‘Crassus is here,’ said Spartacus softly. Gladly. It had been more than two months since he’d been in Rome. At last his waiting was over.
‘You’re sure, sir?’ asked Marcion.
‘I’d wager my life on it. We’ve seen, what, five legions so far, and they’re still coming. There’s no way that Crassus would let one of his subordinates lead that many soldiers against us.’
‘What’s your plan, sir?’
All eyes swivelled to Spartacus.
‘We’ve done what we came for. Every grain store within twenty miles has been emptied. If we loaded any more on to our mules, they’d collapse.’
His men chuckled. They liked the idea of so much food.
‘There’s one more thing to find out before we head south, though. I want to test the mettle of Crassus’ soldiers.’ He saw their questioning, slightly nervous looks. Marcion was alone in seeming excited. ‘Most of them are new recruits. I need to see how good their discipline is, so we know what we’re up against.’
‘We’re up against ten legions, sir,’ growled an unhappy voice from the back. Marcion scowled. As usual, it was Zeuxis.
‘And if they’re shoddy soldiers like those of Lentulus and Gellius, we have nothing to be concerned about. But if they’re not, then we’ll need to treat them with a sight more respect.’ He threw them a warning glance. ‘I’ve told you before: Rome is not an enemy to be taken lightly. Just because you’ve beaten its troops on a number of occasions doesn’t mean that you will always do so. Those legionaries you can see might be a very different proposition to meet face to face.’ They didn’t like that, but Spartacus didn’t care. The brutal reality of what they could expect to see for the rest of their lives lay on the valley floor below. If it wasn’t this army, it would be another one.
There was far more, but Spartacus didn’t say it. To his immense frustration, his forces — including the soldiers who answered to the increasingly hostile Castus and Gannicus — now only outnumbered those of Crassus by perhaps fifteen thousand men. If the new legions proved to be cowards, and he picked the right battlefield, that could be enough. Yet while Spartacus didn’t like to admit it, there was a chance that Crassus’ soldiers would stand and fight. If they did, he needed more troops than he currently had.
The days of his huge numerical superiority over Roman armies were but a memory; the deluge of runaway slaves joining them that had been the daily norm since their first remarkable victory had all but dried up. The news of Crassus’ ten legions had to be part of the reason. Or maybe it was because every herdsman and farm worker in the south with any courage had already joined him? Only the gods knew, Spartacus thought bitterly.
His mind was made up. He would go head to head with Crassus now if they were somehow cornered, but otherwise he would seek out a skirmish and then move south, towards Sicily. There, for a while at least, they would have fewer enemy forces to deal with. There would be more recruits and supplies. More options.
He winked at Marcion. ‘Don’t worry, lad, we’ll still have a fight. A chance to bloody Crassus’ nose good and properly.’
Ignoring Zeuxis’ sour expression, Marcion grinned. With Spartacus to lead them, what could go wrong?
Two days later…
Since their confrontation, Spartacus had met with Castus and Gannicus only twice. The encounters had been less than friendly, but there had been no open conflict, and no more threats to leave. While the Gauls and their followers had continued to march with the other soldiers, they had begun to do their own thing. Raids on estates and villages. Attacks on a small town. Refusing to train daily. To all intents and purposes, they had already split off from the main army. Yet while they were still physically present, Spartacus’ hunch was that if the situation demanded it, they would fight alongside him.
On this occasion, the pair arrived outside his tent still dressed for battle, wearing mail shirts, crested bronze helmets and Gaulish patterned trousers. Both had long since given up their native longswords in favour of gladii, finding the stabbing blades easier and more efficient to use in a shield wall.
Hearing Atheas’ challenge, Spartacus came out to meet them. He was pleased to see that they had no retinue. They weren’t here to quarrel. ‘Will you have wine?’
‘No,’ growled Castus.
‘Gannicus?’
‘Say what you have to say and have done.’
‘Fair enough. I know that you took part in the fight earlier.’
‘Of course we did. We’re no cowards,’ retorted Castus.
‘You’re both brave men, I know,’ Spartacus acknowledged in a peaceable tone. ‘All the same, it wasn’t easy today. Those legionaries were keen to fight, and they didn’t give way easily.’
‘They were better than the soldiers we’ve faced before,’ admitted Gannicus grudgingly.
Castus scowled, but he didn’t argue, which told its own story.
‘Imagine if all ten legions fought like that,’ said Spartacus.
They glowered at him.
‘We’ll fight them anyway,’ snapped Castus. ‘And if we lose, at least we’ll die like men.’
‘You both know that I’ll also take them on if I have to.’
Resentful nods.
‘There is an alternative, though. To take the army over to Sicily.’
They looked at him as if he’d gone mad. Rallying his patience, Spartacus explained his plan.
‘Has Carbo returned?’ asked Gannicus. ‘Did he find a captain willing to help?’
‘He’s not back yet.’
‘So this is based on hot air,’ cried Castus. ‘Who’s to say that the little bastard hasn’t failed? We could march down there to find that we’re cornered like rats in a trap.’
‘Autumn is practically here too,’ warned Gannicus. ‘There’ll be fuck all farms down there to plunder.’
‘Carbo won’t let us down,’ asserted Spartacus. Inside, he was less certain, but his faith in the Great Rider, whom he had been praying to daily, was strong. He winked. ‘When we arrive, there’ll be pirate ships waiting to take us across.’
Gannicus smiled sourly, but Castus was still not happy. ‘I don’t like it. It feels wrong.’
‘What should we do then?’ demanded Spartacus. ‘Fight a battle on ground we haven’t chosen? On Sicily, there’d be an opportunity to continue the war on an indefinite basis! Or have you got another bright idea?’
Castus flushed with a combination of anger and embarrassment, and Spartacus hoped that he hadn’t pushed the hot-headed Gaul too far. ‘We’ll still have the chance to fight Crassus, you know. He isn’t going to let us just march down to Rhegium. The whoreson will be on our tails the whole way. If Carbo hasn’t managed to make a deal with any pirates, we’ll have a battle on our hands within days.’
‘It’s worth the risk, Castus. I don’t fancy staying behind to face ten legions while the majority of the army buggers off,’ said Gannicus. ‘Sicily is big enough for us to do our own thing.’
‘All right,’ said Castus from between gritted teeth. ‘But this is the last sodding time we follow one of your suggestions. I’m leaving the moment that my feet touch Sicilian soil.’
‘Me too,’ added Gannicus with passion.
‘We’re not there yet. More than one party of enemy scouts has been seen watching us. Crassus knows where we are. If he can harry us on the way south, he will. Whoever is in charge of the rearguard will need to be ready to fend off Roman attacks every day, and if things go wrong, we’ll all have to fight. Let’s put our differences aside one last time, at least until we’ve left the mainland behind. Up to then, we remain one army.’ It was pushing things further than necessary, but Spartacus had to be sure. He was pleased and a little relieved when, after a moment, they both nodded.