Spartacus: Rebellion Read Online Free PDF Page B

his icy anger. At that very moment, Spartacus would have slain every Roman who existed. That is the only way they would learn to respect me, he thought. To fear me. The munus will be a start.
    ‘The humiliation will enrage the Romans. They will gather their legions and come after you again.’
    ‘We’ll be long gone,’ he asserted.
    Thank all the gods. Ariadne had been worried that this latest success would change his decision to leave Italy. With luck, my son will be born in Gaul, or even Illyria. She clung to that hope for dear life.

Chapter II
    BY THE TIME darkness fell, Spartacus’ orders had been carried out. Using fallen wood, captured Roman wagons and unwanted equipment, a huge bonfire had been lit at the edge of the army’s encampment. Its flames climbed high into the night sky, radiating a massive heat that kept the chilly mountain air at bay. Scores of sheep and cattle seized from Gellius’ abandoned camp had been slaughtered and butchered. Javelins were being used as makeshift roasting forks to cook bloody hunks of meat over the fire. The necks had been smashed off amphorae, allowing easy access to the wine within. Everywhere men were drinking, laughing, toasting each other. Some danced drunkenly to tunes from drums, whistles and lyres. The sounds of the different instruments clashed in a jangling cacophony but no one cared. It was time to celebrate. They had lived through another battle, and defeated the second Roman consul, setting his army to flight. Spartacus’ soldiers felt like the conquering heroes of legend, and their leader was the greatest of them all. Spontaneous chants of ‘SPAR-TA-CUS!’ kept bursting out. Whenever he was seen, men offered him drinks, clapped him on the back, and swore to him their undying loyalty.
    Carbo had heard the rumours too. He didn’t quite believe them. Filled with unease, he stood with Navio, a stocky man with high cheekbones and two different coloured eyes. It’s odd, thought Carbo, watching the thousands of former slaves. They’re my comrades, yet I’m standing with another Roman. Made up half a dozen races, the men were every size and shape under the sun. Hard-faced gladiators, wiry shepherds and sunburned herdsmen. Long-haired Gauls, burly Germans and tattooed Thracians. They were still carrying their weapons, bloodied from the battle against Gellius’ army. Clad in Roman mail shirts and breastplates, in simple tunics, or even bare-chested, they made a fearsome, threatening spectacle. ‘Is he really going to do it?’
    ‘Be sure of it.’
    ‘It’s barbaric.’
    Navio threw him a shrewd look. ‘Brutal or not, this is justice to Spartacus and his men.’
    ‘Does he have to sacrifice so many?’
    ‘It’s common practice for dozens of gladiators to fight at a munus commemorating the death of one person. You know that. Tonight Spartacus is remembering thousands of his comrades. It’s no surprise that he picked this number of legionaries.’
    ‘Don’t you care?’ hissed Carbo, jerking his head at the four hundred prisoners who were roped together nearby. Scores of Spartacus’ men ringed them on three sides, drawn swords in their hands. The fourth side lay open towards the fire. There a pile of gladii had been stacked up. ‘They’re our people.’
    ‘Whom you fought today. Whom you killed.’
    ‘That was different. It was a battle. This—’
    ‘I hate everything that the Republic stands for, remember?’ Navio interrupted. ‘My father and younger brother died fighting men like those over there. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go to Hades.’
    Carbo fell silent before his ire. Navio and his family had followed Quintus Sertorius, a Marian supporter. After Marius’ death, the Senate had proscribed Sertorius. Betrayed, Navio had fought with Sertorius against the Republic for several years, but eventually their fortunes in Iberia had ebbed. But, Carbo thought, it was one thing taking on your own kind in a battle, when it was kill or be