Spartacus stood on the saddle of his horse and swore softly as he saw the legions were holding. For a moment, he thought Antonidus was right and the wing would be overwhelmed, but somehow they had swung round, eight legions moving as one, to turn the battle toward the east. He whistled softly in admiration, even as he saw their dreams come to dust on the field. The legions were everything he’d known they could be, and for a moment, he remembered his own days as a soldier with them. It had been a grand brotherhood before it had soured for him. A drunken brawl and an officer dead and nothing had been right since. He’d run because he knew they’d put him up before the man’s friends and sentence him to death. There was no justice for a man like him, little more than a child when he’d been recruited in Thrace. Not a true Roman, to them, and little better than an animal. Those were different and bitter memories: capture and slavery, then the gladiatorial school, where they were treated like violent dogs to be chained and beaten into ferocity.

“Morituri te salutamus. We who are about to die salute you,” he whispered to himself as he watched his people die. He looked at the sun and saw it had risen past noon, cold and pale on the end of winter. The days had barely begun to lengthen and it would only be a few more hours until dark.

He watched the battle for a long time, hoping to see the legions break, but they stood strong against the multitude and he despaired. Finally, he nodded to himself. When the Romans pulled back to their camps for the night, he would make for Ariminum. His men hadn’t eaten in four days and the Roman city was filled with food to make them strong again.

“We’re going to have to run, Crix,” he murmured.

His friend stood with Antonidus, holding the reins in his hand.

“They could still break before dark,” Crixus replied bitterly.

Antonidus growled and spat a wad of phlegm onto the ground in anger. He had promised them a victory and he felt his influence slipping away with the toll of their dead.

Spartacus shook his head. “No. If we haven’t beaten them by now, they’ll not run from us. They’ll move back into those forts of theirs and eat heartily before coming out to finish the work tomorrow. We won’t be here when they do.”

“Why won’t they break, though?” Crixus demanded angrily to the air.

“Because if they break, Rome falls to us,” Antonidus snapped. “They know the stakes, but we can still win. Pull back the front lines and put in fresh men. Move to surround the left wing. Whether they run or not, we can wear them down to nothing.”