‘Paullus Carbo,’ he said proudly. He’d considered lying, but there was no need.
The soldier caught his regional accent. ‘Not from Rome, are you?’
‘No. I’m from Capua.’
‘Been here for business or pleasure?’ He winked at his companions.
Carbo scowled. ‘Business.’ If only you knew what. ‘For my father.’
‘Heading back to Capua?’
‘Yes.’
‘On foot? The likes of you normally ride or travel in a litter.’
Fortunately, Carbo had thought of the answer to this question. He looked down. ‘My horse is gone.’
‘Stolen from the inn’s stables, was it?’
‘No. I wagered it.’
‘Fortuna’s tits! And you lost it?’
More hoots of amusement.
‘That’s right.’
‘So now you have to walk back to Capua?’
Carbo nodded, making his expression as sulky as when he’d been a boy.
The legionary pulled a face. ‘A hundred miles is a long way to walk.’
‘And don’t we know it?’ added his comrade, chortling. ‘We have to do it while carrying half our bodyweight in equipment!’
‘Can I go?’ asked Carbo resentfully.
‘Eh? Yes, you can go,’ the soldier replied. ‘Have a safe journey. There are plenty of latrones about between here and Capua.’
‘If you’re really unlucky, you might even meet Spartacus,’ said the second man. ‘That is, if he’s-’
‘Shut it!’ barked the first legionary.
His companion turned away with a scowl.
‘On your way,’ ordered the legionary.
Muttering his thanks, Carbo made his way out of the gate. The soldier’s words had made his mind race back to their attack on Crassus. Caepio had shouted something. What had it been? ‘It is them!’ To his frustration, Carbo couldn’t remember the exact words. Then another misgiving surfaced. When the patrol had arrived at the Elysian Fields, a man had come out of the tavern, and nodded to the officer in charge. Had it been more than casual conversation? Carbo wasn’t sure. But when he put the two instances together with the comment by the soldier at the gate, he felt very suspicious indeed. Was it possible that Crassus had known that Spartacus was in Rome? His pace picked up. He had to tell Spartacus at once.
They had a spy in their midst.
It didn’t take Carbo long to reach the tomb. He found Spartacus sitting in the shade of a cypress tree that stood beside it.
Spartacus raised a hand in greeting. ‘You look hot.’
‘This damn toga,’ said Carbo, wiping his brow with the back of his arm. ‘It’s not the weather to be wearing it.’
‘But it got you out of Rome, and at least you didn’t have to cover yourself in piss.’
Carbo grinned. ‘True.’
‘Was Tulla still there when you left?’
‘Yes.’
‘You made a good call with her.’ He clapped Carbo on the arm.
He swallowed, remembering his leader’s tacit threat to kill him if Tulla should prove treacherous. ‘Thanks.’
Spartacus heaved himself to his feet. ‘Let’s start walking. I remember a well not far down the road; we can wash there.’
‘There’s something you need to know first.’
Spartacus’ eyes narrowed. ‘What is it? Tell me as we go.’
Quickly, Carbo filled him in on his suspicions. When he had finished, Spartacus did not say anything for a long time. Carbo watched him nervously, wondering whether the Thracian thought he was crazy.
‘Interesting,’ said Spartacus.
A sense of relief crept over Carbo. Spartacus believed him.
‘We must have been followed out of the camp. So few people knew about it that there wouldn’t have been time to send word to Rome before we left.’
Carbo’s mouth went dry at the thought of a new possibility. ‘Do you think Castus or Gannicus would have done it?’
Spartacus frowned. ‘There’s no way that Gannicus would betray us like that. I doubt if even Castus would. He hates my guts, and he wouldn’t cry if I were killed, but he hates Rome as much as I do.’
‘Who then?’
‘It could be anyone, Carbo. In an army of sixty thousand men, not all of them are going to be happy. That’s without taking into account the women and hangers-on.’
‘Yes, but to betray you?’
