It took a long time for the cheering to die down, but Spartacus waited patiently, ignoring the glowering presence of Castus and Gannicus nearby. Finally, it was time to speak again.
‘For all of our successes, we have not won the war. Unfortunately, the Republic can take far more of a battering than we have given it and still remain standing. Hannibal annihilated four legions at the Trebia. Three legions at Trasimene. Eight legions at Cannae. Yet in the end he was still beaten. Why? Because Rome never gives up. Its people are more stubborn than you can ever understand. They will not accept defeat. The manpower available to them is inexhaustible. Even now, new legions are being recruited to replace the ones we massacred. Give it six months or a year, and they will have an army, stronger than any we’ve yet fought, ready to confront us.’ Spartacus saw disgruntled looks being exchanged, mutters passing from man to man. They don’t like hearing that.
Ariadne didn’t like his words either. O gods above, please let them agree. Let us leave this cursed land behind for ever.
‘You know why I have asked you here this morning. Many months ago, I said to you that I would lead you out of Italy. Away from Rome and its damn legions!’ He pointed at the Alps. ‘When we cross those, which at this time of year is not difficult, we shall be totally free. Not just at liberty to do as we have here, but free in the truest sense of the word!’ Spartacus cast a glance at the two Gauls. Castus had a sneer spread across his ruddy face, and Gannicus looked downright angry. In that moment, Spartacus sensed that they knew about Lucullus. How, he wasn’t sure, but they knew. The cold realisation of what they had been telling the men as he arrived slid into his mind.
A scan of the nearest soldiers told him that his encouraging words had only had a partial effect. Many men were still unhappy: scowling, frowning or listening as a comrade whispered in their ear. Even the threat of more legions did not compare with the idea of leaving Italy and entering unknown lands. Lands where other legions waited for them. That was it. He had to tell his troops about the Roman threat to Thrace, or Castus’ and Gannicus’ underhand tactic would work. The soldiers would know him for a liar, and might not follow him anywhere. Spartacus felt bitter at being forced to reveal his secret, but the gods had taken matters into their own hands — as they so often did. He just had to accept what had happened, and make the best of it. He had to seize back the initiative.
He held up a hand. ‘At least that is what I would have wished. News came to me near Mutina, however, that troubled me deeply. That caused me to reconsider my plans. We will stay in Italy!’
A loud cheer rose from the nearest men, and Ariadne let out a hiss of dismay and anger.
Spartacus ignored her, instead rejoicing in the dismay coating both Gauls’ faces.
‘What made you change your mind?’ shouted a soldier with a horsehair-crested helmet.
‘Apparently, Lucullus, the Roman general, has attacked Thrace. His campaign continues even as we speak.’
‘Attacked Thrace? Why in the gods’ names would we leave here then?’ shouted the soldier, aiming his question at those all around him. They roared with laughter.
Spartacus did not answer. He watched as the news spread through his army like the ripple of wind through a field of wheat. It moved faster than any of his words about glory, victory or freedom. Castus’ face had now gone purple. Gannicus looked stunned. Their reactions were proof that his hunch had been right. He felt a grim satisfaction at having stolen their thunder. Of course they might still break away, but the advantage was with him. He cast his eyes over the army, and listened to the swelling roar of approval.
‘Where would you lead us instead, Spartacus?’ cried the soldier in the horsehair helmet.
The men around him quietened.
From the corner of his eye, Spartacus saw Castus moving forward, but he half turned and made a chopping gesture at the trumpeters.
Tan-tara-tara-tara. The noise drowned out all sound on the platform. Castus went puce with fury, but there was nothing he could do until the instruments fell silent. The instant that they did, however, Spartacus leaped in. ‘Do you want to know where I would go now, my soldiers?’
‘YES!’ To his delight, Pulcher began the cry: ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’
At once the reply was shouted back. ‘SPAR-TA-CUS! SPAR-TA-CUS!’
Castus tried to speak again, but no one was paying him any attention. The chant was already spreading through the assembled troops. Spartacus found himself grinning. How could I ever leave them? He signalled at the musicians once more. The men’s clamour abated before the trumpets’ crescendo. Castus’ mouth opened as their sound died away, but Spartacus was having none of it. ‘I would take you south again. To our old stamping grounds around Thurii, where the land is rich and fertile.’
‘And there are plenty of farms to plunder!’ roared the soldier.
‘And women to screw!’ shouted another voice.
‘That’s right.’ Spartacus didn’t like the way his men sometimes behaved, but he didn’t try to control every breach of discipline. Indiscriminate killing and rape had been part of warfare since time began. The troops regarded such things as part of their pay, and in a way he did too. If he tried too hard to stop them, they would turn on him. ‘In the south, we will continue to recruit men. To train. To arm ourselves. To prepare ourselves for the legions that will come after us.’
‘And we’ll thrash them, just as we’ve done the previous ones!’
‘Yes,’ said Spartacus confidently. Inside, he felt less certain. But he had chosen his path. All he could do now was tread upon it, to the best of his ability. With as many men as would follow him. Already part of him had begun to exult at the thought of defeating more Roman armies. ‘Will you march with me to Thurii, and to victory?’
‘YES!’ The soldier in the horsehair helmet punched the air with a fist.
‘SOUTH! SOUTH!’ yelled the closest men.
This time, the runners were not needed. Everyone who heard the cry repeated it, and the two words spread like wildfire through the host. ‘SOUTH! SOUTH!’ the soldiers roared, stamping their feet and clashing their weapons off their shields.
Despite his concerns for the future, pride filled Spartacus at the sound.
‘You sly Thracian bastard. You always try to get one up on us, don’t you?’
He turned at the sound of Castus’ voice. ‘Try? I think I just did.’
Castus’ lips peeled back into a snarl and he took a step forward. ‘You-’
‘Not in front of the army,’ snapped Gannicus. ‘Not now.’
Breathing heavily, Castus stopped.
‘Who told you about Lucullus?’ demanded Spartacus coldly.
‘Fuck that!’ shouted Castus. ‘You were supposed to tell the men that you were going to Thrace.’
‘I changed my mind.’ I had to.
In a flash, Spartacus’ motives became clear to Ariadne. He saw that they knew. The realisation did nothing to ease her disappointment.
‘The clever bastard did it because he knew that the men wouldn’t follow him, and he didn’t want to relinquish command to us,’ said Gannicus, his eyes bright with malice.
‘My reasons are my own,’ growled Spartacus. ‘Are you coming south with me? Or are you going to leave now, as you planned?’
‘Damn you to Hades, Spartacus!’ Castus’ right hand dropped to his sword.
Spartacus’ fingers caressed the wooden grip of his sica. It would be a bad idea to fight in front of his men, but his anger at the Gaul had overflowed. ‘Try it. Go on!’
Castus let his hand fall to his side. ‘Now’s not the time, you Thracian goat-humper.’
‘I’d rather screw goats than corpses, like you do.’
Castus ground his teeth, but he kept his hand off his sword. ‘I think we’ll keep you company for a little longer, eh, Gannicus?’