‘Why not?’ Carbo didn’t want to admit that he’d already gone too far.
‘Think about it.’
He knew that Navio was right. Nothing would ever be the same again. Even the idea of travelling to Rome in search of his family had palled. His parents would be overjoyed, but he would never be able to reveal to them what he’d done. How could he now become a lawyer, like his self-important uncle? Returning to civilian life anywhere in Italy, which was not that appealing, would also be laced with danger. If anyone got the tiniest whiff of what he’d got up to with Spartacus, he’d be exiled, or worse. Carbo frowned. Where else could he go, but with Spartacus? He gazed at Navio through the gloom. ‘What would we do in Thrace?’
‘Who knows? Serve Spartacus. It wouldn’t take him long to carve out a kingdom for himself. I can think of worse things than being part of something like that. It’d beat being ground down by those whoresons in Rome.’
‘Leave Italy?’ It felt strange questioning it, given that that had been their aim for months. Yet it was only now beginning to feel real.
‘Why would I do anything else?’ hissed Navio. ‘There’s nothing left here for me!’
‘I’ll never get my revenge on Crixus.’
‘Come on. You knew that when you didn’t attack him at Thurii.’
Carbo tried to come up with another argument in favour of staying, and failed. ‘You’re right. I’ll go with Spartacus, wherever he leads us.’
‘Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,’ warned Navio, punching him on the shoulder. ‘We have a battle to win first! So while there’s time, get some more sleep.’ Pulling up his blanket, he rolled over and was snoring within moments.
Carbo was envious of Navio’s ability to fall asleep no matter what was going on. There was still little light visible through the leather, but he knew that he wasn’t going to get any more rest. It wasn’t just him, though. He could hear noises from other tents: coughing, snuffling, men whispering to each other. Carbo threw off his blankets. He might as well check over his equipment one last time. No doubt his sword could do with an even keener edge. Tugging up the flap, he was startled to see a figure standing by the remains of their fire. He blinked in surprise. It was Spartacus. He raised a finger to his lips, and so Carbo approached without saying a word.
‘Can’t sleep? Neither can I,’ said Spartacus in a low voice.
‘What brings you here?’
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
Carbo smiled as if it were the most normal thing in the world for his leader to come to his tent in secret. ‘About what?’
‘I need to ask you a favour.’
A favour? Carbo’s heart began to pound.
‘There was a reason that I picked you to be in charge of the stones.’
‘You think I’m a coward,’ accused Carbo hotly. ‘That I won’t stand and fight.’
‘No!’ Spartacus gripped his shoulder. ‘That is so far from the truth. I have seen your courage enough times not to doubt it. And I trust you as I do few others.’ Yet he’s a Roman. The irony was not lost on him.
‘Really?’ Carbo’s eyes searched his leader’s.
‘Yes. I want you to do something for me. A thing that I would ask no one else. Will you do it?’
‘Of course,’ replied Carbo instantly.
‘If we lose today-’
‘We won’t,’ Carbo burst in.
‘Your faith in me is encouraging, yet my plan is full of risk. So many things have to fall into place. If just one detail goes wrong, everything will fall apart. If that happens, defeat will lie around the corner. I know this.’
The truth of Spartacus’ words hung in the air like the stink of a rotting carcass.
Carbo couldn’t bring himself to argue, so he just nodded.
‘If the worst happens, it will be very clear. The moment that you’re sure the battle is lost, I want you to leave your men and return to the camp. Go to my tent, and find Ariadne. Atheas will be there, guarding her. He knows that you’re to take charge. You’re to lead her away from here. To safety.’
Carbo was awestruck by the responsibility he’d just asked to accept. Grief thickened his throat at the mere idea of it. If this duty ever came to pass, Spartacus would be dead. Dead. Like Chloris.
‘Here.’
Numbly, Carbo accepted the heavy leather pouch Spartacus handed him.
‘There’s enough in there to keep you all for a year, maybe longer.’
‘Where do you want me to go?’
Spartacus gave a bitter chuckle. ‘Anywhere, as long as it’s safe. Find a little town on the coast of Illyria, or maybe in Greece. Live a quiet life. I want to know that my son grew up under your guidance and Atheas’ protection.’
‘Your son? Ariadne is…’
‘Yes, she’s with child. Do you understand now why your task is so important?’
‘Yes,’ Carbo whispered.
‘So, will you do it?’
Carbo was staggered by the tone of humility in Spartacus’ voice. This was no order, but a heartfelt request from one man to another. ‘Of course! If the worst happens, Ariadne will be saved. I swear it!’
‘Thank you. That makes my load lighter.’ Spartacus squeezed his shoulder once, hard. ‘Tell no one of this, obviously.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Good.’ His teeth flashed in the darkness. ‘Now, we’d best get ready, eh? There will be many thousands of Romans to kill. I’ll see you when it’s all over.’
‘Yes.’
With that, Spartacus was gone, slipping off into the gloom like a wraith.
Gods, let us meet again.
‘Who was that?’ Navio’s head popped out of the tent.
‘Egbeo,’ Carbo lied. ‘He wanted to know how many men I was taking to the cliffs.’
‘Rather you than me,’ grunted Navio. ‘It’s more bloody, but I’d rather stick a sword in a man’s guts than crush him like a beetle underfoot.’
Carbo smiled, but all his thoughts were on his secret mission. By choosing him, Spartacus had shown him great honour. Yet it was a duty that he did not want, because if it came to pass, the man he idolised would be dead. Jupiter, Greatest and Best, he prayed desperately. Whatever happens, let us win. Grant us victory!
Carbo was used to the silence that met his requests of the gods, but this time it resounded in his head like the emptiness of a stone dropped into a bottomless well.
They moved out soon after, while the sun was still below the horizon. Clouds of exhaled breath filled the cold air as Carbo’s troops tramped through the darkness. It wasn’t more than a mile to the spot that Spartacus had ordered them to, which lent a palpable air of anticipation to the march. Although there was no pressing need yet to remain quiet, the men’s conversations were held in muttered tones. Working from the description he’d been given, Carbo led his force, some two hundred strong, northwards up a slope between groups of twisted junipers and sturdy holm oak trees. The vegetation gradually died away, leaving exposed great slabs of rock that were covered in rosettes of grey-green lichen.
They had climbed a short distance when the stone opened up in a gaping chasm. It stretched from left to right for some distance and was about twenty score paces across. Carbo walked up to the edge, and looked down. The drop was precipitous. Cursing, he took a step backwards. The wind that gusted to and fro here could easily sweep a man to his death. Lying down, he crawled to the lip with a great deal more caution. The view was breathtaking. At least five hundred paces below, the thin ribbon that was the road threaded its way along the valley floor. The only sign of life was a pair of ravens that were chattering noisily to each other as they banked and turned on the early-morning air currents.
Carbo’s gaze flickered from side to side, assessing the best spot for the ambush. Unsurprisingly, his eyes focused on the narrowest part of the gorge. There the two sides were little more than a good spear’s throw apart. He made his mind up at once. Anything that was dropped from that point could not fail to strike anyone on the road. A roseate glow to the east told him that dawn was approaching. Time was of the essence. Carbo began issuing orders.