Spartacus: The Gladiator (60 page)

Spartacus stared in astonishment as Ariadne glided past to stand between him and Crixus, who had been shocked into momentary silence. Castus, Gannicus and Carbo were little different. Grim delight pulsed through Spartacus at the sight of her.

Ariadne looked magnificent. She was clad in her finest dress; her black hair was held up by a filigree of gold decorated with pieces of blue glass, and around her right arm she carried her snake. The sight of it had already caused superstitious muttering to break out below them.

‘I—’ Crixus began, but Ariadne cut him off.

‘I am a priestess of Dionysus. You – you are nothing!’

Crixus glared, and took a step towards her.

‘Beware Dionysus’ serpent! One bite, and you’ll die in screaming agony.’ She brandished the creature at him and the Gaul fell back.

Spartacus rejoiced inside. So did Carbo. Crixus looked like a chastised boy.

Ariadne moved forward to the edge of the rampart, and raised her arm so that the snake was visible to all. ‘This serpent is the proof that I have been anointed by the god.’

‘Dionysus! Dionysus! Dionysus!’

Ariadne smiled. ‘He thanks you for your devotion.’

‘What would Dionysus have us do?’ echoed a voice from the ranks.

‘Tell us!’ demanded another.

‘I had a dream last night,’ said Ariadne.

Men shouted for quiet, and a hush fell over the army. Spartacus kept a wary eye on Crixus, but the Gaul no longer looked as if he wanted to fight.

‘Dionysus wants you all to be free! Truly free! Crossing the Alps is not something to be afraid of. As many of you know, the god was born in a range of mountains far to the east. He will watch over us as we journey out of Italy, to lands that are unconquered by Rome. This I have seen. This I have been told!’ cried Ariadne. She held up her arm, and the snake partially uncoiled itself, lifting its head to stare disdainfully at the slaves.

A loud, reverential
Ahhhhh
rippled through the throng.

Carbo was also trembling with awe.

Ariadne gave Spartacus a look and he moved to stand beside her. ‘Remember the vision that Spartacus had of the snake?’

There was an almighty roar of ‘YES!’

‘He too has been marked by Dionysus. He too is a chosen one.’

‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ boomed the slaves once more.

She took a step back, allowing Spartacus to assume centre stage.

He cupped a hand around his lips, and the slaves fell quiet again. ‘Who will follow me north, to freedom?’

‘I will!’ roared Pulcher.

‘And I!’ cried Carbo passionately. His doubts had vanished. After all, their future had just been determined by a god.

The air filled with the noise of those shouting their allegiance to him, and Spartacus’ spirits soared. The great majority of men he could see were now roaring in support of his plan. He gave Ariadne a grateful look before glancing at the others. ‘Well?’

‘You’ve led us well so far,’ said Gannicus. ‘I reckon I’ll stick with you on this one.’

Spartacus nodded his thanks. ‘Castus?’

‘You’ve got a point about the Romans not leaving us be.’ There was an eloquent shrug. ‘Why not leave Italy? I’ve always wondered what Gaul looked like.’

‘Excellent,’ said Spartacus fiercely. He glared at Crixus. ‘And you?’

‘I’m going nowhere with you,’ growled the big Gaul. ‘Thousands of men will be happy to follow where I lead too. You know that.’

Spartacus’ tension eased as Crixus spoke. At last there was no need to try and keep him on board. Their fight wasn’t going to happen either.
Why not acknowledge him?
‘It’s natural that they would. For all that we do not see eye to eye, you are a great warrior.’ He glanced at Carbo then, and gave him a tiny nod. He’s all yours, the gesture said.

Carbo’s muscles froze. This close to Crixus, the man’s strength and power were all too obvious. If he attacked the Gaul, he’d be committing suicide.
Is that what I want? Is that what Chloris would have wanted?
No, his heart answered. She’d have wanted me to live. I want to live.

Spartacus saw his indecision.
I gave him his chance
. ‘May the gods make your road easy,’ he said to Crixus, ‘and grant you victory over every Roman army in your path.’

Crixus’ eyes widened with surprise. A half-smile tugged its way on to his face. ‘Fuck me, I never thought I’d say something like this, but may they grant the same to you.’

May they indeed, prayed Ariadne, trying to ignore the worry in the pit of her stomach. She’d seen no bad omens, but none of the details of her ‘dream’ were true. She had made it all up for Spartacus, to prevent a fight with Crixus, and to help win the slaves over.
Forgive me, Dionysus. I meant no disrespect. You have no more loyal devotee than I
.

As Spartacus and Crixus nodded grimly at each other, she redoubled her prayers.

Only time would tell, however, if the god had been angered by her fabrication.

Crassus was eating a breakfast of bread and olives when Saenius came sloping into the courtyard. Wiping his lips fastidiously, Crassus waited for the other to approach his table. ‘What is it?’

‘Publius Varinius is here.’

Before he has even explained himself to the Senate? This I had not expected
. Crassus hid his surprise by dabbing at his mouth again. ‘What does he want?’ he asked offhandedly.

Seeing through his master’s charade, Saenius chuckled. ‘He’s here to see if you can save him!’

‘The man needs help, all right.’ News of the disaster that had overcome Varinius’ troops had taken barely three days to reach the capital.
Varinius now follows in its wake – like a lost dog finds its way home, expecting a beating
.

‘Shall I send him away?’

‘No. I want to hear what happened from his own lips.’

Saenius hurried off. He soon returned with a sheepish-looking Varinius in tow. ‘The praetor Publius Varinius,’ he announced.

