‘That messenger mentioned that he was travelling to Messana,’ said Spartacus.
‘On Sicily, yes. What’s that got to do with us?’
‘Two slave rebellions took place there in the last hundred years, didn’t they? Do you know much about them?’
‘Only what my father told me when I was younger.’
‘Try to remember everything you can.’
Carbo’s curiosity grew. ‘The first one started sixty-odd years ago near the city of Enna. It was led by a slave called Eunus, a Syrian who was reputed to be able to predict the future thanks to messages sent to him by the gods.’
Spartacus thought of Ariadne, and a half-smile tugged its way on to his lips.
‘Eunus had been approached by some slaves who were being mistreated by their masters. Encouraged by his prophecies, several hundred of them fell upon the inhabitants of Enna. They slaughtered everyone, even the babies and the domestic animals.’ Carbo thought with repugnance of the carnage he’d seen in Forum Annii the day that they had attacked it. Of the violent end that Chloris had suffered. Yet thanks to Spartacus, the violence had not been as severe as it had in Enna. It was something to be grateful for, he supposed bitterly.
‘Go on.’
‘Hearing the news, many slaves ran away to join Eunus. Soon he had more than ten thousand men under his command, and he crowned himself king. In the subsequent weeks, he and his troops fought the local Roman forces several times and overwhelmed them by sheer weight of numbers. Before long, another uprising began elsewhere on the island. It was led by a Cilician by the name of Kleon. However, instead of fighting Eunus as the Romans hoped, he united with him. The slaves inflicted numerous more defeats on the Romans over the next three years. Finally, the Senate sent Publius Rupilius, one of the consuls, to deal with the uprising.’
‘I wonder if they took so long to react properly because Sicily is so far from Rome,’ mused Spartacus.
‘That’s what people say.’
‘And the second rebellion?’
‘It followed much the same path. Bad treatment of slaves. A charismatic leader, who was supposed to be able to talk to the gods. Widespread massacres of the local population.’
‘How long did it last for?’
‘Four years, until the Senate sent a senior general to deal with it.’
‘Were the leaders of either uprising trained soldiers?’
‘Not as far as I know.’
Spartacus’ heart leaped. What could I do in a place like that then! ‘Why Sicily, though?’
‘My father always said that it was because of the density of its farms, and the huge number of agricultural slaves.’
‘They would provide us with thousands more recruits, eh?’
‘Two legions are stationed there.’
‘Two legions haven’t posed much problem for us before, have they?’
‘I suppose. But how would we get our soldiers across the straits?’
‘Simple. Sicily grows much of the grain that feeds Italy, doesn’t it? The ships that carry the grain are immense. I’ve seen them. We’d just need to get a thousand or so men over to the main merchant port, seize as many as we could, and sail them back to the mainland.’ Spartacus grimaced. ‘Our main worry would be the Roman navy.’
‘I doubt they’d be much problem. Since the last war with Carthage, the navy has been in decline. Pirates from Cilicia and Crete all but control the Mediterranean. They frequently take ships off the southern Italian coastline.’
‘Is that right?’ asked Spartacus, smacking one fist into the other with delight.
‘That’s what I’ve heard. The bastards even sail up the coast as far as Ostia. The Senate makes angry noises about them, but nothing much has been done since Publius Servilius Vatia’s campaign ended early three years ago. Any ships the Republic has have been busy in the war against Mithridates of Pontus.’
‘That’s excellent, Carbo. Maybe pirates can carry us over to attack the grain ships, eh?’
A slow smile spread across Carbo’s face. Spartacus’ plan sounded crazy, but they had succeeded so often before when the odds were stacked against them. Why couldn’t they one more time? ‘That sounds good.’
‘It’s time to get some rest,’ said Spartacus with a yawn. ‘Your turn to take first watch. Wake me in a few hours.’ Arranging his blanket, he lay down by the fire. He was asleep within moments.
Carbo placed another piece of wood on the flames. Then he sat back and listened and watched. The fire crackled and spat a stream of orange sparks into the air. Fifteen paces away, the horses were two large black shapes spotlit against the beeches. A gentle breeze carried up from the valley below, making the branches of the trees creak. Fallen leaves rustled nearby as a small creature went about its night-time business. An owl called. From the stream came the reassuring murmur of moving water. Carbo relaxed. Before he had moved to Capua, he had lived for years on the family’s farm outside the town. The sounds of nature were familiar, and comforting.
Soon his eyelids drooped. Carbo fought the creeping languor for a little while, but every time he roused himself, he heard and saw nothing of concern. It had been the same since they’d left Rome, he thought sleepily. What could it matter if he had a brief rest?
Some time later, he awoke with a start. He glanced around, heart pounding. A few paces away, Spartacus was sound asleep. The clearing was empty. The stream pattered down the slope, talking to itself. Far off, a wolf howled its loneliness at the sliver of moon that was just visible through the canopy. Everything was as it had been, apart from the fire, which had all but gone out. Carbo’s blanket had slipped off his shoulders, and he felt chilled to the bone. Gods, I must have been asleep for hours. Feeling guilty, he began poking at the ashes with a stick to see if there was any chance of rekindling the blaze. He was pleased to see that there were still some hot embers.
One of the horses nickered and shifted from foot to foot.
Carbo froze. Grateful now for the night vision that the fire’s absence gave him, he peered in the direction of their mounts. As before, he could only see their outline against the darker shadows of the trees.
Nothing happened for several moments, and his concern eased.
The horse nickered a second time.
Carbo tensed again. Pricking his ears, he stared at the beasts.
Nothing.
There was silence for a short while.
Then the horse stamped a hoof on the ground.
Now Carbo’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. Letting the blanket slip from his shoulders, he crept over to Spartacus. He placed a hand on the Thracian’s shoulder, praying that Spartacus wouldn’t make a noise.
To Carbo’s relief, he came awake instantly — and silently. He sat up.
Carbo placed his lips against Spartacus’ ear. ‘One of the horses isn’t happy.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I heard a wolf. Far off, though. That’s it.’
Spartacus nodded. He pointed with a finger around the dell and then put to a hand to his ear.
They sat side by side, waiting. Listening with all their might.
An owl hooted off to their right. The sound didn’t concern Carbo, but he felt Spartacus stiffen.
When the cry was answered from the trees to their left, Carbo was nearly sick. The horse being unsettled and two owls being so close could not be a coincidence. When a third call reached their ears, any doubts in his mind vanished. Shit.
Spartacus moved his face close to Carbo’s. His mouth framed the words ‘Let’s go.’
‘The horses?’
‘Leave them.’
Carbo saw Spartacus draw his dagger, and quickly did the same. On hands and knees, and making as little noise as possible, they crawled uphill, away from the fire. Twenty paces on, Carbo heard more owl calls to their rear. His skin crawled. They were closer this time. Expecting to feel a blade sinking into his spine with every step, he followed the Thracian.