Conn Iggulden - The Death Of Kings

The docks were empty of ships, the dark hulks standing clear out to sea where they could watch the horde of slaves looting their city under rising plumes of smoke and ash. The ships were packed with silent people, just watching. Spartacus walked up to the edge of the docks and returned their stares.

“See how many they hold, Crix. We have enough gold to buy every one of us a berth.”

“These precious merchants won't stir to save us,” Crixus replied. “It has to be the pirates. The gods know, they have enough ships, and spitting in Rome's eye will give them some pleasure, as well.”

“But how to get word to them? We must send riders out to each port. There has to be a way to reach them.” Spartacus looked over the water at the pale specks of faces clustered in the ships. It was possible, if they could speak to Rome's enemies.

Antonidus walked up to stand at his side, squinting out over the waves with a sneer.

“Brave Roman citizens hiding from us like children,” he said.

Spartacus shrugged, tired of his bitterness and spite. “Sixty or seventy ships like those and we can leave Roman lands. A fleet bought with their own gold seems like justice.”

Antonidus looked at the two gladiators with more interest. He'd been tempted to slip away at the port, taking off his armor and joining the crowds of people who would surely gather once the slaves were gone. Then he'd seen the gold they'd taken from the treasury. Enough to buy him an estate in Spain or a vast farm in Africa. There were many places for a man to hide that would not shelter an army. He knew if he stayed, their trust in him could give him the chance he needed. Would Pompey forgive him if he brought Spartacus's head? Antonidus frowned. No, he'd faced a Roman court once and that was enough. Better just to run for a place where he could start again.

Spartacus turned, putting the sea at his back. “We will send local men to every port with a few coins to prove their promises. Speak to them, Crixus. Someone must know how to reach the pirates. Let them know the plan. It will raise their spirits on the march south.”

“We're heading south toward Rome, then?” Antonidus asked sharply.

A terrible anger creased the features of the gladiator for a moment, and Antonidus stepped back as he answered.

“We should never have turned our backs on the mountains, but now we must keep ahead of them. We'll run those bastards ragged on our trail. Remember, we're the ones who till their fields and work every hour of light for their wealth. It's made us strong. Let's see what sort of state they're in by the time we sight their beloved city.”

As he spoke he stared west into the sun, his eyes glinting gold with it as he imagined the legions hunting them. His face was bitter and Antonidus had to look away.

As the moon rose, Alexandria stood on the walls above the great city of Rome with the rain drumming against the stones. Torches had been lit all round the city, and they spat and crackled, giving only a little light to the defenders. When the warning horns had sounded, they had all come, snatching up tools and knives to hold the wall against the silent mass that tramped past in the darkness, churning the Campus Martius into clotted mud.

Tabbic held his iron hammer in tight hands, his face drawn and pale in the flickering light. There was no give in him, or any of them, Alexandria knew. If the slaves attacked them, they would fight as ferociously as the legions themselves. She looked up and down the line at the faces staring down into the dark and wondered at their calm. Families stood together in silence, even the children awed into stillness by the army passing them by. The moon cast only a little light, but it was enough to show the white faces of the slaves as they looked up at the city that had decreed their death. There seemed no end to them, but the moon reached its zenith and began to fall before the last stragglers disappeared into the night.

The tension eased at last, after hours of painful anticipation. The messengers from the legions had passed the news that they were close behind, and the Senate had ordered the people to the walls until it was safe, setting the example by taking places on the great gatehouses with the swords of their fathers and grandfathers.

Alexandria gulped in the cold air, feeling alive. The rain had begun to lighten and Rome had survived. Sudden smiles and laughter showed her that they all felt it, and for a moment she knew they had shared a bond in the dark that was as strong as any other tie in her life. Yet still she was torn. She had been a slave, as they were slaves, and had dreamed of rising up in a multitude to cast down their owners' precious houses and walls.

“Will they all be killed?” she murmured, almost to herself.

Tabbic turned sharply toward her, his eyes shadowed.

“They will. The Senate has known fear and they won't forgive a single one of them. The legions will make a bloody example of them before it ends.”

Pompey allowed the lamps to burn low in his tent as he read the dispatches from Rome, less than thirty miles south of them. Rain drummed against the canvas of the command tent and dripped through in places to make the ground sodden. Food sat on his table untouched as he read and reread each message. Crassus would have to be told.

After a while, he stood to pace and barely noticed as one of the torches guttered and failed. He took another from its stand and held it to illuminate a map that covered the entire wall of the tent. Spots of dark moisture showed on the parchment, and he realized he'd have to take it down if the rain continued. Rome was a tiny circle on the thick skin, and somewhere to the south the slaves were moving ever onward to the sea. He stared at the symbol for the city, knowing he had to make a decision before Crassus arrived.

Around him, only the sentries moved around the silent camp in damp misery. The Senate had sent supplies out to them as soon as the army of Spartacus had marched south. Pompey could only imagine the fear in the streets as the sea of slaves passed them by, but the gates had been barred against them.

He was proud of his people when he'd heard: the old and the young, women and loyal slaves ready to fight. Even the Senate had armed themselves, as they had centuries before to defend their city with their lives. It gave him hope for them.

A murmur of passwords outside revealed the approach of Crassus, who looked around in surprise at the dark tent as he entered. He wore a heavy leather cloak over his armor and pulled back the hood, scattering droplets.

“Evil night,” he muttered. “What news?”

Pompey stopped and turned toward him. “Some of it is… awful,” he replied, “but it must wait. There are four legions at the coast, just landed from Greece. I'm going to meet them and bring them after us.”

Crassus nodded warily. “What else, Pompey? You could send the extraordinarii to them, with our seals on the orders. Why go yourself?”

Pompey grimaced in the shadows. “The man who killed my daughter has been found. The men I left to hunt him are watching him now. I will stop at the city before I meet the legions coming west. You'll have to go on without me until this is done.”

Crassus took a taper and oil jug from the table and relit the lamps, his hand shaking slightly as he concentrated. At last, he sat down and met Pompey's eyes.

“If they turn to fight, I will not be able to wait for you,” he said.

Pompey shook his head. “Then do not force them to turn. Give them room to run and in a few days, a week, I will be back with fresh men to end this chase at last. Don't risk losing everything, my friend. For all your skill in Senate, you are no general. You know it as well as I do.”