4 comments/ 4935 views/ 9 favorites Spartacus Ch. 01 By: luciusgrey Chapter One Capua, Italy 73 B.C. They were finally free. No longer would they be forced to fight and fuck for the amusement of the Romans. Yet, their journey had only just begun and the worst of the hardships still lay ahead. Only 73 Gladiators managed to escape Battiatus' Ludus, as well as several female slaves and the Ludus' medico, out of the 200 men who fought under Quintus Battiatus' ownership. Most of the men had fallen to arrows from the guards on the balconies as the gladiators had used a long wooden bench to lever open to gate that separated their quarters from the training yard and the rest of the ludus, protected only by the overturned wooden tables that they had hoisted up as a screen. Their situation was made more difficult by the fact that all the men came from extremely varied backgrounds and spoke a variety of different languages, though most had learned some level of basic Latin. There were men from Numidia, Spain, Gaul, Germania, Thrace, Syria, Sarmatia and Egypt, many of whom were warriors captured in battle against Roman armies. Though Scythian by birth, Spartacus had been sent to live in the Thracian Odrysian Kingdom as a royal hostage as a teenager for the alliance between his father, the Scythian King Aetas, and the Thracian king Seuthes. Unfortunately for him, there had been a coup and the usurping king broke his alliance with the Scythian horse lords of the steppe to the northeast, instead seeking an alliance with the Scythian's more numerous Sarmatian cousins to the northwest. Instead of death, Spartacus had been sold as a slave to Rome after the usurper claimed he had attempted to foment rebellion against Rome. It didn't matter that he had voluntarily fought in the Roman auxiliaries to help fulfill the obligation set upon his adopted people by Rome. Ariadne, Spartacus' wife and a Priestess of Dionysus, had willingly followed him into slavery along with her two apprentices, Cottya and Helena, who escorted her everywhere to provide comfort and protection to their mistress, and Spartacus' pet wolverine, Max. Often acting as the High Priestess' body doubles, the apprentices were highly trained in an ancient martial art that allowed them to kill with or without weapons. Ariadne was everything a man could ever want in a wife, and then some. Long raven hair that grew in loose natural curls framed a stoic but kind face, pale ivory skin and ocean blue eyes completing the beautiful picture. A slim, firm body served to accentuate the soft flare of her hips, the roundness of her tight ass as well as the very large breasts that seemed out of place on her slim form. Looking at her, a modern viewer would likely swear under oath that she was a fashion model if it wasn't for her huge breasts, her stern but statuesque face reminiscent of a modern eastern European fashion model. Her unmarred beauty of her porcelain skin was interrupted only by the religious tattoos that adorned her upper arms in mosaic of highly detailed arcane runes, zigzags and mythical beasts in deep black ink Ariadne was a Priestess of the Cult of Dionysus, more than that, she was a Maenad. A Dionysian witch who dedicated herself to the mysterious god through arcane worship, ancient ritual and strange nocturnal practice of ecstatic ceremonies. Shortly after their escape from the Ludus and flight from Capua, their group had stumbled upon a caravan transporting new gladiatorial arms and armor to the city. The fortunate find had added to the bows, arrows and spears that they had liberated from the guard's armor in their escape, having used cleavers, knives and spits to kill the surprisingly tenacious guards that fought to keep them in the Ludus of Battiatus. Fully armed, it had been simple to set an ambush and wait for the Campanian patrol that had been sent after them, thinking they had only to round up a few errant slaves. The resulting slaughter had been savage but brief and they had gained the weapons, shields and armor of the guardsmen. There had been a two more attempts by forces of city guards augmented with angry townspeople to attack the gladiators but both met with resounding defeat, adding to their weapons and loot. Now, they sat on top of Mount Vesuvius, overlooking the cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii below across the bay. After defeating the city watch sent after them and ravaging the countryside, Spartacus knew the Romans would send a force of actual soldiers to put them down. Not a single caravan had been able to pass through the surrounding area and the former slaves had acquired a decent amount of food, wine, supplies and loot. They currently had more weapons, both Roman and Gladiator types, than they had men to use them. Still, Spartacus had ordered the men to