Men sat on huge amphorae, bending to guzzle the wine that poured unchecked on to the stony ground. They passed around joints of meat, tearing off chunks with their teeth. Lumps were sliced from round wheels of cheese with knives still covered in blood. By some soldiers’ feet, Carbo saw open-necked leather bags full of coins. All that he expected. What surprised him, and nearly unnerved him, were the women’s screams. They shredded the air in a dreadful chorus of terror and pain. Everywhere he looked, Carbo saw women being raped. Usually it was by men, lots of them, but sometimes the violations were even worse. How anyone could shove a spear or a sword blade inside a living person, Carbo had no idea. It wasn’t long before the remains of his meagre breakfast came up. Mesmerised, dazed by the violence, he wandered from house to temple, shop to stable in search of Spartacus.
When he found him, it was by complete chance. Glancing around, he found one of the Scythians glowering at him from the doorway of a nondescript house. ‘Have you seen Spartacus?’
‘He’s inside,’ came the growled reply. ‘Why?’
Carbo was already shoving past, his desperation greater than his fear of Atheas. ‘Where is he?’
‘In office… off courtyard.’
Carbo broke into a trot. He skidded across the tablinum, catching sight of several imperious death masks of the owners’ ancestors before he plunged into the spacious central square. Spartacus was slouched on a stone bench, surrounded by piles of rolled parchment. Taxacis was sitting on the ground nearby, drinking wine from a delicate glass flute. Both men looked up as Carbo pounded over. Taxacis scowled. ‘By the Rider, what happened to you?’ asked Spartacus.
Carbo rubbed absently at the blood caking his face. ‘It’s not mine.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Spartacus cocked his head, his eyes as inquisitive as a bird’s. ‘You look scared. What is it?’
Carbo told his tale in a gabble of words, scarcely stopping to breathe.
Spartacus leaped to his feet, silently cursing this bad fortune. To avoid trouble with Crixus, he could have — should have — refused to do a thing. After all Carbo’s loyalty, however, that would seem the ultimate betrayal. Crixus was in the wrong, plain and simple. The damn hothead won’t see it that way of course. Would it do any harm to intervene? Spartacus grimaced. We shall soon see. ‘Let’s hurry, or it will be too late.’
Carbo felt as if a massive ball of lead had just filled his belly. It probably is already.
‘Taxacis! Atheas!’ Spartacus turned to Carbo. ‘Which way?’
Numbly, he headed for the door. The three men followed.
Let her be alive still, Dionysus. Please. Her companion and the girl too.
It didn’t take them long to reach the house. Carbo made to enter, but Spartacus pulled him back. ‘Let us go first.’
Resentfully, Carbo stood aside.
‘Where are they?’
‘In the courtyard.’
‘And there are three of them?’
‘That’s all I saw.’
Spartacus’ sica came thrumming out of its scabbard. The long, curved blade was covered in telltale, dark red stains. Whatever many others have done, I have killed no women today. He glanced at the Scythians, who were fingering their weapons. ‘I want no bloodshed unless it’s absolutely necessary.’
They grinned evilly at him.
‘Come on.’ Spartacus took a careful step into the atrium, then another. The Scythians went next, cat-soft on their feet. Carbo was last. He crossed the threshold, seeing for the first time an image of a snarling black dog on the mosaic floor. It was most lifelike. A chain round its neck was all that held it back from springing up at Carbo. Under it were the words ‘ Cave Canem ’. Beware of the dog, he thought warily. I didn’t hear it when I was in the courtyard. Why not?
The reason became clear half a dozen paces further on. The body of a large black dog filled the hallway. A snarl still twisted its lips, but its eyes had the glassy look that only death can bring. Its body was covered in hack wounds, and purple strings of intestine had slithered out of its belly. They lay in the creature’s blood like fresh sausages in a red wine stew. ‘It wasn’t much of a match for Crixus,’ whispered Spartacus. ‘Not much is.’
New fear clawed at Carbo. He couldn’t hear a sound. Had they come too late?
The low moan — a woman’s — that reached his ears a moment later had never been more welcome. The sound was accompanied by a man’s loud grunting. Let Chloris be alive.
Spartacus made a quick gesture. At once, one Scythian went to stand at his left shoulder, the other to his right. Sweating profusely, Carbo took up the rear. Another signal, and they sped into the tablinum. Moving around the impluvium, the pool that collected rainwater from the roof overhead, they came to the doors that opened on to the courtyard.
Dreading what he would see, Carbo peered over Spartacus’ shoulder. Only one Gaul was on his feet. He was idly picking his nails with a dagger and watching Crixus and the third man pound away at the two women. Carbo wiped away the tears of fury that sprang to his eyes. This was no time for weakness.
Spartacus’ lips framed the word ‘Perfect’ at each of them. Then his left hand chopped forward in a clear command to move. He and the Scythians darted forward like arrows released from hunters’ bows. Carbo scrambled to keep up.
They silently covered the twenty strides in perhaps four heartbeats. By the time the Gaul who was standing realised anything was wrong, he had Atheas’ sword tickling his neck. He dropped his dagger with a soft clunk into a flower bed. Spartacus lifted a finger to his lips, and the frightened warrior nodded. Crixus and his companion were oblivious, still thrusting into their victims with wild abandon. Unsurprisingly, the women had their eyes closed. Chloris had a fist in her mouth, and was biting down on it.
Carbo’s rage began to consume him utterly. It was no longer just about rescuing Chloris. He wanted to kill the Gauls too. That’s why Spartacus put me at the back, he realised. He knew how I’d react.
‘Crixus!’ shouted Spartacus.
The big Gaul’s head turned. Shock twisted his features. Cursing, he pulled out of Chloris’ companion and clambered to his feet. His friend hurried to do the same. Both men had left their mail shirts on, but they were naked from the waist down. Carbo could see blood on their pricks, and now his fury boiled over. ‘You fucking animals!’ he screamed. He tried to shove past Spartacus, but the Thracian’s iron-hard arm blocked his way.
‘I thought you’d go running to your master. Damn coward,’ growled Crixus at Carbo. He eyeballed Spartacus. Unlike his comrades, there was no fear in his face. He had the sense not to reach for a weapon, however. ‘What business have you here?’
‘Carbo asked me to come,’ said Spartacus. ‘One of these is his woman.’
‘I doubt he’ll want her any longer,’ said Crixus, leering. ‘She’s got my seed and Lugurix’s in her already. Segomaros was giving her a good pounding too.’ The man beside him smiled, and Carbo strained furiously, uselessly, at Spartacus’ arm.
‘That’s as maybe,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘But it ends here. The girl is coming with us. So is the other one.’
‘I am one of the leaders of this whole damn rebellion,’ Crixus thundered, the veins on his neck bulging. ‘I can do what I like.’
‘Not here, you can’t. Chloris has been Carbo’s woman since Amatokos was killed. You know that.’
Crixus took a step towards Spartacus. ‘What are you going to do — kill me if I try to stop you?’
‘If I have to, yes,’ came the calm reply. Spartacus’ sica hung by his side, but Carbo knew that if Crixus so much as moved towards his sword, which lay five paces away, he’d be a dead man. The others would meet the same fate at the Scythians’ hands.
The Gauls realised the same thing.
Crixus stared at Spartacus with obvious loathing for a moment before grunting, ‘As you wish. I wouldn’t want to blunt my blade on the bitches anyway.’ He looked to his men. ‘After all that rutting, I have a raging thirst on me. Let’s find some wine, if it hasn’t all been drunk by now.’ Chuckling, he reached for his licium.