With evil expressions, Atheas and Taxacis stole off.
‘Carbo, you stay with me.’ He strode right up to the woman who was pleasuring Castus.
Carbo stared at the Gaul with disgust. He fucks in public, like an animal.
Castus’ eyes were still closed with pleasure when Spartacus gave the woman a hefty kick in the arse. She fell forward and made a horrible choking sound. With a roar of pain, Castus shoved her away. She lurched to one side, gagging.
Spartacus’ gladius flashed into his hand.
Fifteen paces away, Atheas grabbed the jug from Gannicus’ woman and emptied it over his head. There was an indignant roar, but when the Gaul saw who was crouched over him, he didn’t resist. He lay there, shouting. ‘You mad barbarian bastards! I’ll have you strangled with your own guts for this!’
‘You!’ Castus had sprung up, his face the picture of shock.
Now there was no doubt in Spartacus’ mind. White-hot rage splintered his vision for an instant.
Castus’ eyes darted towards the sword that lay at his feet.
‘Go on, limp prick!’ roared Spartacus. ‘Pick it up.’
‘My men will cut you to pieces!’
‘They can try, but you’ll never see what happens, because you’ll be dead before your fingers close on the hilt.’ Spartacus glared at the Gaul, daring him to move.
Castus licked his lips, and didn’t budge.
Carbo had never heard such anger in his leader’s voice. Castus had heard it too. He knew if he reacted, he would die. Then the Scythians would kill Gannicus, and the surrounding warriors would fall upon them. Carbo gripped his own gladius with white knuckles. Great Jupiter, let me die well.
Spartacus’ rage eased a fraction. ‘Can you see me, Gannicus, or are your eyes still stinging?’
The Gaul lifted his head. ‘I can see you,’ he growled.
‘Are you as surprised to see me as your friend here?’
‘I suppose. We didn’t know when you’d come back. There’s been no word.’
‘You’re a bad liar, Gannicus. That and the disbelief on Castus’ face when he saw me are all the evidence I need. You both thought I was dead, eh?’
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ blustered Castus, awkwardly tugging up his trousers.
‘Shut your filthy mouth, you,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘Understand that the only reason you’re both not choking to death on your own blood is that it’s still in all of our interests to stay together.’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Gannicus.
‘Ten damn legions is what I’m talking about! Ten legions which will march south before winter. That’s what I found out in Rome. Do you fancy fighting them without my men?’
His words were met with a shocked silence.
‘I didn’t think so. Maybe from now on you could spend more time finding new recruits and training them up instead of behaving as if you’re at an orgy.’
Again neither Gaul replied.
Spartacus stared at both men, flinty-eyed. They heard what I said. That’s enough. There’s no point mentioning Sicily yet. ‘One more thing. If either of you ever tries to harm me or my family again, I will not rest until you’ve been carved into a thousand pieces of meat. Do you understand?’
Gannicus nodded. Castus was too slow for Spartacus’ liking, so he jabbed his sword at the ruddy-haired Gaul, forcing him to jump backwards. ‘Do you fucking UNDERSTAND?’
‘Yes,’ Castus muttered.
‘Excellent.’ With a contemptuous look, Spartacus stepped away. ‘Atheas! Taxacis. We’re leaving.’
The Scythians moved away from Gannicus, who sat up, his face purple with rage.
A number of the Gauls’ men began to move towards them. Carbo tensed.
‘If I don’t return soon, Egbeo and Pulcher have orders to mobilise every soldier in the camp before coming here to look for me. You can choose whether that happens or not,’ said Spartacus loudly. ‘It doesn’t matter to me.’
Castus aimed an uncertain glance at Gannicus. ‘He’s lying.’
‘How would you know?’ retorted Gannicus. ‘Stay where you are,’ he ordered, and the warriors halted.
The four walked backwards until they were some thirty paces from the Gauls. ‘Good work,’ said Spartacus. He would have to watch his back from now on, but he doubted that there would be any more attempts on his life — from the Gauls at least. How long Castus and Gannicus would stay with the army was by no means certain, but for now they had learned their lesson. He could focus on searching out new recruits and finding pirates who could transport them to Sicily.
Both Scythians had broad grins plastered on their faces. So did Carbo. ‘A convincing lie just there.’
Spartacus winked. ‘Time to see my son.’ My son!
Chapter XII
Leaving Carbo outside with the Scythians, Spartacus ducked inside the tent. His eyes adjusted fast to the dim light, and he was pleased with what he saw. Someone — Egbeo or Pulcher, he supposed — had taken care to decorate it well. There were thick rugs on the floor, a number of large bronze lamps, two ebony chests and a rosewood table and chairs. However, his attention moved rapidly to the unmade bedding along one wall, and the hand-carved wooden cot that stood nearby. He craned his neck, but couldn’t see into it. Ariadne was by the crib, her back towards him. She was quietly singing.
Spartacus padded further inside, but he didn’t interrupt. The tranquil scene was so at odds with the one he’d just left, with what had happened since he’d left for Rome, that he needed a moment to return to normality. To return to his family. For in the time that he had been absent, that is what they had become.
An aching joy began to replace the fury he’d felt towards the Gauls. Ariadne was well, and so too was his son. Maron. You will never be forgotten, my brother.
Ariadne’s song came to an end. She bent over the cot and planted a soft kiss on the baby’s head before she turned to Spartacus. Her face was cold. ‘Thank you for not making any noise,’ she said in a flat tone.
‘You heard me come in.’
‘Yes. I heard you arrive a while ago too — and then leave without seeing your wife and your newborn son. To talk with Castus and Gannicus.’ She had to make an effort to lower her voice. ‘How could you?’
He took a step towards her. ‘Ariadne, I-’
‘Don’t,’ she interrupted, boiling with fury. ‘Don’t even speak to me! Take a look at Maron. You owe him that much at least.’
Clenching his jaw, Spartacus moved to the cot and peered in. The sight that met his eyes instantly made his anger disappear. A little black-haired shape, lying on its front, swaddled in a blanket. Side-on, a tiny, scrunched-up face with a button nose. His heart swelled with love and pride. ‘He’s so small.’
‘Maron is big for a boy, the midwife says. He’s put on a lot of weight since he was born too.’
Spartacus nodded. He knew next to nothing about babies. He stared at his son, wanting to touch him but wary of waking him or doing the wrong thing.
Ariadne read his mind. ‘For now, just rub his head or his back. You can pick him up once he’s had his nap.’
Reassured, Spartacus reached into the cot and stroked the soft skin of Maron’s cheek. A huge grin split his face at the touch; he gently repeated it. ‘Welcome to the world, my son,’ he whispered. ‘It is good to meet you at last.’
Maron twitched, startling him. He lifted his arm.
‘It’s all right, you haven’t woken him.’
Spartacus put his hand back into the cot. ‘He’s got your hair.’
‘And your eyes. Although the midwife says that they might still change colour.’
‘I don’t mind. The main thing is that he’s here safely, and that you are well.’
‘You’ve seen that that’s the case. Do you need to leave again?’
‘No, of course not.’ Her lips twitched, and he saw that while she was talking, she was still furious. ‘Maron is a fine name. I couldn’t have thought of a better one myself. No doubt my brother is watching from the warrior’s paradise. He’ll be very proud. My father will also.’