round up wood and anything useful from the area around the base of the mountain. Spartacus had known what to expect yet he was still shocked when 3,000 Roman soldiers led by a Praetor arrived to besiege the mountain. With less than eighty fighting men, it seemed that there was no way to prevent their extermination. Even worse, the Romans weren't going to try to charge up the single narrow path that led to the mountain top that they had inhabited, seeming perfect content to wait until the slaves began to starve before marching up and putting them all back in chains. A gloomy resignation seemed to fall over their group, extinguishing the small amount of hope that had begun to form in their hearts. However, when he looked down the cliff face on the opposite side of the mountain from the Roman camp, he laughed in realization as an idea formed in his mind. :..: As the Champion of Capua, Spartacus had been the most senior gladiator in the city, let alone Battiatus' ludus. As such, he was the group's natural leader, however it helped a great deal that he was more familiar with the Roman army and it's workings than most Romans were, hacking fought alongside the legions in a campaign against Mithridates of Pontus. Spartacus had been trained in Scythian mounted combat, Thracian warfare, Roman tactics and Gladiatorial fighting, giving him an unusually educated perspective and wide range of skills. Still, the men were looking at him like he was crazy when he presented his idea. "Vines? What the hell are you talking about Spartacus?" Crixus grumbled. Oenamaeus and Castus gestured for him to continue while Gannicus began to form a smile as he intuited Spartacus' idea. Spartacus continued, "the slopes are covered in these wild grape vines. Hades, it's the only thing up here at all aside from the damned rocks. If we weave them together thickly, we can make ropes that would support the weight of a man." "So? What good will that do us? Are we to strangle 3,000 roman soldiers?" Crixus asked, seemingly interested now. "No, the ropes aren't weapons, they're ropes. We can use them to rappel down the cliff around back of the mountain. The Praetor, Glaber, didn't send out scouts and only posted lookouts at the foot of the trail leading down from the mountain." "There are still three thousand Romans", Castus pointed out. "True. But they aren't legionaries, just Roman militia. To make sure we are unobserved, we will have to descend at night. That means that we can attack the camp while they sleep." "There are less than 100 of us! Even if you include the few shepherds that have joined us!" "If we stay here, we die. A few of us might be unlucky enough to be cast back into slavery, no doubt sent to die in the mines, but for the rest of us it'll be starvation or a sword in the guts after you're too weak to lift a sword", Spartacus pointed out. "At least this way we can die in battle if we fail. However, I think if done right, we might even have a small chance of succeeding." "Alright, what are you thinking?" Castus sighed. :..: A sprained wrist was the only injury suffered in the night time descent down the cliff face around the mountain's back side. The men now crouched in a stand of trees just beyond the perimeter to the roman camp. In his arrogance, Praetor Glaber hadn't dug a trench or constructed ramparts or a wall, simply posting a couple sentry on each side of the camp. In truth, nobody could really blame him. Who would expect a hundred slaves to attack a roman force of three thousand? The men, their faces and bodies darkened with charcoal, fingered their weapons as they waited impatiently for the sentries to be eliminated by the small groups that had stealthily crawled forward with daggers clenched in their teeth. The Gladiators had all armed themselves in the same fashion that they had when they were in the arena, Murmillo gladiators modeled after the arms of a Legionary with large Scutum shield and Gladius short sword, Thraex fighters meant to resemble the Thracians armed with the Sica sword with its curved, scythe shaped blade and smaller Parma shield and even Retiari with their trident and net as well as a sling with a pouch of lead bullets. Spartacus had fought as a Dimachaeri, a lightly armored gladiator with only greaves, leg wrappings and a manica on each arm for defense, who fought with a sword in each hand, using speed and skill to avoid damage. He had also armed himself with a surprisingly nice composite recurve bow and a stuffed quiver of arrows that one of the local slave hunters had carried. He had made sure that each man who was skilled with bow or sling armed themselves from the missile weapons that the group had captured while the rest carried at least one javelin. The hoot of an Owl call signaled success removing the sentries on duty. Slowly, the