by Ben Kane
His thick eyebrows lifted. ‘Spartacus?’
She nodded.
There was a tiny smile. ‘No one… ever ask me.’
‘I’d like to know.’
‘When Taxacis and I… captured… other slaves refuse… talk with us. Think all Scythians… savages.’ Atheas spat his contempt on the ground. ‘But Spartacus… different.’
‘Go on,’ encouraged Ariadne.
‘In ludus… he act like… leader.’ He shrugged. ‘No chance… return… Scythia, so we decide… follow him.’
‘He is grateful for your loyalty. I want you to know that I am too.’
Atheas dipped his head in acknowledgement.
‘You chose wisely,’ said Ariadne. ‘When we cross the Alps, you will be free to travel to Scythia once more.’
He grinned fiercely. ‘I look forward… that day.’
‘And so do I.’ May Dionysus grant that it happens, thought Ariadne, doing her best to ignore the pangs of concern that were tearing at her heart.
By trotting from one end of the cliff tops to the other, Carbo was able to monitor the fight on both fronts. He had a bird’s-eye view of the battle, and so it was patently clear when the tide turned not just for Spartacus, but for the Gaulish leaders as well. Smashed apart by the slaves’ cavalry, Lentulus’ second legion was then slaughtered by Castus’ and Gannicus’ men. At least a third of its legionaries fell on the field, and the rest were harangued as they fled, losing countless more men in the process. The story was little different on Spartacus’ side of the defile.
As the scale of the victory became clearer, Carbo’s men grew more and more ecstatic. They danced and sang, praising every god in the pantheon for the interventions on their behalf. He, while also delighted by the victory, was struck by the shame of the Roman defeat. He was furious with himself for even feeling that emotion, but it couldn’t be denied. The sooner they crossed the mountains and left Italy, Carbo thought, the better. There at least he would have no regard for their enemies. He would be able to follow Spartacus without feeling in some way disloyal to his heritage. Perhaps, too, he could forget Crixus, and what he had done to Chloris.
Yet if it ever came to it, Carbo also knew that he would follow the Thracian into battle against the legions again. Too much water had gone under the bridge since he’d left home. Too much blood had been shed for there to be any going back.
He was Spartacus’ man, whatever the future held.
And that, despite all the uncertainty, was a good feeling.
More than two hours passed. Finally, the noise of loud cheering carried into the camp. Ariadne’s heart jolted in her chest. She raced with everyone else to the track which led north, and waited. Shivers racked her body, but they weren’t caused by the cooling mountain air. Just because the slaves had won didn’t mean that Spartacus had survived. She saw the same fear mirrored in every woman’s expression. They all had loved ones in the army’s ranks, but it was likely that many of them would never return. Guilt suffused Ariadne at the very thought of it, but she hoped that others had died rather than Spartacus, that she would not be the one to be left alone forever. She stole a glance at the pinched faces around her. Even Atheas looked concerned. They’re all thinking the same thing. That realisation made her feel fractionally better.
‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’
The loud cry filled Ariadne with an unquenchable joy. She was running before she knew it, her feet pounding along the track. A disorganised mass of slaves rounded the bend, and she scanned them frantically. It was impossible not to notice the dozen standards that were being brandished aloft. Despite her worries, Ariadne’s eyes widened at the sight of two silver eagles amongst them. Then, recognising Spartacus, bloodied from head to foot, without a helmet but walking without help, she let out a yelp of happiness. A moment later, she had reached him, and thrown herself into his arms.
His men’s cheering redoubled. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’
‘You’re alive, you’re alive,’ she murmured.
‘Of course I am,’ he replied, squeezing her tight. ‘Were you worried about me?’
Shocked, Ariadne pulled back to stare at him, and saw that he was joking. She didn’t know whether to laugh, to cry, or to kiss him. In the event, she did all three, in that order. She didn’t care that he stank of sweat and other men’s blood, that everyone was watching, that a priestess of Dionysus was not supposed to act in such a manner. All Ariadne cared about was that the man she loved had not died that day on the battlefield. That the child growing in her belly still had a father. Those two things were enough.
There were shouts of delight as the other women arrived and were seen by their men. The slaves streamed forward to be reunited with their loved ones, leaving Spartacus and Ariadne like an island in a river, oblivious, locked in each other’s arms.
‘You won,’ she said at last.
‘We did,’ he declared. ‘Everything went according to plan, thank the gods. Lentulus took the bait, and advanced into the gorge. Carbo split the legions apart, and shook their confidence. The moment the battle began, Egbeo and Pulcher emerged with their men to take them in the left flank. The bastards never knew what had happened. They broke and ran like a flock of sheep with a wolf amongst them.’
‘And Castus and Gannicus?’
‘They fared just as well.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Pursuing the Romans. Butchering every man they find, and making sure that they can’t regroup. Not that there’s much chance of that. The rest of the men are stripping the Roman dead of their weapons and equipment, or ransacking their camp for supplies.’
‘Was Lentulus captured or slain?’
‘Unfortunately not. When he saw that the battle was lost, he fled on horseback. Not that it matters!’ His scowl was replaced by a smile. ‘He can carry the news of this defeat to the Senate himself. You’ve seen the eagles we took. The shame of that disgrace will be a far greater sting to Rome’s pride than the men who were killed today. Lentulus will be lucky to survive with his head.’
She kissed him happily on the lips. ‘You are a great general. Truly, Dionysus favours you.’
‘The Great Rider was here today too. He lent me his strength,’ he said reverently. Joy filled him. Maron has finally been avenged.
Silence fell between them as they both offered up thanks to the gods.
‘What next?’ asked Ariadne. Her pulse quickened with new fear. ‘You’re not tempted to go in search of the second consular army?’
‘Tempted? Of course I am! Crixus might even welcome the help!’ He saw her concern, and his fierce expression gentled. ‘No, the Romans are like locusts. There’s no end to their armies. If Gellius appears, we will fight him, but my plan is still to head north, to the Alps.’
‘They are not far now.’ Ariadne let her mind wander. ‘Our son could be born in Gaul.’
‘Maybe,’ said Spartacus, wary of tempting the gods, wary because life had previously handed him so many harsh lessons. ‘Let us reach the mountains first, and cross them before making any assumptions.’ He grinned at her, keen to dispel his worries. ‘Today, though, let us rejoice in our victory and the knowledge that Rome has learned a lesson.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked, smiling.
‘That slaves can also be soldiers. That they can take on the might of a consular army, and win. I knew it could be done, and today I proved it.’
A man could die happy knowing he’d accomplished that.
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