‘It might not mean what you think.’
‘It’s hard to see how it doesn’t.’ Patting his flat belly, Spartacus changed the subject. ‘I’ve a mind to fill this with meat. Any meat will do. Beef. Pork. Lamb. Even goat. We need supplies too — particularly blankets and leather for making sandals. I’ll round up the men and search out an easy farm to raid. I’ll take everyone except Getas. He will stay here with you.’
Ariadne knew better than to ask if she could come. As a priestess, her value to the gladiators was incalculable. Besides, she didn’t want to see the casual slaughter and rape that would be an integral part of the expedition.
Spartacus slipped to Carbo’s side as they followed the game trail downwards through the forest. Atheas and Taxacis, the two Scythians, followed him silently, barely moving the thick bushes as they passed. Atheas was the one with the bushy black beard, while Taxacis had a broken nose like a squashed sausage. Since escaping the ludus, the pair had become his shadows. They even slept outside his tent, like faithful hunting dogs. Spartacus didn’t know why the skilled warriors had chosen to become his bodyguards, but he rested easier because of them. Getas couldn’t do it all on his own. Having to contend first with the fearsome Scythians would make any disgruntled gladiators think twice before trying to kill him.
He eyed Carbo sidelong. With all that had been going on since their escape, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to the young Roman. This was a chance to gauge Carbo’s loyalty once more. Inside the ludus, it hadn’t truly been tested, but things were about to change. ‘With luck, this little jaunt will bring us some sheep, or even cattle. Nothing like fresh meat roasted over a fire, eh?’
‘My belly’s rumbling already,’ admitted Carbo. His face clouded. ‘Will anyone be killed?’
‘I hope not. We’ll only be facing farm slaves and whatever arsehole owns them.’
‘I didn’t mean any of us.’
Spartacus shot him a sharp look. ‘I expect there’ll be a few casualties, yes. Don’t be surprised when escaped gladiators take their vengeance on some of the people that treated them like animals.’
‘I thought you were looking for food.’
‘We are,’ replied Spartacus innocently. ‘And if we happen to kill a Roman or two, it will be an added bonus.’
‘That’s not right!’ The words had escaped Carbo’s lips before he could stop them.
‘Is it not?’ Spartacus jabbed a finger into Carbo’s chest. ‘Your fucking legions have done far worse to my people. I’ve watched innumerable settlements being razed to the ground. Lost count of the old and infirm who were butchered because they were no use as slaves. Have you ever seen a baby that’s been gutted? Or a woman who’s been raped so many times that she’s lost her mind?’
Carbo flushed, and had the wits not to reply. He’s probably right.
‘If you don’t want to be part of it, you can piss off.’
Carbo’s feet stayed on the path.
There was a long pause.
‘Well?’ demanded Spartacus.
‘I’m staying.’
‘And when the time comes to fight?’ demanded Spartacus in a grating tone. ‘It’ll be legionaries who come against us next. Will you run rather than kill your own countrymen?’
‘No.’ Where would I go? To Rome, to become a lawyer? I’d rather be a latro.
‘How can I be sure?’ Spartacus’ grey eyes were threatening. ‘I have no need of a man I can’t rely on.’
‘You looked out for me in the ludus. No one else did, so I’m loyal to you,’ said Carbo passionately. ‘Even if it means fighting my own kind.’
Spartacus’ anger subsided a fraction. ‘I’ll be watching you,’ he warned.
Carbo nodded in grim acceptance. It’s no different to the arena. Kill or be killed. That’s my only choice.
An hour later, Spartacus genuinely felt like a latro. The estate they’d found had seemed perfect. It was typical of the large latifundia in the area. Sprawling fields full of crops and livestock surrounded a yard, farm buildings and an enormous villa. The gladiators had headed for the latter before bothering with the sheep and cattle. It was unlikely that anyone would come to the owner’s aid but it paid to be cautious. They’d rounded up all visible slaves too. Spartacus didn’t understand it but some slaves felt an allegiance to their owners. He didn’t want anyone running off to spread the news until they were gone.