gladiators crept forward like predators stalking their next meal. Spartacus had given his orders, being as specific as he thought the gladiators' limited discipline could handle but knowing that once the fight started, things would follow their own course. The slaves formed into groups of three and fanned out silently through the camp, taking up their positions and waiting for the fight to start. The group's of men armed with bows and slings interspersed themselves throughout the groups of sword armed men, ready to pick off any roman in sight. The groups had spread out to appear more numerous but also do that they could attack the tents from two sides. With a hand signal down the line, Spartacus signaled the start of the attack. Instead of entering the tents of the sleeping legionaries, the men simply hacked through the tent's ropes so that they collapsed on those inside. After that, it was quite easy to stab a javelin or chop down with a sword through the canvas on the squirming figures. Spartacus himself approached the nearest tent and slashed through the ropes before using both swords to cut and slash at different angles causing the men inside to scream in agony at missing limbs or eviscerated torsos caused by the twin Sicas that he bore in each hand. The cries of pain and fear echoed through the camp and soon the camp began to stir in response. As Spartacus brought his left hand Sica down in a backhanded diagonal downward swing, the beak-like tip of the curved sword struck the face of a waking soldier. The forward curving edge passed through the tent's canvas siding and cleaved off the unfortunate victim's jaw, causing the man's resulting scream to manifest as a sickening gurgle emerging from the ruined flesh of what used to be his face. As he paused and looked around, Spartacus saw that most of the shepherds lurked right at the edge of the light cast by the legionary's campfires, slinging stones and shooting arrows at any Romans who managed to successfully exit their tents. However there was around a dozen shepherds who had slipped ahead of the wave of panic slave's advance carrying writhing canvas sacks. Upon reaching their targets, one man per tent, the shepherds untied the rawhide strips holding the sacks closed. As one, the all softly placed the bags inside the tents' openings and then quickly cut the supporting ropes with daggers. The Romans inside those particular tents, some of the smarter ones deciding to put on their armor and grab their swords before checking to see if a few scattered screams inside the enormous camp constituted an emergency. The rest of the men were groggily being woken up but, for either group, it was too late. When the tents collapsed in on themselves there was a flurry of movement accompanied by unearthly screams and screeches in several of the unfortunate tents cursed with a wriggling canvas sack. The remaining few tents had only terrifying hissing to interrupt the screams of men with occasional choking sounds as the men found themselves helplessly blinded and entangled under the falling canvas without weapon or armor. The sacks had contained badgers, foxes, even two lynxes, adders and vipers that had been corralled and captured in the surrounding woods. The animals, finding themselves intimately entangled with humans, went berserk and attacked anything in sight in their overwhelming fear. The dog sized Lynxs tore into the men in a fury, the badgers were perhaps the worst in their savage violence and the vipers delivered venomous injections that were only occasionally lethal in themselves yet the screaming men and the sounds of raging animals spread panic more intensely than the fires that were now spreading in other parts of the camp. The distinct advantage supplied by having men blind and caught up in the canvas and ropes of their collapsed tents allowed the animals to inflict much more damage than would've been possible with an unencumbered, sighted, armored, armed and prepared group of soldiers. More concerned with spreading panic than achieving the unrealistic goal of killing every man of the Roman militia, Spartacus moved quickly between tents, simply hacking down into the writhing clothe covered mounds with his twin swords a dozen times before moving on. Legionaries were beginning to exit their tents before the slaves could reach them and Spartacus knew that if they got a chance to form up properly, he and his men were dead. Following his instructions, the archers and slingers, who had been picking off soldiers without discrimination, began to focus their fire on anyone trying to rally the enemy. Right on cue, a centurion a few rows down calling men to form up on him was silenced mid-call as a lead sling bullet penetrated his forehead. Sheathing his swords and drawing his bow, Spartacus began to put arrows