Carbo’s need to urinate returned with a vengeance. Is this how I’m going to die? he wondered. Covered in my own piss? He changed tactic, stabbing his gladius down at his opponent’s feet. His effort failed. The legionary blocked the blow by angling out the lower edge of his scutum; he followed through with a lunge of his sword that nearly took out Carbo’s left eye. There was a screech of metal as the iron blade skidded off the brow of his helmet. Stars flashed across Carbo’s vision. Dimly, he heard the legionary roar in triumph. This is it, he thought. Now the bastard will knock me over and finish me off.
What he heard next was an odd, choking sound.
With difficulty, Carbo focused on the legionary again. To his amazement, he saw Spartacus’ sica sliding out of the man’s throat. Blood spattered him in the face; the metallic taste of it hit his tongue. Carbo’s head turned.
‘Come on, lad! Get your wits about you,’ growled Spartacus.
Carbo nodded, still a little confused.
‘Eyes front!’ Spartacus shouted.
Carbo obeyed. The gaps in the enemy ranks had already been filled by those behind. His next opponent was four steps away and closing fast. Carbo let him come, forcing the man to step over his comrade’s body. As the legionary was in mid-stride, Carbo drove into him with all his force. The soldier rocked back on his heels, and Carbo’s sword shattered his left cheekbone, slicing through his nasal chambers to exit at the angle of the opposite jaw. A keening noise tore at Carbo’s hearing, and he shook his head in an effort to stop it. Then he realised that it was the legionary screaming. He’d never heard someone make so much noise. With a grunt, he tugged his blade free. The man dropped, still shrieking like a spitted boar.
Carbo wounded the soldier who followed, slicing one of his feet down to the bone. Bawling in pain, the man drew back, unable to fight. The press was too tight for anyone to get by, so Carbo used the respite to help Zeuxis dispatch his opponent. Two legionaries shoved through the gap left as that man fell. One moved sideways to get at Carbo; the other went for Zeuxis. This fight was as protracted as Carbo’s first struggle, but driven by adrenalin and the knowledge that Spartacus had saved his life, he gave a better account of himself. It was a measure of his opponent’s skill that it took so long for Carbo to put him down. The legionary sank to his knees, the wound in his throat open wider than his gaping mouth. Blood jetted from both openings, covering the ground between them in another tide of crimson.
No one filled the empty space before Carbo. He didn’t understand until the shrill peeeeeeep of whistles hit his eardrums. The Roman line retreated a step, and then another. He tensed, preparing to advance.
‘Fall back!’ roared Spartacus. He thumped the side of Carbo’s shield with his own. ‘Ten paces, no more.’
As he dumbly obeyed, Carbo felt the sweat drenching him. The felt liner beneath his helmet was saturated. There were rivulets running down his forehead and continuing, stinging, into his eyes. He wiped a bloody hand across his face.
‘You’ve done well, lads. Time for a breather!’ shouted Spartacus. ‘Help the wounded to move back, away from the front ranks. If you’ve got any water, have a drink. Share it with your comrades. Do the obvious. Those with damaged weapons or equipment, try to find replacements from the dead and injured. Clear the ground around your feet so that you don’t trip up when the fighting starts again. Check the rest of your gear. Make sure that the straps on your sandals aren’t loose.’ He broke out of formation and began to move along the ranks to the left, muttering encouragement to the soldiers.
No more than twenty paces away, the Romans were doing the same thing. Carbo felt odd standing so close to men whom he’d been trying to kill just a moment earlier, and with whom he would shortly resume hostilities. Best to make the most of it. He stabbed his gladius into the earth before him and let his scutum rest against it. Relieving himself of that weight felt so good. Next he tugged up the bottom of his mail shirt and freed himself from his undergarment. At once his urine arched out in a yellow stream. Carbo thought it would never stop. He had never known such relief. From the jokes and sighs of satisfaction he could hear, plenty of other men felt the same way. Finishing, he became very aware of his overwhelming thirst.
‘Here.’
Zeuxis had shoved a small clay vessel with a strap around its neck in his face. Carbo put it to his lips and took a mouthful. The water was warm and stale, but it tasted better than anything he’d ever drunk. ‘Thanks,’ he said, handing it back.
Zeuxis grunted. He took a long pull himself and passed it to the soldier on his left. He leaned back towards Carbo. ‘Never thought I’d stand this close to Spartacus in battle, I can tell you.’
‘He’s some warrior, eh?’
‘It’s like watching a god take to the field.’ The awe in Zeuxis’ voice was palpable.
‘I’d be a dead man if it wasn’t for him.’ Carbo undid his chinstrap and took off his helmet. He let it drop.
‘I saw some of that fight. Sorry I couldn’t help. I was a bit caught up.’
‘It’s all right.’ Carbo pulled off his liner and wrung it out. Streams of water ran between his fingers. A light breeze tickled his soaking hair. It felt wonderful, but he jammed the felt back on his head and put on his helmet again, tying the strap securely. ‘You been in the army long?’
‘I joined before the battle against Lentulus. Marcion here’ — he jerked his head at the man to his left — ‘came along at the same time. So did most of our contubernium. And you?’
‘I was in the ludus with Spartacus.’
Zeuxis’ mouth fell open. ‘Really?’
Carbo nodded.
‘So you took part in the attack on Glaber’s camp? And the fight at the villa when Cossinius was caught naked?’
Carbo grinned. ‘I was there.’
‘Hear this, Marcion!’ He muttered a few words to his comrade, who gave Carbo a look of awe. ‘Those were the days, eh?’ said Zeuxis. ‘When we won every fight.’
Carbo gave him a grim smile. ‘With the gods’ help, this could be another one.’
Zeuxis’ eyes flickered away from his. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Spartacus came hurrying back to his position. ‘READY, LADS?’
‘YES!’ Carbo shouted, his voice one of hundreds. Tugging his gladius free, and picking up his shield, he scanned the enemy lines. The legionaries were moving closer together, and he could hear their officers roaring at them to prepare to advance.
‘Let’s hit them hard, eh?’ said Spartacus to Carbo.
‘Of course!’ His heart began to race again.
‘The left flank looks to be holding its own from what I can see, but I’ve got no idea how things are on the right, or what the cavalry have achieved. To be sure of victory, we have to break through here.’
The pressure mounted. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will.’ Spartacus flashed him a smile, and Carbo’s devotion to him grew yet stronger.
‘READY? CHARGE!’ roared Spartacus.
They pounded forward at the Romans, who shouted a challenge and broke into a run of their own. Carbo was more prepared for the fight this time. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man closing in on him had a limp. He was already injured: a weakness to exploit. As their shields cracked against each other and they both began to push, Carbo hacked down at his opponent’s sandals. There was a loud cry as the tip of his blade connected with the toes on the man’s left foot. It was only a small wound, but it was painful enough to make the legionary lower his guard a fraction. Carbo raised his gladius and shoved it forward, around the other’s scutum. There was a heartbeat’s delay and then it had punched through the iron rings of the man’s mail shirt. It sank deep into his belly, and his mouth opened in an ‘O’ of pure shock. Carbo twisted the blade as he’d been taught, and wrenched it free.