Spartacus: Rebellion by Ben Kane

Author:Ben Kane
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781409051510
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2012-09-21T14:19:39.440000+00:00

Chapter XI

WHEN THE TIME came that day to search out a suitable place to set up camp, the pair were nowhere near a village, or even an inn. Carbo was glad. It had been a week since they’d left Rome. The high temperatures had meant that even when they climbed away from the fertile plain of Campania with its dense pattern of farms and estates and into the more mountainous region of Lucania, it was pleasant to sleep outdoors. Their solitude meant they could talk without the worry of being overheard. They had provisions, wine and blankets, and the horses they’d bought four days prior meant that they could ride in search of the most secluded sites with ease.

To Carbo’s chagrin, he’d had to continue wearing Varus’ toga each day. As Spartacus said, it gave him a wealthy air, which would explain, should anyone comment, why his ‘slave’ was astride a horse rather than walking. Having to bake daily in the thick woollen garment was another reason that Carbo preferred camping. Every evening, with Spartacus watching in amusement, he would strip off the toga and jump into the nearest stream to wash off the day’s accumulation of sweat. He shifted his shoulders unhappily, looking forward to doing the same again as soon as they’d stopped. After that, he could relax by the fire with a hunk of bread and cheese, and a beaker of wine.

He would try, for a while at least, to forget his sorrow over his parents. Even though Carbo had done what he’d thought was best at the time – entering the ludus to earn money – he was still racked by guilt over his decision. Guilt that he hadn’t stayed with his parents, and gone to Rome with them. Guilt that he hadn’t sent any money to them in the subsequent months, or tried harder to establish contact. Deep down, he knew these thoughts for fantasies, but that didn’t ease his pain. To cope, he stoked his hatred for Crassus into a white-hot flame. If it wasn’t for him, his parents would still be alive. Give me one more chance to kill Crassus before I die, he prayed repeatedly.

Carbo hoped that Spartacus would tell more tales of his youth in Thrace. He had been surprised and intrigued over the previous few nights as his leader had opened up more than he ever had. Carbo now knew the names of Spartacus’ father, mother and brother, as well as his childhood friends. He’d listened avidly to tales of hunting boar and wolves, of raiding horses and sheep from neighbouring tribes, and to dramatic legends about the Great Rider, the deity favoured by most Thracian warriors. Carbo didn’t realise it, but Spartacus’ stories were partially aimed at taking his mind off his parents. The Thracian had seen him brooding as they rode.

Spartacus made little or no mention of the war waged by his tribe on Rome, or of his time with the legions. Carbo had been content with that; he wanted no reminders of the reality of their own situation.

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