Spartacus thumped him. ‘Not everyone is as loyal as you.’
‘Well they should be,’ muttered Carbo, blushing. ‘We have to find out who it is.’
‘That would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.’ Spartacus shrugged. ‘Atheas and Taxacis will watch my back. So will you.’ It’s just another enemy to add to the ones I already have. But he didn’t need to worry about being murdered for a few days. The journey south should be easy; they might as well make the most of it. ‘Where’s that well? I can’t pitch up at the camp stinking of piss. No one would take me seriously.’
Carbo’s tension eased, and he let out a chuckle. ‘Between my nerves as I went through the gate and this damn toga, I’ve sweated out half the bloody Tiber.’
Spartacus made a show of leaning over and inhaling. ‘No. I can’t smell a thing except piss.’
‘You reek,’ said Carbo, guffawing. He’d never seen Spartacus act so light-hearted.
‘Then the sooner we get there, the better, eh?’
Carbo strode out with new energy. Other than the wish to see his parents’ tomb one day, he had no reason to return to the capital, or Capua, where he’d grown up. He was with Spartacus. Carbo had always been loyal to the Thracian, but the discovery of his parents’ deaths had made that bond even stronger. It had also brought home to him the importance of his comrades. Men like Navio and Atheas, and even Arnax and Publipor, were his family now. The knowledge made his grief easier to bear.
Alerted by his major domo, Crassus turned from the half-circle of men around him. ‘Ah, Caepio! Welcome!’ he said genially. He beckoned to the veteran centurion who stood in the doorway of the tablinum, waiting to be called in.
Caepio marched in proudly. Sunlight entering from the square hole in the centre of the roof glinted off the phalerae on his chest. He came to a halt before Crassus and saluted. ‘I came as soon as I got your message, sir.’
‘Good. All well since yesterday?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir. As you know, I wasn’t hurt. I’m just sorry that I didn’t get to kill Spartacus.’
‘You did a fine job stopping his accomplice. If there had been two of them, things might have come to a different ending. For me at least!’
‘Thank the gods that you weren’t injured, sir, but I’d still be happier if I’d buried my blade in his guts.’
Crassus’ lips turned upwards. ‘See the mettle of this man? He is the embodiment of Roman virtus. This is what every soldier should aspire to.’
There was a polite murmur of assent.
‘Caepio, meet some of the legates who will command my legions. This is Gnaeus Tremelius Scrofa.’ A tall, thin man inclined his head in reply to Caepio’s salute. ‘Lucius Mummius Achaicus.’ A stocky officer with a haughty expression met Caepio’s salutation. ‘Quintus Marcius Rufus.’ There was a smile from a short man with spiky black hair. ‘Caius Pomptinus.’ This one was clearly a cavalryman, thought Caepio. He had bandier legs than an ape. ‘Lucius Quinctius.’ Older than the rest, he was the only one to half bow at the centurion. A commoner originally, like me, decided Caepio. ‘And last but definitely not least, Gaius Julius Caesar, one of my tribunes,’ said Crassus.
‘Honoured to meet you, sir.’ Caepio saluted for the sixth time. Like everyone, he’d heard the story about Caesar’s capture and imprisonment on Pharmacussa. Here was a man with real balls. ‘Ready to crucify a few slaves, as you did with those pirates, sir?’
‘More than ready, centurion.’
Caepio’s smile reminded Crassus of a wolf he’d seen cornered in the arena. His decision to recruit the veteran had been a good one. He wondered sometimes if Caepio fully approved of him — he wasn’t a career soldier after all — but he didn’t care that much. Caepio had seen how Crassus longed to destroy Spartacus, which, after his experience at the munus, was exactly what he wanted too. ‘Now that the introductions are over, let’s get down to business. I’ve called you here for a council of war. I know that you were not expecting to do more than assemble your units over the next couple of months, but yesterday’s events have changed everything. Spartacus cannot be allowed to strike at me — at Rome — with such impunity. We must respond swiftly!’