‘Where do you think Varinius is?’ asked Gannicus out of the blue.
Castus’ face soured. ‘Who cares? He’s nowhere near here.’
‘He’ll be looking for us. Be sure of that,’ said Spartacus.
The Gauls sucked on the bitter marrow of that, pleasing Spartacus. They need to know that the Romans won’t ever forget about us.
‘Another secret meeting without me? This is becoming a habit,’ sneered Crixus, swaggering in from a side street.
Castus and Gannicus bellowed with laughter. ‘Come and have a drink.’
Grumbling, and throwing sour looks at Spartacus, Crixus approached. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you preferred to meet without me.’
Spartacus wanted to smash his amphora over the big Gaul’s head, but he held his peace.
‘Shut up!’ cried Castus. ‘You’re the one who avoids our company.’
‘Aye,’ growled Crixus. ‘Well, you know the reason for that.’
‘Peace,’ said Gannicus, but Crixus was having none of it.
‘Not only does he tell us what to do all the time, but he interferes in business that isn’t his. Isn’t that right, Thracian?’
Spartacus felt a throbbing anger in his chest. He noted that Crixus’ tone was more belligerent than ever. The prick hasn’t forgotten what happened earlier. This is no time to be sitting. He stood carefully, pretending to smooth his tunic down. ‘We all agree on our tactics, and where we march. Don’t we?’ Gannicus nodded, Castus grimaced, and Crixus spat with contempt. As I expected. ‘You talk of business that isn’t mine. Care to explain?’
‘You know exactly what I mean!’
‘But the others don’t.’
Crixus grunted angrily. ‘Me and a pair of my lads were searching a house earlier, and we chanced upon two fine bits of stuff. Both slave girls. We were just starting to have fun with them when that little sewer rat arrived — what’s his name?’
‘You know what he’s called,’ said Spartacus icily.
‘ Carbo. Carbo burst in, telling some bullshit story about how one of the whores was his woman. I told him to piss off, so he scuttled off and came back with his master. Spartacus. With his two hunting dogs, the Scythians, in tow. They caught us hard at it, with our trousers down, and forced us to back off the women.’ Crixus glared as Castus chuckled. ‘Next thing, Carbo’s bitch somehow picked up Segomaros’ knife. She stabbed him to death with it! I wanted vengeance, but Spartacus was having none of it. This, when I’m one of the fucking leaders of the whole damn army!’
Castus’ and Gannicus’ expressions soured. ‘Is this true?’ demanded Castus.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Spartacus calmly. ‘Except Carbo wasn’t telling lies. One of the girls was his woman. Chloris, her name was. She used to be Amatokos’ lover, before he was killed. Since then, she’d been with Carbo. Which meant, after Carbo asked for help, that it was very much my business.’ He eyed them all. Crixus was the only one to look defiant. Prick.
Gannicus frowned. ‘Her name was Chloris?’
‘Yes. She’s dead. The poor creature bled to death after what they’d done to her.’
Crixus laughed, and Spartacus felt his anger go white-hot.
Gannicus blinked. ‘Well, that’s an end to it, surely? The bitch who killed your man is dead. Stop thinking about it. Have another drink,’ he said bluffly, offering Crixus his amphora.
The big Gaul dashed it out of his hand. ‘So what if the whore did belong to Carbo? I had every right to fuck her if I wanted to! Carbo is nothing. A speck of shit on the sole of my sandal!’
‘Carbo is my man, and he’s loyal.’
‘Which is more than you can say for me,’ hissed Crixus.
‘That’s right,’ said Spartacus.
‘Screw you!’ roared Crixus, tugging his sword from its scabbard.
Discarding his wine, Spartacus drew his sica. And so it comes to this, he thought. Fine. The whoreson has it coming to him. He’s going to split from the army anyway.
The two others scrambled out of the way. ‘There’s no need for this,’ cried Gannicus.
‘Piss off!’ shouted Crixus, thrusting his blade at Spartacus.
