They counted the number of turnings at each stage, occasionally whispering to each other whether a tiny gap between the tenements was part of the count. These were sometimes less than a foot wide and filled with a dark mass they didn't dare to investigate. One of them had a dead dog half sunk in refuse that seemed to lean toward them as they passed, shuddering slightly as the buried part was eaten away by unseen mouths.

The two men were desperately uneasy by the time they reached the crossroads where Cato had told them to wait. It was nearly deserted, with only a few scurrying people moving past them without acknowledgment.

After a time, a shadow detached itself from the darkness under an overhang and moved silently toward them.

“Who do you seek here?” a voice whispered.

Both men swallowed in fear, their eyes straining to make out features in the gloom.

“Look away from me!” the voice snapped.

They turned as if pushed, staring down the rubbish-strewn lane. A sickening smell washed over them as the dark figure stepped close enough to touch.

“Our master told us to mention the name of Antonidus to whoever came,” one of them said, breathing through his mouth.

“He has been sold as a slave, far north. Who is your master now?” the voice returned.

One of the men suddenly remembered the smell from when his father had died, and he vomited, bending over and spilling his last meal into the unrecognizable slop that covered the lane. The other spoke haltingly, “No names, we were told. My master wishes to continue the association with you, but there must be no names.”

A warm scent of rot sighed over them.

“I could guess it, you fools, but this is a game I know how to play. Very well then, what would your master have of me? Deliver your message while I still have patience for you.”

“He… our master said you were to forget the one Antonidus asked for, now that the general has been taken for slavery. He will have other names for you and will pay your price. He wants the association to continue.”

The figure let out a soft grunt of regret. “Tell him to name them and I will decide. I will not promise service to any man. As for the death bought by Antonidus, it is too late to call back the men I have sent. That one is dead, though she still walks unknowing. Now go back to your master and take your weak-stomached companion with you.”

The pressure disappeared and Cato's servant took a deep breath in reaction, preferring the stench of the street to the soft odor that seemed to have sunk into his clothes and skin as they talked. It lingered with the two men as they made their way back to the open streets and a world that laughed and shouted, unaware of the festering alleys so close to them.

CHAPTER 37

A crest of white-topped mountains lined the horizon. Somewhere between the teeth were the three passes they hoped to use to escape the wrath of Rome. The cold peaks brought an ache of homesickness as Spartacus looked up at them. Though he hadn't seen Thrace since his childhood, he remembered scrambling on the lower slopes of the great range there. He had always loved high places where the wind was a constant force against the skin. It made a man feel alive.

“They are so close,” he said aloud. “We could cross them in a week or two and never see a Roman uniform again.”

“Until they come next year and tear Gaul apart looking for us, if I know them,” Crixus said. The man had always been blunt compared to the gladiator he followed. Crixus reveled in the reputation of being a practical man, allowing no dreams or wild schemes to detract from the leaden reality of what they had achieved. He was a short squat figure next to Spartacus, who still retained the litheness that suggested speed even when he was standing still. Crixus had no such grace. Born in a mine, the man was as ugly as he was strong and the only one of the gladiators who could wrestle Spartacus to a draw.

“They couldn't find us, Crix. The Gauls say the land over the mountains is filled with battling tribes. The legions would have to wage war for decades and they haven't the stomach for that. Now Sulla's gone, they haven't a decent leader in the whole pack of them. If we cross the Alps, we'll be free.”

“Still the dreamer, Spartacus?” Crixus said, his frustration evident. “What sort of freedom do you see that is such a prize? Freedom to work harder than we ever did as slaves, scratching out a few crops on land threatened by the locals? They won't want us any more than the Romans do, you can be sure of that. It'll be a backbreaker, this freedom of yours, I know it. Get the women and children clear, that's all. Leave a hundred men to take them through the passes and we can finish what we started.”

Spartacus looked at his second-in-command. Crixus had a thirst for blood in him that had only been whetted in the triumph at Mutina. After what he had lived through at Roman hands, that was easy enough to understand, but Spartacus knew there was more to it.

“Is it their soft life you want, Crix?” he said.

“And why not?” Crixus demanded. “We have turned over their hive, now the honey should be ours for the taking. You remember the civil war and so do I. Whoever has Rome has their balls. If we could take the city, the rest of them would fall over. Sulla knew that!”

“He was a Roman general, not a slave.”

“That doesn't matter! Once you're in, you can change the rules to suit you. There are no rules except what you choose when you have the strength. I tell you, if you miss this chance, you will throw away everything we've done. In ten years, the scribes will say the garrison at Mutina were the rebels and we were loyal Romans!

“If we take the city, we'll be able to shove their history and their pride down their throats and make them accept the new order. Just give the word, Spartacus. I'll see it done.”

“And the palaces and great estate houses?” Spartacus probed, his eyes narrowing.

“Ours! Why not? What is there in Gaul but scrubland and villages?”

“You'll need slaves to run them, Crixus, have you thought of that? Who will take in your crops and tend your vines?”

Crixus waved his scarred fist at the man he loved above all others. “I know what you're thinking, but we won't do it like those cursed bastards. It doesn't have to be like that.”

Spartacus watched him in silence and he went on angrily. “All right, if you want an answer, then I'll have the Senate work my fields and I'll even pay the bastards a wage.”

Spartacus laughed. “Who's dreaming now, Crix? Look, we've come this far. We've reached a place where we can leave all that behind, make a new start to our lives. No, go back to our lives as they should have been. They may come for us in the end, but as I said, Gaul is big enough to hide more than one army. We'll keep going north until we find a place where Rome is just a word, or not even known at all. If we turn south again, even without the women and children, we risk losing everything we've won. And for what? So you can sit in a marble house and spit at old men?”

“You'd let them chase you out of their land?” Crixus asked bitterly.

Spartacus gripped his arm with one of his powerful hands. “You'd wait for them to kill you?” he said gently. The anger went out of Crixus at his words.

“You don't understand, you Thracian whoreson,” he said with a tight smile. “This is my land too, now. Here I am your general, the slave hammer who broke a legion on its own ground and two more at Mutina. In Gaul I'm just another tribesman in badly tanned furs. You would be as well. We'd be mad to turn away from all that wealth and power just to spend our remaining years hoping they never find us. Look, we have Antonidus now. He knows where they're weak. If I didn't think we could win, I would turn my arse to them and vanish before I ever saw another legionary, but we can win. Antonidus says they're tied up on every one of their borders, in Greece, Africa, everywhere. There aren't enough legions in the country to take us. Gods, the north is open, you've seen that. Antonidus says we can put three men in the field for every legionary. You won't find better odds than that, not in this life. Whatever they have, we can beat, and after them, Rome, the cities, the country, the wealth-it's all ours. Everything.”