Cossinius didn’t like it. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I’m not sure, sir,’ muttered the younger of the two staff officers, an arrogant youth who had been appointed to his position thanks only to his father’s wealth. Although Cossinius’ background was similar, he loathed him.
‘Why in Hades’ name don’t you know? It’s your bloody job to inform me of what’s going on!’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said the second officer. ‘Last we saw, our lads were holding their own.’
‘Holding their own?’ Cossinius spluttered indignantly.
‘Yes, sir. I’m sure that when you appear, we’ll soon drive them off.’
‘Damn right!’ Cossinius drew his sword and made for the entrance, which was a narrow passageway ten paces long, formed in the specially constructed gap between two overlapping parts of the earthen rampart. He stumbled back in surprise as a wild-eyed legionary came storming inside. Cossinius glared at the soldier, who had no shield or sword. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ he snapped.
The legionary’s eyes came back into focus, registering Cossinius’ ornate armour and the two staff officers by his side. ‘I… we… they’re all over us, sir. There are hundreds of them… hundreds.’
‘So, what, you ran away?’ accused Cossinius.
The legionary’s eyes flickered from side to side, like a cornered rat. ‘I-’
Grimacing, Cossinius rammed his sword into the soldier’s groin, below the edge of his mail shirt. Letting the screaming man fall off his blade, he stared down the staff officers, whose faces were the picture of horror. ‘That’s more than the piece of filth deserves! Now follow me.’
He stalked outside, determined to end the farce once and for all. Like chastened pups, they clung to his heels.
Cossinius could not have imagined the scene of utter chaos that met his eyes. Instead of serried ranks of legionaries pressing home the attack under the calm direction of their officers, he saw isolated pockets of men fighting desperately against encircling groups of yelling slaves. In the time it took him to scan the field from left to right, Cossinius saw at least six soldiers hacked to pieces. Slowly but inevitably, his troops were being driven backwards or, more often, wiped out. Scores of the attackers were already pressing forward into the gaps in the Roman lines, towards the camp. There was no one to halt their progress.
The ground was littered with the injured and dying, the maimed and the blind. In threes and fours, legionaries were retreating, or even running from the fight. Here and there, a centurion valiantly tried to regain control, but there was no order, no design to the bitter struggle. Of the troops who’d been laying out the camp, Cossinius could see no sign. He looked to the defensive ditch, where he’d last seen them working. It was full of discarded tools. Alongside the trench stood neat stacks of shields and pyramids of javelins. The cold realisation of what had happened clutched at his vitals. The shitbags have left their weapons and run already. Suddenly, Cossinius’ mouth was as dry as the bed of a desert stream. This kind of misfortune did not happen to him. Half the men under his command did not just run away. Slaves did not overwhelm regular legionaries. The world’s gone mad.
‘Sir?’
Cossinius was dimly aware of someone tugging at his arm.
‘What are your orders, sir?’
He looked stupidly at the more senior staff officer. ‘Eh?’
The officer gestured at the carnage with a trembling arm. ‘What shall we do, sir?’
An image of Glaber falling on his sword filled Cossinius’ mind. Not for him the ignominy of that end. He would not leave such a shameful stain on his family’s good name. Far better to die in battle, facing the enemy with a sword in his hand. He felt a passing twinge of regret. He’d never get to screw the attractive slave now. ‘We advance,’ Cossinius said calmly.
‘A-advance, sir?’
‘You heard me. Roman senators and noblemen do not run from slaves!’ He reached down and picked up a discarded scutum, the back of which was spattered with blood. Its owner’s blood, thought Cossinius vaguely. ‘Find shields, both of you. We’ll show these whoresons how Romans can die.’
‘Yes, sir!’ The officer grabbed a scutum. Shamefaced, his companion did the same. They drew their gladii.
‘Form up either side of me,’ ordered Cossinius. ‘Stay close.’
As the officers obeyed, a group of nearby slaves saw their pathetic shield wall. Without hesitation, they charged in a heaving, screaming mass. Swords and javelins waved, promising death in all kinds of ways.
‘Prepare to meet an enemy attack,’ ordered Cossinius. Crassus was right, he thought wryly. Spartacus is a man to be respected.
Chapter XVI
The sun was dropping in the sky as Spartacus worked his way through the camp, which now sprawled over a huge area, far beyond the earthen ramparts erected by Glaber’s men. Greetings rang out from everyone who noticed him, and he made sure to smile in return or engage in a few words of encouragement before moving on. Inside, Spartacus was troubled by the number of gaunt faces on view.
After Cossinius’ defeat and death, the tide of new recruits seeking to join him — men, women and children — had turned into a veritable flood. The camp at the top of Vesuvius had rapidly swelled to bursting point. With more severe weather imminent, he had taken the decision to move everyone down to the remnants of Glaber’s encampment at the bottom of the mountain. While this meant that his fifteen thousand followers were shielded from the worst extremes of the elements, it did not provide them with any food.
It also left them open to attack from Varinius, who had regrouped his forces and camped about five miles away. Despite the swelling of his forces’ strength, Spartacus still did not want to fight the Romans in open battle. Perhaps five thousand men were trained to the standards he’d want, but the rest weren’t nearly ready for face-to-face combat; nor did they have enough equipment. Slave chains gave Pulcher and the other smiths limited amounts of iron to forge swords and spears, and fire-hardened sharp-ended stakes would only go so far when fighting fully armoured legionaries. Sometimes Spartacus wished that he were in Thrace, with as many battle-hardened warriors as he had followers here. He didn’t dwell on the pleasing thought, because having that many Thracians under one banner — his — was little more than a fantasy. His quest to unify the tribes against Rome might have succeeded, but it was as likely that he’d have been slain during his attempt. His men here were real. He just needed to train them, and keep the army from splitting up. Damn Crixus for a fool!
Brooding, he approached the fire by his tent, where Ariadne stood. She was tending a blackened pot that hung over the flames. Spartacus’ breath plumed in the chill air. He rubbed his hands together and extended them towards the heat. ‘That smells good. What is it?’
Ariadne looked up. ‘It’s what’s left of last night’s stew, with more water added.’
He shrugged. ‘The men are raiding every farm, and killing whatever game they can. But the Romans are everywhere now. It’s difficult to hunt when you’re keeping one eye out all the time for an enemy patrol. At least we’ve something to eat. There are others in the camp going hungry.’
She sighed. ‘I’m sorry. You have enough to worry about without me complaining.’
‘It’s all right.’ He put an arm around her waist. ‘But we need to move from here. Soon, too.’
She cocked her head at him. ‘Why now?’
‘We might have defeated Varinius and his men twice now, and raided their camps as well, but he has learned from his mistakes — and those of his officers. The fortifications around his new encampment are taller than I’ve ever seen, and the defensive ditch is deep enough to float a damn ship in. We’d have more chance of storming Hades than it.’ He scowled. ‘Winter is coming too. It’s going to get harder to find supplies. The best way to avoid people starving is to find a safer place to camp.’