Spartacus parried the blow. The Gaul spun around, carried by the force of his swing and Spartacus brought his sword back down. His intent was to slice open the back of Crixus’ sword arm, but the sica met only thin air.
‘Think you can hit me with something that simple?’ Crixus danced away, out of range. Instantly, he was on the offensive again, his gladius probing back and forth like the tongue of a metal snake. They traded several massive blows, and Spartacus grew wary. The Gaul’s iron blade was thicker than his weapon, and if he wasn’t careful, the sica could shatter. If that happened, he’d be dead meat. He slid his feet backwards, forcing Crixus to pursue him.
‘Scared?’
‘Of you?’ retorted Spartacus contemptuously.
His needling worked. Crixus snarled with fury and darted forward, swinging his gladius overhead like a Gaulish longsword. If he’d had a shield to take the impact of Crixus’ attack, Spartacus would have risked it and tried to run him through the armpit, but without protection, he risked losing his head. He shuffled back a few more steps and Crixus followed, grinning with delight. ‘Ready to die?’
Spartacus’ answer was to pick up his amphora and hurl it underhand at Crixus. As the Gaul ducked, he was charging forward, hacking sideways with his sica. He grinned with satisfaction as the blade sliced open Crixus’ upper left arm.
‘Bastard!’ Dodging out of range, Crixus eyed the flesh wound with contempt. ‘Think that’s going to stop me?’
‘It’s just a start,’ Spartacus replied coldly.
‘Yes? Well, how about this?’ Moving surprisingly fast for a man of his size, Crixus thundered forward. Spartacus thrust his sica at him, and the Gaul smashed it out of the way. Rather than withdrawing, Crixus ploughed on, crashing into Spartacus and delivering an almighty headbutt. Only Spartacus’ lightning-fast reaction — turning his head — saved his nose from being split in two like a ripe plum. As it was, Crixus’ forehead smacked into his cheekbone, sending him reeling backwards. Then Crixus punched him in the side of the head, making his ears ring. The Gaul leered in triumph and raised his gladius. Great Rider, help me, thought Spartacus. The next blow won’t be from a fist, but a blade.
Blind inspiration struck him. He dragged the strings of spittle in his mouth together and spat the lot into Crixus’ face with all his might. ‘Fuck you!’ he shouted.
Shock and utter outrage twisted the Gaul’s features, and Spartacus thrust his sica at him, forcing him to parry rather than attack. Regaining the initiative, Spartacus launched a savage offensive. It was time to kill the bastard. My blade won’t break. The Rider won’t let it.
‘One. Two. Three!’ roared Gannicus. Together, he and Castus hurled the contents of two amphorae over Spartacus and Crixus.
Spluttering with indignation, the pair separated. ‘What in the name of Hades is that for?’ roared Crixus.
Both Gauls advanced, their swords at the ready. ‘This has gone on long enough,’ said Gannicus. ‘You’re going to kill each other.’
‘I’m going to fucking kill him, you mean!’ snarled Crixus.
Spartacus barked a scornful laugh. ‘In your dreams.’
‘Stop this bullshit!’ shouted Castus. ‘If you start again, we’ll stab both of you in the back.’
Cold reason overtook Spartacus, for which he was grateful. The Rider is at work here. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because you’re both too damn valuable to lose,’ said Gannicus. ‘The army needs you. Not one slain, and the other so badly injured he can’t fight. And that’s what would probably happen if we left you to it.’
Crixus’ eyes narrowed.
Gannicus is right, thought Spartacus. And only the gods know which of us would be the one lying dead on the ground by the end of it.
‘Have a drink, and forget about it!’ Castus produced another amphora and tossed it at Crixus. The big Gaul caught it one-handed. He looked at it for a moment, and Spartacus prepared to duck. Instead of throwing it, however, Crixus laughed. He eyed Spartacus balefully. ‘We can do this another time, eh?’ Throwing back several mouthfuls, he proffered the amphora.