‘It was one thing that I saw, yes.’
‘Were there others?’
She nodded.
‘Tell me.’
‘You’ll believe that I’m making it up. Trying to make you leave Italy.’
‘I won’t think that. Whatever you see is sacred, sent to you by Dionysus.’
She studied his face for a moment. ‘Very well. I am to bear you a son.’
‘A son?’ Spartacus’ face creased into a huge smile. ‘That’s wonderful!’
‘It might not happen,’ she said quickly. ‘Nothing about visions is certain.’
‘I know, I know. But a son!’ He reached over and squeezed her knee. ‘You’ll make a fine mother.’
‘And you a strong father.’ Maybe this will change his mind?
‘If what you saw is true, it’s even more reason to stay with the men,’ Spartacus declared. ‘Let’s say that we left now and travelled to Thrace, and our son grew up safely there. Imagine his opinion of me when he found out what I’d done. He’d think I was a damn coward, and he’d be right too.’
Ariadne was surprised to feel little disappointment. There was a trace of shame that she could even contemplate leaving, but the dominant emotion was pride. Pride in Spartacus. Yes, his ego was surely fed by his exalted position, but that was not his primary reason for staying. Ensuring the care of his men was. A tiny part of her still longed to escape their existence, however. ‘He wouldn’t think that if you’d beaten the Romans and left them to rot while you took the whole army out of Italy.’
‘Now there’s an idea!’ he said with a smile. ‘All I need to do is win over Crixus and Castus. First things first, however. For you to bear me a son, we have to make one.’ He took Ariadne by the hand and pulled her upright. ‘Let’s go to bed, eh?’
This time, Ariadne did not resist.
Carbo went looking for Spartacus at dawn. Over the previous few weeks, he had barely seen his leader. He’d been too busy himself. When he wasn’t helping Navio train the men, or in his tent coupling with Chloris, he had been out on foraging missions for food. On his most recent expedition, from which he only returned late the previous evening, Carbo and his comrades had spied out the town of Nola, which lay some eight miles to the north-east of Vesuvius. Thus far, it had escaped the slaves’ attentions. The wealth of the estates around Nola, and the visible lack of Roman troops, had been apparent to everyone in Carbo’s party. Here, in a neatly circumscribed area, were warehouses full of grain, stores of wine, dried meat and other foodstuffs, all ripe for the plucking. This was bounty that could not be left untouched. It had fallen to Carbo to bring the matter to Spartacus’ attention.
He met Spartacus heading purposefully towards Glaber’s former headquarters, which had become the leaders’ habitual meeting place. There was no missing his leader. Spartacus was dressed in a mail shirt that had been burnished until it shone. His sheathed sica hung from a gilded Roman military belt, and he wore a stunning Phrygian helmet. Even his leather sandals had been polished. He looked magnificent, thought Carbo admiringly.
‘What do you want?’ barked Spartacus.
Taken aback, Carbo began explaining about Nola.
‘Tell me as I walk,’ ordered Spartacus. ‘I can’t stand around to listen.’
Carbo had to trot to keep up as they made their way along the camp’s main avenue.
Spartacus said nothing until they arrived at the headquarters, where he stopped. ‘It’s a good idea.’
Carbo took in the waiting shapes of Crixus, Castus and Gannicus. They don’t look happy. ‘Will you organise a raiding party?’
Spartacus looked at him. For the first time, Carbo noticed lines of exhaustion under his grey eyes. ‘We’ll see. It depends on what happens here.’
‘All right.’ Carbo waited to be dismissed.
Spartacus considered him for a moment, before chuckling mirthlessly. ‘Stay with me. You might as well. It’s your fate as well as mine that we’ll be deciding.’
Carbo’s confusion grew.
‘You’ll find out soon enough what’s going on. Remember to keep your mouth shut and your ears open.’
He nodded.
Spartacus walked over to the Gauls, who were also clad in their finest gear.
Carbo trailed a few steps behind Spartacus. This must be an important meeting.
‘What the hell is he doing here?’ Crixus pointed a thick finger at Carbo. ‘You’re not welcome.’
Crixus had never spoken to Carbo, but he’d thrown enough glares in the lad’s direction for him to know how the Gaul felt. With difficulty, he kept his face neutral. Arrogant bastard.
‘Carbo has been giving me the good news about a town called Nola, which lies to the north-east,’ said Spartacus calmly. ‘He came across it on a foraging mission. Apparently, it’s too good a prize to pass up. We’ll find weeks’ worth of supplies there.’
At this, Gannicus smiled. Castus grunted noncommittally, but Crixus sneered. ‘Big fucking deal.’
‘Finding new sources of food is important,’ observed Spartacus mildly.
‘That’s not what we’re here to talk about.’ Crixus glared at Carbo. ‘Piss off.’
Although he wanted to, Carbo wasn’t about to challenge Crixus. The move would cost him his life. Resentfully, he turned to leave.
‘He stays,’ said Spartacus in a sharp tone.
Delighted, Carbo froze.
‘Why?’ Crixus’ tone was bullish.
‘Some of your men are here.’ Spartacus indicated the half-dozen gladiators who lounged nearby.
‘I can trust them,’ retorted Crixus. ‘Your lapdog, however, is a cocksucking Roman.’
Carbo flushed with anger but Spartacus spoke before he could react. ‘Carbo has repeatedly proven his loyalty since we left the ludus. In case you’ve forgotten, he’s also the one who brought back Navio. Don’t try to deny that that man’s training has made an enormous difference to our fighting capability.’
‘Carbo is all right,’ said Gannicus in a placatory voice. ‘Eh, Castus?’
‘I suppose so,’ came the reluctant answer.
Crixus’ face grew sullen. ‘Suit yourself,’ he growled. ‘It will make no difference to what I do.’
‘What will you do?’ asked Spartacus. As if I don’t know.
‘Attack Varinius’ camp again! Ambush his men at every opportunity. Wipe the bastard out as soon as possible.’
‘Will you join him, Castus?’
‘I’m thinking of it, yes.’
How times have changed. A few months ago, you wouldn’t give Crixus the time of day. Spartacus eyed Gannicus, who was sucking on his moustache. ‘And you?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Gannicus replied awkwardly.
It’s as I thought. One against me, one probably against me, and one on the fence. Spartacus considered walking away, letting them splinter their army into little pieces, but his pride wouldn’t let him. Dionysus revealed that I could forge a proper army, one that can fight Rome and its legions. The chance to do that is too good just to throw away.
‘Are you still planning to run away?’ jibed Crixus.
If he’d been like this in the ludus, I never would have got the prick to agree to join us, Spartacus reflected, forcing himself to remain calm. All he needed was the chance to prove himself in battle. Now that he’s done that, men are prepared to follow him. But bravery only gets a soldier so far. Crixus has no tactical sense that I’ve seen. Out loud, he said, ‘I want to defeat Varinius too.’
Crixus’ brows lowered. ‘Have you come to your senses then?’
‘It’s what I’ve always aimed for,’ said Spartacus. ‘Just not right now.’
‘You want to wait. To move to another camp.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me how that’s not running away,’ cried Crixus. And he was off, ranting how he and his men would wreak havoc on the local countryside; how they would annihilate Varinius and his cowardly troops; how they didn’t need Spartacus and his snake-in-the-grass Roman friends. Soon Castus added his voice to the tirade. The pair were encouraged by the vigorous noises of approval made by the watching Gaulish gladiators. Gannicus stood watching the performance, his eyes as beady as an old vulture’s.