Crassus began to speak the moment that the musicians had finished. He pitched his voice to carry. ‘You all know why you are here! Some men, that is Mummius and the “tremblers”, are to be punished severely. Their comrades can also expect to be disciplined. The rest of you are present to learn that the cowardice shown by these so-called “soldiers” cannot and will not be tolerated. EVER. You are to act as witnesses, so that every man in the army hears about what happened here today.’ He let his words sink in, saw with satisfaction the condemned ponder their fates.
‘Lucius Mummius Achaicus, present yourself!’
Mummius marched smartly forward and came to a stop in front of the platform. He saluted, but avoided Crassus’ eye. ‘Sir!’
‘I sent you to shadow the enemy army. You were to avoid confrontation with Spartacus’ troops, but when the chance presented itself, you did so anyway, in the process disobeying my commands. Is that not correct?’
‘It is, sir,’ answered Mummius in a low voice. ‘Some of his troops had fallen behind the main body of-’
‘Silence! Not only did you flout my orders, but you fell into Spartacus’ trap. When the battle began, your men proved to be cowards of the first degree. They ran from the enemy in their thousands, leaving their weapons and standards behind. The first soldiers to appear consisted of an entirely unharmed cohort. Did they fight at all, I wonder, or did they just run when the slaves advanced as they did before when they fought with Gellius and Lentulus?’ Crassus’ tone was withering.
Mummius didn’t say a word.
‘Most of the cohorts that returned afterwards had suffered heavy losses. That doesn’t excuse them fleeing the battlefield, but it shows at least that they are not complete cowards,’ Crassus declared. ‘I will come to them later. First I must deal with you. Lucius Mummius Achaicus, legate. Or should I say, former legate.’
Mummius’ head lifted. His face was stricken, but not unsurprised.
‘I strip you of your rank and your command with immediate effect,’ Crassus cried. ‘Only the memory of your glorious forefathers, who were far greater men than you, prevented me from punishing you further. You are ordered to return to Rome with all haste, where you are to present yourself to the Senate and explain your actions. The senators can do with you as they see fit.’ He glared at Mummius. ‘Are my orders clear this time?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘I hope so. Get out of my sight!’
Head down, Mummius trudged back to his position.
‘Every man apart from the tremblers is to be fined six months’ pay. They are to be issued with new weapons to replace the ones that were thrown away or lost.’ Crassus noted the relieved looks of those in the front ranks. ‘But first, I would have you pledge that you will never again discard your sword or javelins. You will swear this upon pain of death. Anyone who refuses will be executed.’ He eyed the legionaries again. ‘Are there any men who do not wish to take the oath?’
Not a man stirred.
Crassus smiled. ‘Repeat after me then: I, a soldier of Rome…’
When the assembled men had finished swearing, Crassus turned to the soldiers directly before him. ‘In case you didn’t know, you whoresons, the term “trembler” is a Spartan phrase. It was coined to describe the worst of men, the soldiers who didn’t come back with their shields or on them, but without them entirely. Not only did you do that, but you were the first to run. The first to leave your comrades to the mercy of the enemy. You are all cowards. DAMN COWARDS!’ He glared at them, daring anyone to meet his eye. No one would. ‘There is just one punishment suitable for such men. Decimation!’
The word hung in the hot air.
‘That’s right, you maggots!’ roared Crassus. ‘Decimation is what you deserve.’
Shock filled the faces of those who were watching; utter terror twisted the faces of the condemned soldiers.
‘You are to march before me in groups of fifty. You will draw lots, and then one man in every ten is to be beaten to death by his companions. Fifty of you in total will die, and the rest of you will be forced to pitch your tents outside the walls of the camp until I say otherwise. For the same period, you will be issued barley to eat, as the horses and mules are. Every one of you will be docked a year’s pay. You can also expect to fight in the front ranks in any subsequent battles.’ Crassus’ eyes flickered left and right. ‘Caepio, where are you?’
‘Right here, sir.’ The old centurion strode forward from the tremblers’ ranks.
‘You are to supervise. Any man not taking part in this punishment with sufficient enthusiasm is to suffer the same fate as those who are being decimated. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Begin at once.’
Caepio swivelled about. ‘You heard the general! Fifty men, step forward in groups of ten!’
With dragging heels, the first couple of ranks began walking towards him. Other centurions shoved them into files of ten. Caepio produced a bag, which he shook vigorously. ‘This contains nine white pebbles and one black. Each of you is to take one. Obviously, the one who gets the black stone is to die.’ He held open the bag. ‘First!’
Encouraged by a centurion wielding a vine cane, a soldier stepped up to Caepio. Plunging his hand into the bag, he pulled out a stone. It was white. His face sagged with relief.
‘Next!’ yelled Caepio.
The second pebble was white.
So were the third, fourth and fifth ones.
But the sixth was black. The man who drew it let out a cry of anguish.
‘Stay where you are!’ roared Caepio. The shaking soldier obeyed, and Caepio gestured at the pile of clubs. ‘The rest are to pick up a weapon and get back here.’ When the nine had returned, he bellowed, ‘Form a circle.’
As soon as the legionaries had done as they were told, Caepio shoved the chosen man into the rough ring’s centre. ‘Get on with it!’
No one moved except the condemned, who fell to his knees and began praying in a loud voice.
‘Roman citizens are not supposed to be crucified, but that won’t stop me ordering it for every last one of you fools!’ screamed Crassus, the veins in his neck bulging. ‘Kill him! NOW!’
For a heartbeat no one reacted, but then a big legionary took a step forward. And another step. He was joined by three others, and in a rush, by the five remaining men. They closed in on their comrade, who was now begging for mercy. No one replied, and no one would meet his eye.
The big legionary acted first. As he brought down his club, the condemned man raised his right arm in defence. Thump. The heavy blow snapped his arm bones like a twig, and the nails in the club’s head ripped scarlet lines all through his scalp. Screaming, he fell on to his back. ‘Help me, Jupiter, please! Help me!’
Like a pack of wolves falling upon their prey, the nine soldiers surrounded him. Their clubs rose and fell in a terrible rhythm. Spatters of blood flew up, covering their arms and faces. The screaming quickly died to a low moaning sound, and that too was silenced fast. Yet the legionaries kept pounding away. It was only when Caepio called them off that they stood back, chests heaving. A combination of horror and demented rage contorted their faces. It wasn’t surprising, thought Crassus. Their comrade resembled a badly butchered piece of meat. His limbs lay at unnatural angles, and his features were unrecognisable, a bloody mess of torn flesh, fractured bone and exposed teeth. Crassus fancied he could see brain matter on several of the clubs, which was curiously satisfying. ‘Leave his body where it lies,’ he ordered. ‘Next!’