Free Spartacus: Rebellion by Ben Kane Page A

me?’
    Caesar did not answer immediately, which angered Crassus. ‘If you do not, there can be no question of lending you the money,’ he reiterated curtly.
    ‘I would be honoured to help.’
    ‘Excellent. Saenius, tell the scribe to draw up the usual credit agreement. For three million denarii.’ Crassus poured more wine for them himself. ‘To a long-lasting friendship.’
    Caesar echoed the toast, and they both drank.
    ‘I have another request to make,’ said Caesar a moment later.
    What else can he want? ‘Really?’
    ‘When you are in charge of the legions, I would very much like to be one of your tribunes.’
    Crassus’ ego swelled. ‘It would be a good opportunity for you to gain military experience.’
    ‘Will you have me?’
    ‘Any man who has won the corona civica would be welcome on my staff.’ Crassus raised his glass in salute.
    A more companionable silence fell. Outside in the courtyard, the scratch of the scribe’s stylus mixed with the sound of Saenius’ voice dictating the terms of the loan.
    Crassus reflected on the day’s end with some satisfaction. He had barely come up with his plan to gain control of the legions in Italy when Caesar had fallen into his lap. In gaining the Pontifex’s support, he had also recruited a valuable staff officer. And he hadn’t even heard Saenius’ news yet.

Chapter III
    Two weeks later . . .
    Cisalpine Gaul, near the town of Mutina
    THE SUN HAD just risen, and Spartacus was standing a short distance from the perimeter of his camp. Apart from the sentries on the earthen rampart, he was the only figure in sight. It was a good time to be alone, and one that he often took advantage of to collect his thoughts. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the cool air. Summer was around the corner, and each day it was growing hotter. By midday, marching would have become an unpleasant slog. It wasn’t surprising that the army’s progress since defeating Gellius had been even slower than usual. Buoyed up by their incredible successes, his men had spent much of the time drunk, or ransacking local farms for food, women and, of course, more wine. He hadn’t tried to stop them. After what they’d achieved, they deserved to celebrate. A leader who prevented his men from doing such things became unpopular, and he couldn’t risk that, not with the Alps drawing near. Spartacus knew he’d done well to get the army on the move a week or so previously. It had travelled at a snail’s pace of five miles a day since, however, which was immensely frustrating.
    Yet at the best of times it was hard to organise fifty thousand soldiers and the straggling baggage train that accompanied them. He had long since given up trying to control the thousands of hangers-on – women, children, the wounded, whores, traders – who swelled the host’s size to ridiculous proportions. The damn column stretched for more than twenty miles. When journeying from the south, he had kept his followers in the mountains, where it was easy to avoid confrontation. Just the day before, they had left the protection of the Apennines and marched out on to the river plain of the mighty Padus. They were now permanently in the open, and vulnerable to attack. They may have driven off both consuls but Spartacus had learned over the years never to let his guard down. Squadrons of his cavalry rode at regular intervals along the column’s flanks. Other units had also ranged far afield, locating enemy troops. So far it appeared that the garrison of Mutina was staying firmly behind the town’s walls.
    Spartacus climbed on to a nearby rock and peered north. Cloud cover meant that he couldn’t see the Alps this morning, but his memory of seeing them on the far horizon as they had descended from the Apennines was crystal clear. Less than seventy miles away, the influence of the Roman Republic came to an abrupt end. The sight had made Ariadne happier than he’d ever seen; it had had a similar effect on Atheas, Taxacis and