The thrill of saving Publipor, of surviving when he shouldn’t have, vanished.
Spartacus began brooding again about the Alps. He had been trying to avoid the question, although it swirled around in the back of his mind like a repetitive bad dream. Going on the hunt had been a way to forget his troubles, albeit briefly. Don’t try to deny it, he thought. When it comes down to it, it’s not certain if the army will follow me out of Italy. And if they won’t leave, I’m not sure I want to either.
The answer will come to me. The Rider will show me the way.
For once, his staple prayer rang very hollow.
Some days later…
Rome
Crassus pursed his lips in disapproval as Longinus’ lictores filed through the Curia’s massive bronze doors. ‘The man has some nerve allowing them to precede him in here,’ he hissed.
A nearby senator heard. ‘As a proconsul, Longinus is entitled to eleven bodyguards.’
‘I’m fully aware of how many lictores a proconsul merits,’ Crassus shot back. ‘My point is that he is showing an indecent amount of cheek to show up in this fashion. If the stories are to be believed, Longinus didn’t just lose to Spartacus, he was thrashed! His legions were almost wiped out, losing yet more eagles in the process, and the man was fortunate to escape with his life. It would be more appropriate if Longinus came in with no pomp, no ceremony. Humbly, seeking our forgiveness for his failures.’
The senator considered replying, but Crassus’ fury made him think better of it. He turned his back.
‘It is unbecoming that he’s making such an entrance,’ commented Caesar, who was standing close by.
Crassus smiled. Thus far, he was pleased with his decision to lend Caesar the three million denarii. His new ally had brought scores of the younger senators into his camp, and was being proactive in recruiting more. His attention returned to the lictores. His face went a shade of purple. ‘The arrogant bastard hasn’t even had them remove the axes from their fasces!’
His words sent a ripple of shock through the six hundred senators. Within Rome’s sacred boundary, only a dictator’s lictores were allowed to carry the axes in the fasces that signified the right to execute wrongdoers. To break this rule was sacrilege of the most serious kind.
‘A bad time to seek out such bad luck,’ said Caesar loudly.
Gnaeus Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus and Lucius Gellius, the two consuls, strained their ears to hear the scandalised whispers, but their rosewood chairs at the end of the rectangular room were placed too far from their senatorial colleagues.
Longinus’ lead lictor rapped his fasces on the marble floor.
A disapproving silence fell.
‘I announce the proconsul of Cisalpine Gaul, Gaius Cassius Longinus.’
‘Savour your position, because you won’t be in it for much longer,’ said Crassus, making no effort to be quiet.
His supporters, who now numbered more than 150, tittered.
‘Silence!’ said the lictor, but his bark lacked its customary authority.
Crassus’ pleasure grew. He didn’t yet have enough senators to command a majority, but Longinus’ defeat would only lend fuel to his fire and, by all the gods, he would make the most of this situation. Since the news of Spartacus’ latest victory had reached Rome a day and a half before, Crassus had spent every waking moment considering what he would say.
A couple more derogatory comments were made about Longinus. Crassus was pleased to note that they came from the other side of the floor, traditionally the area where Pompey’s faction stood. He heard the words ‘A disgrace to his office’ and ‘Another stain to the Republic’s honour’ and exulted. I will gain control of the legions — I know it, he thought. Be careful, warned his cautious side. Let Longinus place his own head on the block.
Lentulus, who was an unremarkable-looking man with receding brown hair, spoke to his chief lictor, who rapped out an order. At once his fellows hammered their fasces off the floor.
A hush fell. When the consuls — even those who had been defeated — demanded silence, they got it.
‘Let the proconsul approach,’ cried Lentulus’ lictor.
The bodyguards’ formation parted, and Longinus stepped smartly forward. He was a man of medium height and build, with a hard-bitten look. As a general who had been on campaign, he was wearing a red tunic. A sash of the same colour was tied around the lower part of his gleaming bronze cuirass. Layered linen pteryges covered his groin, and he wore a magnificent crested helmet. Even his calf-high boots were polished. He very much looked the part, and under normal circumstances, his appearance would have garnered approving comments from the senators. Not so today, Crassus observed with delight. In a clear sign that his peers were unhappy with his conduct, Longinus walked the length of the Curia in complete silence. He halted at the low dais upon which the two consuls sat, and saluted.
‘Proconsul,’ said Lentulus.
Gellius inclined his head. ‘You have returned.’
‘Yes, consuls,’ replied Longinus stiffly. ‘I have come to make my report about recent events in the north.’
Crassus held in his explosive reaction. He mustn’t move too soon.
Someone else did it for him. ‘“Recent events”?’ cried a senator off to his right. ‘Is that what you call your humiliation by a rabble of slaves?’
A loud growl of agreement met these words, and Longinus scowled.
‘Order! I will have order!’ shouted Lentulus. Twin spots of scarlet marked his cheeks. Crassus revelled in the consul’s anger. Lentulus had had precisely the same experience at Spartacus’ hands just a short time prior. The taunt could as well have been aimed at him or Gellius as Longinus, and there was nothing that Lentulus could do to deny it.
A resentful silence fell once more.
‘Why are your lictores’ fasces still decorated with axes, Longinus?’ Caesar shouted. ‘Are you trying to anger the gods even further than they already are?’
Longinus was stunned by the intervention of the Pontifex Maximus. ‘I-’
Lentulus’ eyes bulged as he took in the lictores standing by the entrance. He exchanged a look of outrage with Gellius. ‘What is the meaning of this, proconsul?’
‘It was an oversight, nothing more. We had been riding all night to get here. Of course I did not wish to upset the gods!’ He called to his lictores: ‘Remove the axes at once! Sacrifices of atonement are to be made at the major temples. See that it is done!’ His bodyguards hurried from the building, and Longinus regarded the consuls again. ‘I will perform my own penitence to the gods as soon as I may,’ he said humbly. ‘It will never happen again.’
‘Damn right it won’t,’ snapped Crassus.
Other comments — angry and concerned — filled the air.
‘Let us have your report,’ ordered Gellius.
‘As every senator here knows, I have command of two legions. The slave Spartacus leads in excess of fifty thousand men. Knowing that these men had come fresh from their victories’ — Longinus cleared his throat while pointedly ignoring the consuls — ‘over other Roman forces, I decided that my best option was to mount a surprise attack on his army as it marched towards the Alps. To this end, I located a suitable position a short distance from the road near Mutina. Upwards of thirty ballistae were built and transported there in secret. My plan was for the catapults to rain down an intense bombardment on the unsuspecting slaves, creating havoc, before my legions advanced on them from the north.’
‘Something tells me that it didn’t quite happen that way,’ said Crassus quietly.
Beside him, Caesar’s lips twitched.
‘A good plan,’ admitted Gellius. ‘What went wrong?’
‘Somehow Spartacus got wind of what I was up to. A strong force of slaves attacked the soldiers guarding the ballistae at night. They caught my men off guard. The cunning dogs were armed with axes, and they brought barrels of oil. The catapults that weren’t incinerated were chopped into kindling.’ Longinus sighed. ‘Spartacus’ army marched north the following morning. I could not just let the whoreson pass by Mutina without a fight, so I led my men out and confronted him.’