Spartacus: Rebellion Read Free Page B

message, but the man was an envoy, and brave too. It had taken balls to ride up to his army, alone and unarmed.
    ‘Crixus went to Hades knowing that more than two-thirds of the scum who trailed in his wake had died with him,’ announced Baculus. He raised his voice. ‘Do you hear me, you whoresons? Crixus is dead! DEAD! So are more than fifteen thousand of his followers! One in ten of the prisoners that we took had their right hands chopped off. Be certain that one of those fates awaits you all here today!’
    After hearing the name ‘Crixus’, Carbo was deaf to the rest of Baculus’ threats. His world had just closed in around him. Crixus is dead? Jupiter be thanked. Dionysus be thanked! This had been one of his most fervent prayers; one that he had thought would never be answered. At the sack of a town called Forum Annii some months before, Crixus and two of his cronies had raped Chloris, Carbo’s woman. Spartacus had helped to save her, but she had died of her injuries a few hours later. Incandescent with grief, Carbo had been set on killing Crixus, but Spartacus had asked him to swear that he would not. At the time the Gaul had still been a vital leader of part of the slave army. It was a request that Carbo had reluctantly agreed to.
    Yet when Crixus had announced that he was leaving, thereby releasing Carbo from his promise, he had done nothing – because the Gaul would have carved him into little pieces. Telling himself that Chloris would have wanted him to live had worked thus far, but staring at Crixus’ rotting head, Carbo knew that he’d simply been scared of dying. The immense satisfaction that he now felt, however, outweighed any concerns that he had about being slain in the impending battle. The whoreson died aware that he failed – that’s what matters.
    Spartacus could tell without looking the level of dismay that Crixus’ head and Baculus’ news had caused among his men. He raised his sica and moved towards the tribune. ‘Fuck off. Tell Gellius that I’m coming for him! And you.’
    ‘We’ll be ready. So will our legions,’ Baculus replied stoutly. He cupped a hand to his mouth. ‘My men are hungry for battle! They will slaughter you in your thousands, slaves !’
    Spartacus darted in and dealt Baculus’ steed a great slap across its rump with the flat of his blade. It leaped forward so suddenly that the tribune almost lost his seat. Cursing, he sawed on the reins and managed to bring it under control again. Spartacus jabbed his sica at him. With a glare, Baculus turned his mount’s head towards his own lines.
    ‘Count yourself lucky that I honour your status,’ Spartacus shouted.
    Stiff-backed, Baculus rode silently away. He did not look back.
    Spartacus spat after him. I hope they’re not all as brave as he. Putting Baculus from his mind, he turned to his men. Fear was written large on many faces. Most looked less confident. An uneasy silence had replaced the raucous cheering and weapon clashing. It was changes in mood like this that could lose a battle: Spartacus had seen it before. I have to act fast. Stooping, he picked up Crixus’ mangled head and brandished it at his soldiers. ‘Everyone knows that Crixus and I didn’t get on.’
    ‘That’s putting it mildly,’ shouted Pulcher.
    This raised a laugh.
    Good. ‘While we weren’t friends, I respected Crixus’ courage and his leadership. I respected the men who chose to leave with him. Seeing this’ – he held Crixus’ head high – ‘and knowing what happened to our comrades makes me angry. Very angry!’
    A rumbling, inarticulate roar met his words.
    ‘Do you want vengeance for Crixus? Vengeance for our dead brothers-in-arms?’
    ‘YES!’ they bellowed back at him.
    ‘VENGE-ANCE!’ Spartacus twisted to point his sica at the legions. ‘VENGE-ANCE!’
    ‘VENGE-ANCE!’
    He let them roar their fury for the space of twenty heartbeats. Happy then that their courage had steadied, he blew his whistle with all of his