Spartacus looked with distaste at the Roman general his men had found. The man had nothing but bile in him and didn’t seem to grasp that the lives he urged them to throw away were friends and brothers. The gladiator closed his eyes for a moment. They had all cheered Antonidus when Crixus had first shown him to them, dressed in armor taken from a Roman corpse. He had been paraded like a favorite pet for the men, but his promises had been worthless and his clever tactics nothing more than confusion for slaves who had never held a sword before they took it up in the rebellion.

“Our men are weak with hunger,” Spartacus said. “I saw some who were green-mouthed from the boiled grasses they’d eaten. We can’t survive another day of fighting after this one.”

“We can try for the passes to Gaul,” Crixus began.

“How many do you think would reach the high passes alive?” Spartacus demanded. “The legions would hunt us down before we’d left the plains. No, that chance has gone. It has to be Ariminum. We’ll take what food we need and build our strength. Somehow, we’ll stay ahead of them.”

“If we could find ships, they might let us go,” Crixus said, looking up at his friend.

“It would take a fleet,” Spartacus said, considering. He longed to get away from the power of Rome, bitter with the knowledge that he should have led his men across the mountains. Let them have their little country. He would settle for being free.

Antonidus held his temper with difficulty. They had taken him from slavery to be killed by his own people. Neither man realized that Rome would never forgive a general who let them escape. It would be a shame that would last for centuries and every slave in the country would think of rising against their masters. He listened to their plans with growing anger. The only freedom they would see came from beating the legions on the plain, no matter how many lives it took.

Antonidus made a silent promise to slip away before the end came. He would not be paraded in Rome as a trophy. He could not bear the thought of a triumphant Cato condemning him with a wave of his fat hands.

*                                                      *                                                      *

“The men are exhausted,” Crassus snapped. “You must sound the disengage before they’re overwhelmed.”

“No. They will hold,” Pompey said, squinting against the descending sun. “Send the extraordinarii to ready the camps for the night. We’ll pull back when the light goes, but if I order it now, the slaves will think they have broken the only legions between here and Rome. Our men must hold.”