Ben Kane: Spartacus: Rebellion

‘Not that. In my sword arm.’

Time stood still. Carbo wanted to weep, but he had no tears. ‘Can you fight?’

‘For a while.’

A shout to his front dragged Carbo’s attention back to the fight. This time, an optio was coming for him. I’ll kill you too, cocksucker! Then he saw the fresh legionaries piling in behind the back ranks, and his heart sank. There were now at least eight rows of men between them and Crassus. Even if Spartacus had been uninjured, they might not have been able to reach him. As it was, they had no chance. He met the optio’s shield with a fierce drive of his own. To Spartacus, ‘We’ve got to pull back!’

‘Never! We can still kill that son of a bitch Crassus!’

Carbo parried a gladius thrust by raising his scutum. In return, he lunged forward with his blade; withdrawing, he looked again. Crassus now looked as far away as the moon. It was asking the impossible even to try. He wasn’t going to leave Spartacus, though. Never. A strange madness took him. ‘All right then! CRASSUS! CRASSUS!’ He saw the ornate helmet turn; saw the arrogant expression he’d seen in Rome. Hatred twisted his guts. ‘We’re coming for you, Crassus!’ It gave Carbo the most intense satisfaction to see a flicker of fear pass across the general’s face.

Punch. The optio’s shield boss smacked into him. Carbo was driven back a step; he fought not to fall over.

‘Think you can kill our general?’ roared the optio. ‘You’ve got to get through me first.’

Bellowing with rage, Carbo went on the attack. His speed caught the officer by surprise, and he managed to slice open the Roman’s cheek, a minor but painful injury. Encouraged, Carbo pressed forward.

‘You’re crazy,’ spat the optio. ‘Don’t you know when you’re beaten?’

‘Piss off!’

‘Take a look around you, fool! You’re almost alone.’

The back of Carbo’s throat filled with acid. The optio pulled back a step, as if to invite him to check the veracity of his words. At first glance, all seemed well. Taxacis was still on Spartacus’ far side. Carbo could see other soldiers beyond. Then his head turned to the left. Horror filled him. Zeuxis was still on his feet, but the deep gash on his neck told its own brutal story. Marcion was there, ducking to avoid the thrusts of a bearded legionary, but that was it. He twisted his neck further. No, please, no. Perhaps forty or fifty men were still behind them. The rest were backing away, some slowly, fighting the Romans who were charging forward, but the majority had turned to run. Shields and swords already littered the ground. Despair took Carbo. The dream was over.

‘Convinced?’ The optio swept forward, lunging with his gladius.

Carbo spun back, raised his guard too late.

With incredible speed, Spartacus’ sica came scything around from the right. It took the optio in the neck, removing his head with ease. Carbo had never seen blood fountain so high in the air. It rose in a thick jet to eye height as the head, helmet and all, spun gracefully to one side. The optio’s body took another step forward before it crumpled, twitching, to the ground. The nearest legionaries pulled back in instinctive horror, granting the pair momentary respite.

Even injured, he’s still more skilful than me, thought Carbo in amazement.

‘Help me take off my helmet.’

He didn’t understand. ‘Eh?’

‘Do as I ask!’

Carbo shoved his gladius under his left armpit, then leaned over and fiddled with the chinstrap. After a moment, it came undone. Spartacus ripped off the helmet and flung it to the ground.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Go. Leave. Get away. It’s over.’ There was a touch of grey to Spartacus’ face now, but his voice was still commanding.

With sickening insight, Carbo understood. He threw it away so he can’t be recognised after he’s been killed. ‘I’m staying right here!’

‘Find Ariadne. Protect her and the baby. Get them away from here with Atheas, before the madness begins.’

‘What about you?’

A harsh laugh. ‘I’m going nowhere. The Rider is waiting for me.’

‘And me!’ Taxacis had never sounded fiercer.

Carbo’s mind raced as it had never done. He knew the chaos that descended on battlefields when one side began to run away. That was when most casualties were suffered. Panicking men without weapons made the easiest targets. Apart from women and babies, that was. Even with Aventianus and the Scythian to hand, they would have little chance of survival. He stared at Spartacus, torn between his need to stay loyal and the desire to honour his leader’s request. ‘I-’

‘Please. I ask you as a friend.’ Spartacus’ eyes held his like a vice.

Throat closed with emotion, Carbo nodded.

‘Go, or it will be too late!’ Spartacus pushed at him weakly with his shield.

Carbo obeyed, stumbling away like a drunk man. The tears that had not come before flowed at last, half blinded his vision. He wiped them away savagely, aware that if he wasn’t careful, he would trip over a body. Around him, soldiers were shouting, crying, turning to flee. The sense of panic was thick enough to cut with a knife. At times like this, men lost all reason. If he went down, he’d be trampled into the bloody earth. Carbo didn’t care about himself, but he had to save Ariadne and Maron. He’d given his word.

Gripping his sword and shield tightly, Carbo began to run. With every step, shame cut at him like butcher’s knives. He had abandoned Spartacus, who had saved his life so many times. Left him to his death.

Carbo did not look back.

South of the Silarus valley

Maron whimpered. It was his new sound, thought Ariadne sadly. Pulling down the neck of her dress, she put him to the breast. Although she had precious little milk, it would keep him quiet for a while. She stared down at him, feeling a mixture of love and immeasurable sorrow. You look so like Spartacus

It wasn’t surprising that Maron was unsettled, she thought, gazing around their small forest camp, which contained only a rough shelter fashioned from branches and outside it, a stone ring fireplace. He hadn’t known what was happening two days previously either, when the tide of battle had swung in Crassus’ favour. He’d been fast asleep until the clash of weapons and the screaming had woken him. That was when Atheas had ordered her to grab him and to throw a few things in a pack. She’d never seen the Scythian so worried. ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ he had shouted as she’d fumbled a couple of blankets and a spare swaddling cloth into a satchel and handed him the basket containing her snake. Outside, they had found Aventianus standing guard, a gladius clutched in his fist. It was at that moment that Ariadne had stared down at the battle and seen how bad things were.

Their army’s flanks had lost all semblance of order. Thousands of men had been streaming away from the Roman trenches, pursued by waves of legionaries. In the centre, she had made out a small bloc of soldiers still fighting — had Spartacus been among them? — but the overwhelming enemy numbers surrounding them offered but one outcome. The sight had frozen Ariadne to the spot with shock and grief. Only Atheas’ arm around her shoulders had brought her alive again, and given her the strength to move.

It had soon become apparent how fortuitous the tent’s position near the back of the camp had been. The rocky massif to its rear had afforded no escape route, so most soldiers were fleeing through the tent lines some distance below them. A few, mad with panic, had climbed up to the same level, but the sight of Atheas’ and Aventianus’ naked blades had kept them at a respectful distance. Having to threaten their old comrades seemed insane, but it had since become their reality. Ariadne had thought to be safe once they’d reached the mountains, but scores of stragglers had continued to cross their path. On Carbo’s advice, they were shunning all contact unless it was unavoidable. In his opinion — and Atheas agreed — no one could now be trusted unless he was known to them, or had proved himself. It was part of the reason why they were hiding like wild animals in the most remote spot that the Scythian could find. Five soldiers approved by Carbo had joined them subsequently. Ariadne felt a little safer for their presence. Extra men to hunt also meant more food. More than one of the new arrivals had mentioned the rumour they’d heard: that thousands of survivors were heading for the hills above Thurii, but she didn’t want to consider following until her grief had subsided a little. Until she could bear the idea of leaving the battlefield — and Spartacus’ body — behind for ever.