‘Excellent,’ said Carbo, pleased yet again by Tulla’s resourcefulness.
This time the girl took them into a series of alleyways that criss-crossed the roads that fed into the Forum. It was a case of walking at speed for a few dozen paces, shoving their way across a busy street and then hurrying along another narrow passage. Eventually, they ended up at the back of a long, tall building. Inside, Carbo could hear the noise of many voices competing against each other. ‘Is this a market?’
‘Yes. A court too. The Basilica Aemilia. It’s full of lawyers, scribes and tradesmen. Even soothsayers, if you’re after a reading.’
‘I’ve no need of that,’ said Carbo, curling his lip. ‘They’re all liars and charlatans.’
‘That’s what Clemens says. He won’t let them sit anywhere near his shop. He even used his broom to drive off the last one who tried! The haruspex cursed him, but Clemens just laughed. He says that the gods look after a pious man.’
‘A wise man, your baker,’ said Spartacus.
Tulla looked pleased. She guided them another twenty steps to where the alley opened on to a larger way. ‘That’s the side of the Curia,’ she said, indicating the edifice opposite.
Carbo stared across at the simple brick-built wall and the line of glass windows that were visible under the edge of the tiled roof. The structure wasn’t imposing in any way, but he was still filled with awe, and not a little pride. He walked over to touch the brickwork. It felt as if he was touching history. This was where the Senate had met for close to half a millennium.
Spartacus kept his face blank, but even he was somewhat impressed. So this is where the decisions are made.
Cheering broke out off to their left, attracting their attention.
‘RO-MA! RO-MA! RO-MA!’
‘Perfect timing,’ said Tulla with a cheeky grin. ‘That’ll be Crassus.’
Carbo’s heart began to thump in his chest. He glanced at Spartacus, whose expression had grown hawkish. ‘Take us as close as you can,’ he ordered Tulla.
The street was very busy. Everyone was heading in the same direction that they were, but Tulla had a knack for finding the smallest gaps. Carbo had to shove in after her to keep up. Inevitably, those he was pushing past grew irritated and more than one curse was hurled at him. Carbo’s polite excuses kept most of the citizens sweet. For those who weren’t convinced, there was Spartacus’ hard face at the back. No one wanted to argue with the compactly built slave with the penetrating grey eyes.
After much use of their shoulders and elbows, they reached the front of the crowd, which was positioned all around the front of the Curia. A line of lictores with crossed fasces prevented the people from going too close to the hallowed building. Behind the bodyguards, on the Curia’s steps, stood score upon score of senators, their brilliant white togas and haughty expressions marking them out as superior to the vast majority.
Yet they’re as keen as the rest to hear the man of the hour speak, thought Spartacus. It’s no wonder. So far, they’ve behaved like a gaggle of hens when a fox gets into the coop. They need a proper leader, someone who can play the general as well as the politician. Is Crassus the man they’ve been looking for?
‘Told you I’d get you here. Happy?’ whispered Tulla with an impish smile.
‘Yes. Well done.’ Carbo’s gaze took in the Curia’s great bronze doors — they’re enormous — and to the left, a stone pillar decorated with anchors and ships’ bronze prows, before stopping on a simple wooden platform that stood the height of two men above the crowd. It was occupied by a pair of soldiers in scale mail carrying standards, and a grizzled officer in a mail shirt covered in phalerae. A dozen legionaries stood in front of the dais, holding their shields balanced before them. Carbo frowned. It was most unusual for soldiers to be fully armed within Rome. Normally, only lictores were entitled to carry bladed weapons inside the city walls. Crassus must be putting on a show of force, he decided. He didn’t think to mention it to Spartacus, who might not know the rule. Beside the troops trumpeters waited, their instruments held at the ready. ‘Crassus hasn’t arrived yet.’
‘No,’ replied Spartacus in an undertone. ‘But look who has.’
‘Eh?’
‘That’s Caepio. Remember him?’
The name tugged at Carbo’s memory, and he stared again at the trio of soldiers on the podium. ‘Gods above, you’re right!’ It was the centurion who had survived the bloody munus that had left 399 of his comrades dead. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘I’d wager that Crassus is going to use him to rally support for his new legions. Clever bastard.’ Maybe I should have killed him too. Sent my message to the Senate a different way. Spartacus grimaced. No. He’s a brave soldier who deserved to survive. ‘It will work well too. Men love to hear the story of someone who survived against the odds.’
Crassus isn’t just a money-grabbing bastard. He’s shrewd too, thought Carbo uneasily. He glanced up at the statue on the hill. Jupiter, give me the chance to kill him today. Please.
The crowd some distance away suddenly began to chant. ‘RO-MA! RO-MA! RO-MA!’
Their cry was taken up at once by the masses. The noise was deafening, and mesmeric. All it lacked was the metallic clash of swords off shields, reflected Carbo, for it to resemble an army before battle. It was most odd. He felt entirely at home, yet a complete stranger. This thought was followed by the sobering realisation that if any man in the vicinity knew who he or Spartacus was, they would help tear them both to shreds. And that if he didn’t also cheer, someone might notice. He glanced at the Thracian and saw that he was miming the word ‘RO-MA’.
Carbo’s respect for his leader grew some more, and quickly, he did the same.
Tulla was jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her voice.
A handsome, broad-shouldered man of middle years clambered up the platform’s steps and into view. The multitude’s noise grew even greater, and the three soldiers snapped to attention. The newcomer acknowledged them with a salute of his own, and turned to face the Forum. He lifted one hand and waved it, as if to welcome them. The mob went wild.
Carbo stared at Crassus, his face twisting with hatred. He hadn’t seen him since the day the politician had visited the ludus in Capua. Then, Carbo had been but a rookie fighter. Now, he was a veteran of many battles. Let me get close to you, you stinking cocksucker. With your last breath, you’ll hear me whisper my father’s name.
The cry changed. ‘RO-MA! VIC-TOR! RO-MA! VIC-TOR!’
Crassus echoed the call, which increased the crowd’s excitement even more.
He knows how to work them, Spartacus admitted. No doubt the piece of filth is a good orator too. He eyed the dozen soldiers in sight, and prayed that Crassus walked off afterwards with only a few of them in tow. Great Rider, grant me the chance to kill him. I ask you to guide my knife.
At length Crassus raised his arms. On cue, the trumpeters blew a fanfare.
Silence fell.
‘Citizens of Rome, I salute you!’ shouted Crassus.
Their reply was a crescendo of whistles and cheers.
‘You have come here today for one reason.’
‘It’s not to borrow from you, that’s for sure!’ cried a voice from the depths of the crowd.
His comment was met with hoots of laughter.
Crassus smiled benignly. ‘Yet my riches are not what they were, good people. Am I not using my own money to raise six new legions? With every week that goes by, hundreds of thousands of denarii are being spent on men, provisions and equipment. I do not grudge a single as of it, however, because this vast expense is for the good of the Republic!’
‘CRAS-SUS!’ roared a man near Carbo. Those around him quickly took up the cry, and the mob responded in kind.
‘They’re Crassus’ men,’ whispered Spartacus in Carbo’s ear. ‘Planted in the crowd.’
Sewer rat. Carbo let his fingers caress the bone hilt of his dagger. In the press, no one could see.