There had been no cheering, but they had passed the word without excitement, sitting back then to sharpen their blades and wait. When the sun had gone, Spartacus rose and they came with him, trotting hunched over in the blackness.

The lip of the trench was a dark line against the faint shine of stars in the clear sky. Crixus looked at it and strained to make out the features of his friend.

“Ten feet high, at least, and it looks solid.” He sensed rather than saw Spartacus nod and cracked his neck with the tension. The two men stood slowly and Spartacus gave a low whistle to summon the group who would be first to the wall. They gathered around him as shadows, the strongest of them, armed with heavy hammers and axes.

“Go now. What they have built can be torn down,” Spartacus whispered, and they set off in a loping run, their weapons held ready for the first strike. The men behind came to their feet and ran toward the Roman wall.

Chapter 43

                  CHAPTER 43                  

Julius muttered his thanks as he was handed a bowl of warm stew. Covering the fields around him for as far as he could see, the soldiers of the Greek legions ate, the thin white snares of their cooking fires looping into the air. The ground was thick with mud and heavy clods stuck to their sandals and slowed them. Those who owned cloaks used them to sit on, turning the inside of the cloth down so the mud wouldn’t show when they started again. Many more sat on whatever they could find, flat stones, coarse grass, or even a pile of loose hay that they’d spread around.

It would be a short break, Julius knew. The extraordinarii had come in early that morning from their scouting, and rumors flew around the men, even before the official word had come through the chain of command.

There was nothing good in the reports. Julius had been with Pompey when the general heard the slave army was coming north to meet them and not one of Crassus’s eagle standards had been sighted. Pompey had raged at the rider who brought the news, demanding details he could not give. Wherever Crassus was, he had failed to hold the slaves against the sea. Julius wondered if he was still alive, but he could not bring himself to care particularly. He had seen so much of death. One more senator in this disastrous campaign would not make a difference.