Ben Kane: Spartacus: Rebellion

Spartacus strode out into the gap between the armies. His head swivelled from side to side for a few moments. A javelin was hurled at him, and another, but he ignored them, standing on tiptoe to get a better view. Then a third pilum came scudding in and he had to dodge out the way in order to avoid being struck.

‘They’ve recognised him,’ muttered Carbo. He could see enemy javelins being handed forward for the men at the front to throw. The taste of fear was acid in his mouth. Spartacus’ extraordinary charisma was what held the centre together. If he went down, they were finished.

‘What in Hades is he doing?’ growled Zeuxis.

Carbo explained.

‘A bit fucking risky, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe, but there’s no other way.’ Even as he defended Spartacus’ actions, Carbo wanted to scream at him to return to safety.

He soon got his wish. Turning his back on the Roman lines, Spartacus sauntered back to their position. Two javelins followed him, one landing right by his feet. He didn’t even look at it. A smile played across his face. ‘Is that the best they can do?’ he shouted, turning to make an obscene gesture at the Romans.

Whoops and cheers rose around Carbo, and a sea of hands went up in the air, mimicking Spartacus’ sign.

Doing the same, Carbo grinned. He couldn’t help it. ‘Fuck you all!’ he bellowed.

Spartacus shoved in beside him.

Carbo turned, his face alight. Spartacus’ words hit him like a hammer blow.

‘It’s not going well with Pulcher on the right. The Romans must have brought up every spare catapult they have. The whoresons are hammering our ranks behind where the fighting is going on. The men there are starting to waver.’

Carbo’s next insult turned to ashes in his mouth. If the rearmost soldiers turned and fled, the ones at the front wouldn’t be far behind them. And if that happened, the enemy’s left flank could wheel around to hit the centre — their position. An abyss had just opened at their feet. ‘And the left?’

‘It’s all right, thanks to Navio. I can’t see the damn cavalry anywhere, though. On either side. I’m concerned that the ditches were too deep for them. That they haven’t been able to sweep around to the enemy’s rear. We’d have heard something, seen something by now if they had.’

Carbo’s hopes plummeted. He searched Spartacus’ face for a hopeful sign. ‘What can we do?’

A savage, unforgiving smile. ‘I’d wager that we’ve got the time for one more roll of the dice before the left flank gives way. Will you come?’

Carbo knew in that moment that his death was near. He fought the urge to vomit. ‘I’m with you.’

Spartacus’ eyes softened. ‘I never thought to say this, but I’m proud to stand and fight beside a Roman.’

Carbo had to fight back tears. Unable to speak, he just nodded.

Spartacus threw back his head. ‘My soldiers, listen to me!’

Somehow, amid the din from the fighting to either side, the nearest men’s heads turned.

‘I ask you for one more effort. One more charge! I can see Crassus there, opposite us. Do you see the bastard, in his red cloak, behind his legionaries?’

Silence for a moment as men’s eyes searched for their enemy, and then an angry roar went up.

‘Let’s kill Crassus right now. End the battle at a stroke. Are you with me?’

‘YES!’

‘ARE YOU WITH ME?’ Spartacus began hammering his sica off his shield.

‘YESSSS!’ Carbo screamed with everyone else.

‘THEN CHARGE!’ Spartacus shot forward so fast that he caught Carbo and the man on the other side by surprise. He was five strides ahead before they had even started running. Carbo sprinted to catch up. To his left, he sensed Zeuxis. He knew in his gut that the rest were coming too. Every man who had heard that cry would answer it. Would give his life to be with Spartacus as he descended on the Romans in a dreadful, killing rage. The words ‘Victory or death’ had never been more true.

He drew alongside the Thracian. Heard him muttering.

‘Great Rider, watch over me. Great Rider, protect me. Great Rider, help me to kill Crassus.’

The prayers made Carbo’s spine tingle. He could feel the gods’ presence. Let them be on our side.

Ten strides until the Roman lines. Carbo could see Crassus at the back. His heart jolted with hope. The legionaries opposite him were no more than six ranks deep. They could do it! Five steps. Imagining that he’d been stabbed in the guts, Carbo let out a piercing shriek. The man facing him flinched, which was what he’d wanted. He covered the last two paces in a blur, smashing into the soldier with all the pent-up hatred that he’d ever felt towards Crassus. He felt the impact as Zeuxis and Spartacus hit their opponents. Still yelling like a madman, Carbo rammed his gladius into the space between the two scuta before him. His blade struck, and then slid deep into something. A scream, and the legionary facing Spartacus dropped his sword. Surprised, Carbo’s eyes shot to his own opponent who, with teeth bared, was trying to reach around and stab him in the belly. Too late, Carbo pulled his right arm back to retaliate.

When Zeuxis’ gladius slid over to take the Roman in the throat, he could have cried with relief. ‘Thanks.’

Zeuxis threw him a broad wink. ‘Just do the same for me if you can.’

‘I will.’

‘ON! ON! ON!’ roared Spartacus.

Having smashed the first enemy rank, they shoved into the next. Punching with their shields, thrusting with their swords, howling like wolves. Blood sprayed in the air, covered their faces, showered on to the muddy ground. Cries of triumph mixed with shrieks of pain and the gurgles of men drowning in their own blood. They pushed forward another hard-fought two steps. A few paces to his left, Carbo saw a legionary lose an arm to a sword cut; with a stunned expression, he raised the stump into the air, showering his comrades in crimson liquid. As if he’d only realised what had happened, an inarticulate wail left his throat. Those of Spartacus’ soldiers who could see laughed and jeered. The man wasn’t just useless, he was now a danger to his comrades. It didn’t take long for a legionary to stab the unfortunate in the neck from behind and step over his body to fill the gap.

Carbo was vaguely aware that Spartacus was fighting another centurion, but his next opponent was a skilful legionary who pre-empted his every move. For long moments, they each battered their shield off the other’s and thrust at one another’s faces to no avail. Carbo’s throat was so dry that he couldn’t shout any more. His arms kept moving of their own volition — punch, thrust, punch, thrust — but he began to feel as if he were no longer within his body. Deep inside his head, a voice was screaming at him to come back to reality or he’d end up dead, but it was more than Carbo could do to obey.

To his surprise, the legionary’s gaze shot to his left. A gasp of dismay, the briefest moment of hesitation. Carbo didn’t know what had caused the distraction, but he took his chance, ramming his gladius into the soldier’s open mouth so hard that the blade ran out of the back of his neck. Gouts of blood and pieces of broken tooth flew into the air. Making a terrible choking noise, the legionary dropped out of sight. Carbo glanced first to his left. Zeuxis was still there. Beyond him, so too was Marcion. A look to his right then. Creeping exultation filled him. The centurion was down, screaming. They had broken through another rank.

A stifled gasp by his side doused his joy like a lamp that is suddenly snuffed out. His head turned. Wincing, Spartacus met his gaze. Blood was running from a cut on his forehead into his eyes. ‘The bastard got me, Carbo.’

‘That’s only a flesh wound!’