Crassus waited for several moments before even acknowledging Varinius’ presence. When he did, it was with frosty surprise. ‘Ah, praetor. You have returned to us.’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank the gods. It’s a great shame that so many of your men did not also survive,’ Crassus added in a tone of great sorrow.

‘Their deaths hang around my neck like a millstone,’ said Varinius miserably.

‘And so they should! Along with the loss of Furius’ and Cossinius’ men,’ Crassus snapped. ‘Virtually everything I have heard of your actions against Spartacus smacks of utter incompetence!’

Varinius did not dare to reply. He hung his head in shame.

‘Tell me what happened at Thurii. I want to understand it for myself.’

The words fell out of Varinius in a veritable tide. His withdrawal to Cumae after the surprise of Spartacus’ disappearance. The long hunt for new recruits. Issues with desertion, near mutiny, disease and finding enough equipment for his men. The search for Spartacus during the foul weather of autumn and winter. After weeks of fruitless marching, the unexpected good news that Spartacus had besieged Thurii. Varinius’ plan to crush the slaves between his infantry and cavalry. The shock of the ambush. The slaves’ overwhelming numbers. Galba’s charge, and his death at Spartacus’ hands. The rout that followed. The incredible appearance of enemy cavalry. Varinius’ attempts to rally his men for a counter-attack, and their total refusal to do so. Somehow pulling together the survivors. Organising treatment for the wounded and maimed, and then his return to Rome. Varinius looked exhausted by the time he’d finished.

He’s not a complete fool, thought Crassus with a twinge of conscience. Who could have predicted that the town was already in Spartacus’ hands? Naturally, he wasn’t going to admit that to Varinius. ‘Clearly, you are here to report this sorry tale to the Senate. I expected to see you there later this morning,’ Crassus said, softening his tone a fraction. ‘Why have you come to me before doing your duty?’

Varinius looked up. There was a desperate expression on his long face. ‘I am a loyal servant of the Republic. Whatever punishment is handed down to me, I will accept.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ replied Crassus acerbically.

‘I thought – I wondered, after your letter, if you might see a way to lending me some support.’

‘Some support?’ Crassus’ voice was silky-smooth.

‘The senators will be out for my blood. If you were to speak for me, they could be swayed …’ Varinius went to say more, but stopped himself.

Crassus considered his options. Did he need the fealty of a failed fellow praetor? No. Would it look good to back a man who had lost repeatedly to a runaway gladiator? Most certainly not. He eyed Varinius sidelong, feeling a modicum of sympathy for the wretch. Was there any benefit at all in defending him? It only took Crassus a heartbeat to decide. ‘You have failed utterly in the mission entrusted to you by the Senate. Why in Hades’ name would I utter a word in your favour?’

‘I—’

‘I am not without heart, however. If, in the wake of your passing, your family needs a loan to carry them through the lean times ahead, I will be happy to oblige. I charge very little interest.’

A nerve twitched in Varinius’ cheek, and he swallowed hard. With an effort, he composed himself. ‘Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.’

‘Very well. If that’s all, then …’ Crassus picked up an olive, and studied it carefully before popping it into his mouth. He did not look at Varinius again.

Saenius materialised at Varinius’ elbow. ‘If you’ll follow me, sir?’

‘Yes, I …’ Varinius’ voice faltered. ‘Of course.’ With slumped shoulders, he followed Saenius from the courtyard.

Crassus watched him go. When he has finished his report, the Senate will offer him only one choice, he thought. Varinius is a dead man walking. That was of little concern. What caused Crassus more disquiet was the fact that Spartacus – the gladiator he’d seen fight and with whom he’d spoken – had turned out to be a formidable foe. Spartacus’ successes could no longer just be put down to chance, ill-fortune or poor judgement on the Roman commanders’ part. There had been too many defeats, over too many legionaries.

Spartacus wasn’t lying when I talked with him, mused Crassus. He is a man to be reckoned with. What a shame he wasn’t the one to be defeated that day in Capua. He’d be maggot food now, instead of a thorn in Rome’s side.

Crassus hoped that his fellows in the Senate now recognised the danger posed by Spartacus. He would do his utmost to make sure that they did. The insult to the Republic’s honour could be tolerated no longer. Both consuls would have to go to war.

Spartacus has to die. And soon
.

Chapter XX

The Apennine Mountains, north-east of Pisae, spring 72 BC

TYPICALLY, IT WAS Atheas who sensed that there was something wrong. Raising a hand, he stopped. Used to their routine, Carbo came to a halt. He was some twenty steps behind the bearded Scythian on a narrow game track that led northwards through the foothills of the Apennines, the mountains that formed Italy’s spine. Since the army had left the ruined city of Thurii behind them, they had followed similar paths. Carbo had soon grown bored of the drudgery and repetitive routine of marching day after day. Dark thoughts about Crixus, and the fact that he had not tried to kill him, had also dogged his every step. Desperate to shake the gloom that had coated him, Carbo had begged Spartacus to let him join one of the scouts on their solitary missions.

‘Why are you wanting to do that?’ the Thracian had asked.

‘To learn a new skill,’ Carbo had answered evasively.
And so I can track down Crixus one day
. It might have been pure fantasy, but he still longed to kill the big Gaul. In his tortured mind, for him to have any peace, Chloris had to be avenged.

‘There are no better trackers than Atheas and Taxacis,’ Spartacus had said. ‘But they won’t be interested in letting you tag along.’ Seeing the anger in Carbo’s eyes, he’d relented. ‘I’ll ask for you.’