The killing had started soon after they reached the buildings. Hearing the commotion, the owner had emerged from his front door. A stocky man in early middle age with close-cut hair, he’d looked like an army veteran. Taking in the yelling gladiators and his wailing, terrified slaves, he’d plunged back into the villa. A few heartbeats later, he’d emerged at the head of a group of armed retainers. Waving an old but serviceable gladius, the Roman had charged straight at Crixus. Whooping with delight, the Gauls had closed around their attackers like a pack of hungry wolves.
Now, covered in stab wounds, and with his head almost severed, the man lay in a huge pool of blood. Similarly treated, the corpses of his domestic slaves lay all around him. His wife and two teenage daughters were on their backs nearby, screaming at the top of their lungs. On top of each was a bare-arsed gladiator, shoving away between their open legs. Laughing and joking with one another, a dozen others waited their turn. Spartacus, who was sitting on the edge of a fountain by the entrance to the yard, kept his gaze averted. He was waiting for the most disciplined of his men — the Scythians and two of the Thracians — to return and report what they’d found in the way of weapons, grain and other supplies.
‘Can’t you stop this?’ Carbo waved at the baying mob of fighters. ‘It’s disgusting.’
‘It is,’ agreed Spartacus wearily. ‘But it’s also inevitable. Moreover, if I tried to stop what was going on, those men would kill me without batting an eyelid. So I let them get on with it.’
‘They’re animals!’ spat Carbo.
‘No. They’re warriors who haven’t had a woman in months, or even years. Do your precious legionaries act any differently when they sack a town? I doubt it very much.’
‘Legionaries would never carry on in such a sickening manner.’ Carbo knew the words weren’t true as they left his lips.
‘Believe that if you will.’
Carbo flushed and fell silent.
‘Why don’t you make yourself useful? Go into the house and search for weapons.’
With a relieved look, Carbo disappeared.
A new set of high-pitched screams reached Spartacus. It was coming from the slave quarters. That’s where the other warriors are. Stupid fools, he thought. Carbo had a point. We need more recruits, not enemies. Who’ll want to join us if our men have raped their womenfolk? Calling for Atheas and Taxacis, he marched towards the wailing sounds.
Some discipline had to be maintained.
Two weeks passed without any sign of Roman soldiers. With every day that went by, however, Spartacus’ tension grew. It was inevitable that the Senate would send a force to crush them. The only unknown was when it would arrive. The sands of time were slipping away, and while they did, the other gladiators did nothing to prepare. Together with their leaders, they watched and jeered as Spartacus mercilessly trained his men and a number of the slaves who’d joined them. Most of his followers were now better armed than their erstwhile comrades. They had Carbo to thank for it. He was the one who had found a large stash of weapons — swords, javelins, spears and daggers — at the villa. The weapons were a major addition to the Thracians’ cause, but they still lacked shields and helmets. It would make little difference to the outcome, but it galled Spartacus. His men deserved more.
Spartacus also poured energy into instructing Carbo. It was a pleasure to have a pupil so eager to learn. The young Roman appeared to have learned his lesson at the latifundium, and had not mentioned the episode again. It’s as well, thought Spartacus, because rapes will happen anyway. Ugly as it is, it’s an integral part of war. Carbo’s keen attitude also helped to take Spartacus’ mind from his concerns. During this time, he did not ask Ariadne about his dream either. There was little point. He’d come to the conclusion that the snake symbolised Rome and its legions, and that it was his fate to die in battle against them. Spartacus brooded about it each day as he sat on the lip of the crater, studying the countryside far below. It wasn’t the worst fate a man could have. It was better than dying in the arena while thousands of Romans bayed for his blood. His decision to stay had been the right one. He was returning the loyalty of his followers by leading, not abandoning them. His men were also the reason it had been better not to head for Thrace. I cannot desert them. What of Ariadne, though? Troublingly, to this he had no answer.