputed to have been taken prisoner, but we know that is untrue because resistance to Roman rule continued in the area around Thurii for more than a decade afterwards.
The six thousand men crucified on Crassus’ orders lined the road from Capua to Rome as I’ve described. It was the joint greatest number of crucifixions ever to take place, and the horror of it can only be imagined. I recently went to Rome, where I visited the remains of the ancient Via Appia that are still to be seen in the southern outskirts of the city. There is one section that is nearly a mile in length, which is almost entirely intact. Standing on paving slabs with deep ruts from Roman carts, fields either side and with few people around, it was easy and unnerving to envisage the scene. I strongly urge anyone who visits Rome to make the time to see this spot. It’s only a short bus ride from the Circus Maximus, and is an oasis of calm after the bustle of the city centre.
Crassus’ satisfaction with his victory over Spartacus was short-lived. Pompey, his arch-rival, was quick to seize the limelight when his troops massacred a group of five thousand survivors of Spartacus’ army whom they encountered in Etruria (modern-day Tuscany), sending a letter to the Senate to report that ‘Crassus had defeated the slaves in open battle, but he, Pompey, had torn up the very roots of the war.’ To add to Crassus’ frustration and jealousy, Pompey was afforded a triumph for his exploits in Spain; so too was his co-commander; the same honour was also granted to Marcus Lucullus, who had returned from his war against Mithridates. Four parades therefore took place in Rome in 71 BC, but Crassus’ one was only an ovatio, because he had defeated slaves, not free men. He must have hated having to enter the city on foot or on a horse rather than in a chariot; to have worn a standard magistrate’s toga instead of garments lined with gold thread; not to have had a sceptre. The sound of flutes would have grated on his ears rather than the clarion call of trumpets. Crassus should have worn a myrtle wreath rather than a laurel one, but at this he balked, requesting the Senate to make an exception in his case. This was granted, perhaps allowing Crassus to salvage some pride. Determined not to be outdone by Pompey, he paid for extensive celebrations in Rome and, after the manner of a returning victorious general, dedicated one-tenth of his wealth to Hercules. His rivalry with Pompey continued through the year that followed, however, when they served together as consuls. The bitterness was only put aside towards the end of their term of office, when after a request from another politician, they made a public gesture of reconciliation.
In the decade that followed, Crassus continued to strengthen his position through politics while Pompey did the same by undertaking more military campaigns on the Republic’s behalf. Both were very successful in their fields. Their rivalry appears to have simmered beneath the surface, never disappearing entirely. The gradual rise to prominence of Caesar eventually led to the pair accommodating a third party, forming what was known as the second triumvirate. Together the three men ruled Rome until Crassus departed for the east in 55 BC, his intention to win a major victory over Parthia,
a desert region to the east of Syria and Judaea. As many of you know, his decision was unwise. At the battle of Carrhae in the summer of 53 BC, Crassus, one of his sons and twenty thousand legionaries were killed. Anyone interested in the story of that campaign would do well to read The Defeat of Rome by Gareth C. Sampson, or a novel called The Forgotten Legion!
As I wrote in the first book, the list of references for Spartacus is shorter than normal, because of the aforementioned lack of material. Apart from my standard Roman history texts, the main sources I used were (as previously mentioned) The Spartacus War by Barry Strauss; Spartacus and the Slave Wars: A Brief History with Documents by Brent D. Shaw, which details every little scrap of ancient text about the man; Spartacus and the Slave War 73–71 BC, an Osprey book by Nic Fields; The Thracians by Chris Webber, also published by Osprey, and the same author’s textbook The Gods of Battle, which I recommend highly. The brilliant website RomanArmyTalk.com has to be mentioned too – it’s a wonderful place to find out anything and everything about the Roman army, and its members are always quick to answer any queries. There’s also a great site called UNRV.com, which deals with all things Roman, not just the army.
There are many, many people whom I have to thank as well. Rosie de Courcy, my editor; Charlie Viney, my agent; Nicola Taplin, Ruth Waldram, Amelia Harvell and Jen Doyle, Richard Ogle, Rob Waddington, Andrew Sauerwine, Jane Kirby, Monique Corless, Kasia Thompson, Dave Parrish, Richenda Todd and Steve Stone. In the USA, Keith Kahla, Jeanne-Marie Hudson and Jessica Preeg at St Martin’s Press. Without you all, my job would be impossible. Thank you! As ever, I’m grateful to Claire Wheller, my first-class physio, and to Arthur O’Connor, my friend and critic. I appreciate the friendship and help of all the re-enactors I know too, from the legionaries of Legio XX in Deva to those of the Ermine Street Guard, Legio II Augusta and others further afield in Italy, Spain and the USA. To you, my readers, I raise a glass in huge appreciation of your support. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be writing. Your emails, Facebook comments and tweets brighten my days at my desk. Please pop by my website benkane.net any time, where your opinions are always welcome. You can also look for me on Facebook, or Twitter: @benkaneauthor. Lastly, I have to thank my wonderful wife Sair and my two lovely children, Ferdia and Pippa, whom I love so very much.
