They had soon established that Arnax belonged to an old man who lived on his own with a handful of slaves. As long as he kept the floors, the kitchen and the courtyard clean, Arnax was left to his own devices. This discovery had permitted the pair to relax a little. Their spirits had risen soon after when the boy had reappeared with a tunic and a pair of sandals for Navio, as well as some food, and water from the house’s well.
They had readied themselves to leave around midnight. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to get Arnax to join them. ‘When the soldiers haven’t found us by daybreak,’ Carbo had warned, ‘they’ll retrace their steps. It will be easy to see where we jumped over the wall. Two big shitty sets of footprints will lead to this door. When they arrive to talk to your master, there will be one person to blame. You.’
At that, Arnax’s thin face had paled.
‘Come with us,’ Carbo had urged him. ‘You’ll be free, like everyone else in the army. We can always use a clever lad like you.’
‘I’m only eleven.’
‘That’s of no matter. The cooks, the blacksmiths and the grooms who look after the cavalry’s horses always need help.’ Carbo had seen the disappointment in Arnax’s dark eyes and relented. ‘Or you could keep our gear clean and cook for us.’
‘I’ll do it!’
And that had been that.
Taking a piece of rope from the scullery, the trio had stolen through the city, grateful for the total cloud cover that had reduced the light at street level to almost complete darkness. The friends had then been even more thankful for Arnax’s presence. He had a keen sense of direction, and had guided them to the south wall, avoiding a number of patrols. Once they had spotted the sentries pacing the battlements and timed the frequency of their passing, it had been a simple enough affair to climb up, fix their rope to a pillar on the ramparts and scramble down to the ditch at the foot of the wall.
From there, it had been a long but satisfying walk to their encampment, which they had reached just after dawn. Arnax’s eyes had grown to the size of small plates at the sheer number of men and tents, and Carbo had clapped him on the arm. ‘See now why there’s a feeling of panic in Mutina?’
Showing the awestruck Arnax to their tent, the pair had left him with instructions to cook them breakfast. They had gone in search of Spartacus at once. Wary of being punished, both were reluctant to confess the full story of what had happened. If asked to explain the ripe smell still emanating from Navio, they had decided to say he’d drunk too much and fallen into a dungheap as they’d walked through the dark streets. Carbo had had to fish him out.
They found Spartacus seated at his campfire, talking to Castus and Gannicus. Atheas and Taxacis stood nearby as always, like two guardian wolves.
Castus grimaced as they approached. ‘Phoah! Someone stinks of horse shit.’
Gannicus smiled at Navio’s embarrassment. Even Spartacus grinned. ‘What in the Rider’s name happened to you?’
‘Where have you been?’ demanded Castus.
They didn’t know about our mission, thought Carbo. Spartacus wants to show them how smart he is.
‘Mutina,’ said Navio.
Suspicion flashed across Castus’ face, and he shot a glance at Gannicus, who didn’t look happy either. ‘What in Hades were our two Romans doing there, Spartacus?’
‘Falling into dungheaps. What else?’
Castus’ face grew red. ‘Don’t try to be funny with me.’
‘Why were we not told of this?’ growled Gannicus.
‘Do I have to tell you everything?’
‘You used to share with us what you were planning-’
‘You are here now,’ interrupted Spartacus curtly. ‘They were gathering information. You can both hear their report first-hand. Is that not enough?’
Castus made to say more, but Gannicus, who looked angrier than Carbo had ever seen him, laid a hand on his arm. Glowering, Castus subsided into silence.
‘Your mission didn’t all go according to plan, I take it? I don’t recall telling you to fling yourselves into horse shit.’
‘We had some problems, sir,’ replied Navio awkwardly.
Spartacus’ eyebrows made a neat arch.
‘We, err…’ Navio hesitated. ‘We had a few drinks. I ended up in a dungheap. Carbo pulled me out.’
The Gauls chortled.
He hasn’t had to lie. Carbo felt a trace of relief, but it didn’t last. Yet.
‘Nothing wrong with that, as long as you also did what I asked to.’ Spartacus’ voice had lost its amused tone. ‘Did you discover anything?’
‘We did,’ said Carbo, eager to move on. ‘Longinus is planning a surprise attack as we advance past the town. Apparently, there’s an area of hidden ground within range of the road north. That’s where his ballistae will be.’ He wasn’t sure why, but Carbo did not mention what the legionaries had said about the recent Roman victory over the Thracians. He was grateful that Navio didn’t either.
‘Fucking Roman bastards,’ Castus ground out. Gannicus agreed loudly.
‘Do you know where the spot is?’ asked Spartacus.
‘No.’
‘Or how many catapults he has?’
Carbo shook his head in apology.
Spartacus rubbed a finger along his lips, thinking. ‘It’s a clever move. Longinus could have twenty ballistae — or more, if he thought of this a while ago. A good workshop can turn out one piece every few days. Naturally, the artillerymen will have ranged them in beforehand.’ He turned to the Gauls. ‘Imagine the carnage, say, two dozen catapults would cause. They could release six volleys before our soldiers had a chance to respond.’
‘And that’s when the legions would attack,’ said Gannicus.
‘It is. Was there any more, Carbo?’
‘No,’ he said uneasily.
‘It’s of little matter. That will be Longinus’ plan for sure. But now we can do our best to make sure that he fails.’ Spartacus’ gaze grew distant.
Castus wasn’t happy, however. ‘Why didn’t you find out more?’
You’re not the one who risked his life to find this out, thought Carbo furiously. Instead, he said, ‘Because the soldiers who mentioned it walked away.’
‘Then why didn’t you follow them?’ came the instant retort.
‘We couldn’t,’ replied Navio with an irritated look.
‘Were you too pissed? Is that when you fell in the dungheap?’ sneered Castus.
‘Does it matter?’ interjected Spartacus. ‘They were never going to be able to do much more than eavesdrop on conversations anyway. If they’d made themselves obvious, they wouldn’t be here now. Returning safely with news of Longinus’ plan is sufficient.’
‘So you say,’ snapped Castus. ‘I don’t, though. There’s far more to this than meets the eye. Eh, Gannicus?’
‘Aye. The pair of them are as shifty as a cuckold when the husband arrives home.’
‘You don’t trust them?’
‘No,’ Castus snapped. ‘They’re Romans.’
Spartacus’ expression hardened. ‘We’ve had this before. Both of these men have proved their loyalty many times!’
‘They say that blood is thicker than water. I’ve always agreed with that myself,’ said Castus.
Which is why I wouldn’t trust you as far as I could throw you, you Gaulish dog.
‘I say we beat it out of them,’ suggested Castus belligerently.
Rather than defend his men, Spartacus eyed Gannicus. ‘Do you think the same?’
‘They’re holding back something. That’s as clear as the nose on the end of my face. As the leaders ’ — Gannicus laid especial emphasis on the last word — ‘of this army, we’re entitled to know everything — and to find out by whatever means necessary.’