Spartacus didn’t look back. He increased his speed, aware that they had to get out of the clearing fast. Every instinct was screaming that there were men out there who had come to kill him. There were three at least, but that wouldn’t be all of them. Anyone who wanted to slay Spartacus would send no less than six to eight men, perhaps more. He ripped open his knee against a protruding root, and had to bite his lip against the pain of it. He crawled on, cursing the fact that there was almost no undergrowth. Although there was little to impede their progress, it also meant that there were far fewer places to hide.
More owl calls. Spartacus counted them. One. Two. Three. Four. He thanked the Great Rider that none originated in front of their position. They hadn’t been surrounded — yet.
Finally, he reached the dell’s edge, and a large oak tree with a split trunk. He stood up. Carbo bundled in beside him and without speaking, they both looked back towards their fire, which was discernible by the faint orange light of the last glowing embers.
Show yourselves, you bastards, thought Spartacus.
Carbo felt as if he were in a nightmare. It was his fault for falling asleep. Who in the name of Hades was hunting them?
Nothing happened for the space of thirty heartbeats. ‘They’re making sure that we’re asleep before they move,’ Spartacus hissed.
First one horse, then the other whinnied.
All at once, four shadows emerged into sight, three spilling over the fallen beech and one rushing in from its far end. They could just make out the spears gripped in each figure’s right fist. The men ran straight at the piles of discarded bedding. A brief, frenzied flurry of blows rained down on the blankets, but the assassins soon realised that their quarry had vanished. Muttered curses filled the air, and one man growled, ‘The bastards have gone!’
A hefty cuff round the head from one of his companions silenced him. Another owl call rang out, more urgent this time. The men spread out, moving on the balls of their feet across the clearing. Towards Spartacus and Carbo.
‘Time to go,’ whispered Spartacus.
‘Which way?’ asked Carbo, desperation tearing at him.
‘Up. We’ll go slowly at first, but when I say, we run like the wind. That is, if you want to live!’ Spartacus’ teeth glinted in the moonlight, and Carbo wished again that he had his leader’s courage. Jamming his knife back into its sheath — he didn’t want to drop it — he nodded grimly.
‘I’m ready.’
‘Good lad.’ Spartacus turned and padded away as silently as a wolf.
Carbo’s memories of that night would stay with him for ever. He had never had the need to travel in the mountains at night before, and hoped that he never had to again. At least not when he was being pursued by an unknown number of armed men, when all he had was a measly dagger. At first, the going was easy enough, but soon Spartacus began loping up the slope with long, ground-covering strides. How the hell can he see where he’s going? Carbo wondered, following as fast as he could. His heart hammered in his chest, not from the effort of running, but from fear. He felt as if he were a deer being pursued by a group of hunters. Behind every tree and bush lurked a potential enemy, and with each step he risked breaking his ankle on a jutting root or a piece of deadwood. He had previously thought that he had a good sense of direction, but their journey changed his opinion. The dense canopy overhead afforded only the occasional glance at the night sky, which confused him even more. Spartacus, on the other hand, sped onwards and upwards as if Hermes, the messenger of the gods, was guiding his every step.
Every so often, they halted to listen out for sounds of pursuit. On the first occasion, they could discern the faint noise of men moving below them, but these had receded by the time they paused a second time. After that, to Spartacus’ satisfaction and Carbo’s immense relief, they heard nothing else. Carbo hoped that the Thracian might slow down after this, but he was sadly disappointed. Spartacus began to move even faster, his feet flying over the ground as if they had wings. It was hard for Carbo to keep up, and to avoid having his eyes taken out by the whipping recoil of the branches that Spartacus pushed aside.
Perhaps an hour had elapsed when they reached the crest of a ridge. Moving along it for a short distance, they came to a clearing. For the first time, they had a good view of the sky, which was illuminated by a myriad of glittering stars. The moon’s position overhead told them that there were still many hours until daybreak. Spartacus peered into the open space for a moment before he entered it, cat soft on his feet. Carbo followed, casting frequent uneasy glances to their rear. He heard nothing. For the first time, his unease settled a fraction.
‘If there was any light, we’d have a good view from here.’ Spartacus pointed out into the blackness.
‘Where in Hades are we?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Spartacus with a grin. ‘But I think this ridge is the same one that flanks the Via Appia, which means it runs roughly in a north-south direction. We’ll just follow it.’
‘We could end up miles off course.’ Carbo instantly felt like a fool. ‘But we don’t really have an alternative, eh?’
‘No,’ replied Spartacus grimly. ‘Those whoresons will be on our trail the moment it gets light, so we have to travel as far as we can before then. Gods, but I’d love to stay behind, though. Lay an ambush for them, maybe take a prisoner.’
‘Find out who they are?’
‘Yes!’
‘I don’t think they were Roman.’
‘Nor do I. If we’d been followed from Rome, they would have already attacked us. It’s nothing to do with the messenger whom we spoke with either. He wasn’t interested in us.’
‘It’s not just that. The man who spoke had a strong accent. There’s no way that he was a native Latin speaker.’
‘It’s as I thought. Only someone who knew that we’d gone to Rome could be responsible.’
Alarm filled Carbo. ‘You mean Castus or Gannicus?’
‘Yes, or someone else with a grudge against me.’ The bastards. How dare they, after all I’ve done for them? If the pair had appeared at that moment, Spartacus would have torn them apart limb from limb.
‘Damn traitors!’
‘It’s to be expected. Many men don’t like following one leader. If it had been in Thrace, it could have happened before now,’ said Spartacus, glad that he’d stayed.
‘Maybe we could grab one,’ Carbo began.
‘No! We saw four of them, and I’d wager that was less than half their number.’
‘Then we’ll have no way of finding out who sent the treacherous bastards,’ protested Carbo.
‘Sometimes you have to live with uncertainty.’ Spartacus nudged him. ‘It keeps a man on his toes!’
Carbo pulled a smile, but it felt more like a grimace.
‘We’ll find out more when we get back,’ Spartacus declared. ‘You did well to wake me when you did. I don’t think it’s too much to say that I owe you my life. Thank you.’
Pride filled Carbo. Then, remembering how he’d only woken from his nap by chance, his throat closed with guilt. He could never admit to it. ‘A-any time,’ he managed to mumble. ‘It’s no more than you’ve done for me.’
Spartacus flashed him a confident grin. ‘Come on. It’s a long way until we reach safety.’ He didn’t voice the worry that had been gnawing at him since he’d had time to consider who might have sent out the killers. Great Rider, I ask you to keep Ariadne — and our baby — safe. He turned and sped towards the far side of the clearing.
Dusk was falling the next day when they reached the army’s camp. Carbo was footsore, thirsty and more hungry than he ever could remember being, but he was alive. He wanted to cheer. ‘We’ve made it.’
‘Not yet, we haven’t.’
He stared at Spartacus in shock. ‘But that’s our army. It won’t take long to go down the slope.’
‘We’ve been gone more than two weeks. Who knows what’s happened in that time?’ If Castus and Gannicus were capable of sending assassins after him, what else might they have done?