Arnax glanced briefly at the sky before looking down again, embarrassed.
Carbo hid his grin. He’d forgotten how innocent children could be. ‘Let’s not give up.’
‘I want to keep going,’ agreed Spartacus, who was revelling in the sensation of being with comrades, tracking nothing more than a deer. There were no men asking him for equipment, no new recruits who needed instruction, no horses to be broken or officers asking him for guidance. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in an age.
‘Look!’
The excitement in Arnax’s voice caught everyone’s attention. Spartacus’ gaze followed the boy’s pointing arm down the slope, through the gap in the trees to the flat ground that lay beyond. ‘That’s no deer.’ He studied the three figures who were running at full pelt towards the woods.
‘They’re being pursued,’ hissed Carbo. Some distance behind the fugitives rose a tell-tale dust cloud. His stomach clenched. ‘Riders.’ They were too far away to estimate their number, but the spiral of dust was large. It was also closing in fast on the running men.
‘Roman deserters?’ suggested Navio.
‘They’re more likely to be escaped slaves,’ said Spartacus.
Carbo and Navio exchanged glances, wondering what to do. The safest thing would be to return to the camp. Surely, their leader would think the same thing.
‘Those men could be coming to join us,’ grated Spartacus.
‘The riders who are after them outnumber us,’ warned Navio.
Everyone in the camp — Ariadne, the Scythians, Pulcher and Egbeo — would want me to melt away into the trees. Even Castus and Gannicus would advise walking away from this situation. But who are they to tell me what to do? I decide what risks I take — crazy or not. A wicked grin split Spartacus’ face. ‘It’s been a while since I faced long odds. I’m going down there. You in?’
Chapter V
‘Of course.’ Carbo wondered why his leader was being so foolhardy, but he didn’t say so. Instead he returned his narrow-headed arrow to his quiver and pulled out a barbed shaft.
‘Fine,’ said Navio with a crooked smile and did the same.
‘W-what are you going to do?’ Arnax’s voice was quavering.
‘Slip down to the edge of the trees and see what’s going on.’ Spartacus pointed a finger at the ground. ‘You’re going to stay here, where it’s safe.’
‘But-’
‘But nothing. You’re too young to fight, yet the Romans — if that’s who the riders are — would cut you down in the blink of an eye.’
‘You’re to do as Spartacus says,’ ordered Carbo loudly, trying to calm his own nerves. ‘You can hide easily here, and see what happens. If the worst comes to the worst, return to the camp. Can you retrace your steps to find it?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. When you get there, find Pulcher or Egbeo and tell them what happened,’ Spartacus directed.
‘Pulcher. Egbeo. Yes.’
‘If I have been killed, they are to lead the army.’ Or however many of the men will follow them rather than Castus or Gannicus, he thought cynically. ‘Atheas and Taxacis are to look after Ariadne. Let’s go.’ Taking his spear from Arnax, Spartacus trotted off with Navio on his heels.
Carbo paused long enough to clap the boy on the arm. What had he got Arnax into? he wondered. He glanced at the dust cloud, which had grown larger. Now he could see the shapes of individual riders, at least fifteen of them. What the hell was he getting himself into? His pulse raced as he began to descend the slope.
Reaching the bottom first, Spartacus moved at once along the edge of the trees, searching for the best spot to observe what was going on. He was careful to keep far enough back to prevent his being seen. He soon spotted the fugitives. They were definitely slaves, he decided. All three were thin, barefoot and dressed in ragged tunics. The men had almost reached the shelter of the woods, but they looked more terrified than ever. That was because the front riders — three Roman cavalrymen in mail shirts and bronze helmets, carrying long, slashing swords — were nearly upon them. Behind thundered many more.
‘Quickly!’ he hissed at Carbo and Navio. Darting to the shelter of a holm oak at the very limit of the trees, he dropped his spear and stabbed a row of shafts into the earth in front of him. Nocking an arrow to the string, Spartacus drew a bead on the first rider, an unshaven man with long hair. He glanced to either side. A few steps away, Carbo and Navio were also ready. ‘How far?’ he muttered.
‘Eighty to a hundred paces, give or take,’ replied Carbo. Navio growled in agreement.
Spartacus pulled back to full draw. ‘On my count. One. Two. Three!’
Their arrows shot through the air. Two punched the first rider off his horse’s back, and Spartacus swore under his breath. He should have named his target. The last shaft, Carbo’s, struck a man behind the leader straight through the throat. He was dead before he even hit the ground. The men’s companions roared with anger, but they did not slow down. Leaning forward across his mount’s neck, one swung down with all his might at the last of the three fugitives. An excruciating scream shredded the air. A sheet of blood sprayed from the man’s back, and he fell to the ground like a puppet with cut strings.
‘In here! In here!’ shouted Spartacus. He took aim and let another arrow fly. ‘Loose as fast as you can,’ he roared. ‘We have to make the scumbags think that there are plenty of us.’
Hiss! Hiss! Hiss! The trio released shafts as fast as they could.
Two more horsemen went down. A steed that had been struck in the chest reared up in agony, unseating its rider. The man immediately behind could not react fast enough, and with a massive thump, the horses collided. Carbo’s delight at this faded as a yelling cavalryman closed in on the second fugitive, delivering an almighty blow to his right side. The slave stumbled and cried out, but incredibly he kept running. Carbo took a little satisfaction as his next arrow took the Roman rider in the groin, below the bottom of his mail shirt. Hiss! Hiss! Two more shafts scudded out, striking another pair of riders.
The wounded slave’s gaze scanned the trees. He’d seen their arrows. He shouted something at his companion, and they changed direction slightly, aiming for where Spartacus and the others were standing. Carbo stared at the man’s face, twisted with effort. ‘Paccius?’ he whispered. Disbelief filled him. It couldn’t be the Samnite who had been his family’s best slave, and who had trained him to use a sword and shield. Could it? Then the man staggered and almost fell, and one of the nearest Romans whooped with triumph. Before Carbo knew what he was doing, he was sprinting out of the cover of the trees. Into the open.
‘What are you doing, you fool?’ Spartacus yelled.
‘Come back!’ Navio roared. ‘You’ll be killed.’
The taste of Carbo’s fear was acid in his throat, but he kept running. He nocked an arrow to his string. ‘I’m coming, Paccius. Hold on!’
A cavalryman closed in on the injured fugitive and Carbo swore. There was no way that he could loose accurately as he ran. Zip! Something flashed past him, striking the Roman in the chest. The shaft punched through his mail shirt, throwing him backwards off his mount. Another arrow shot by, hitting a horse and causing it to stumble. Its rider did well not to be unseated, but he was still out of the fight. Carbo felt a surge of gratitude towards Spartacus and Navio.
The first slave was now only twenty paces or so away. His mouth gaped open with the impossible effort of trying to outrun horses.
‘We’ve got to help your friend,’ Carbo yelled, gesturing madly. ‘Go back and help him.’
The slave looked at him as if he were mad, but he obeyed.
Things were not good. The Romans had split up. Three were coming at him from the left, and four from the right. The remainder were aiming for the injured slave and his comrade. Carbo felt nauseous. What had he done? There was no way that he could release enough arrows to kill, or even injure, all his opponents. Even if he took down a few of them, the rest would slice him up with ease. I’m a dead man. His conscience spat back at once. At least you tried to save Paccius.