into any men who were turning to engage the gladiators, though many simply fled. He hadn't considered the effect that the soot darkened bodies of his men in the night would further terrify the Romans. One legionary shrieked that demons were attacking the camp and from then the panic spread rapidly with many of the soldiers, being low quality, fleeing before even laying eyes on the intruders. His men ran around, skin blackened and covered with blood, gleefully slaughtering their former overlords and laughing like maniacs. No wonder the bad yards were so terrified. In melee combat, there wasn't anyone on earth better than a gladiator and the Roman's were used to fighting in formation, with the support of their comrades-it was what made them so formidable, but if the formation broke then they were screwed. In the dark, it was hard to tell how many of the fiercely savage enemies were attacking them with unbelievable skill yet the senior centurion managed to form up a good number of troops near the Praetor's command tent. This group alone outnumbered the slaves and Spartacus knew that they could easily defeat his men if they were given half a chance. Calling men back from chasing the survivors, they formed loosely in a circle around center of the camp, ringing the hundred or so legionaries who hadn't fled the camp in terror. On his orders, the men stayed low, ducking between tents to prevent the Romans from seeing how few they were. At his command, the men all stood up and loosed their javelins, arrows, sling stones and lead bullets into the group from all angles. Without time to raise their shields, the Romans were shredded by the missiles, losing more than half of their number in the volley. Ever professional, the centurion consolidated his troops and ordered them to form a tetsudo so that the large shields formed four walls and a roof that protected the legionaries but left them no room to maneuver our fight. Knowing that the gladiators would suffer heavy casualties in a direct assault, Spartacus ordered the just the slingers to target the exposed feet and lower legs of the Romans but not fire yet while the rest guarded against possible groups of reformed soldiers and he looked around in a search for an alternative. Finding the barrels of olive oil, Spartacus ordered his men to quickly move a few barrels to all four sides. Once in position, the barrel tops were broken open and tipped over, the oil splashing and rolling down the wet grass to form a shallow puddle under the feet of the Romans causing several of them to slip and fall after trying to move a foot. The men that fell created gaps in the shield wall and his men's arrows zipped through the gaps without Spartacus even having to tell them to take advantage of the opportunity. At his hand signal, the slingers loosed their stones at under the bottom rim of the Roman shields, shattering bones and tearing flesh as they brought down a dozen men. Though a two dozen arrows and half as many javelins passed through the gaps in the tetsudo, the injured men were pulled back up and into formation, their saturated clothing and scooping shields splashing olive oil all over their comrades in the process. Quietly, Spartacus whispered a prayer to the Divine Rider, as the war deity of the Scythians the god was only rivaled in worship by the goddess of nature and the earth itself, which said something about them as a people. Sadly, Spartacus simply tossed a torch forward and watched as the legionaries were consumed by fire from the feet up, those who had fallen in the oil pooled at their feet were the first to go as their soaked clothes immediately burst into flames. A nasty way to go but the Romans would've done worse had they caught the slaves. Out of the corner of his eye, Spartacus saw a growing group of unarmored and shieldless, but sword bearing Romans stopping and forming into a group as they looked back at the slaves after the screams of their fellows caught their attention, who were now illuminated by the large conflagration. At a harsh order, all of the men with bows and javelins stepped up and dipped the tips of their missiles into the edge of the burning pool of oil, many others joining in with Roman pilum javelins that they had picked up off the surrounding ground. At another barked command, the men all turned and loosed their missiles at the group that had been watching them. At only thirty yards and without shields, the Romans were cut down by the concentrated barrage of nearly one hundred flaming projectiles as well as invisible stones moving faster than an arrow. Several of their men actually caught on fire as the flaming tips ignited their wool tunic in the process of entering their bodies, who then proceeded to spread the flames amongst their comrades as they thrashed madly and flailed their limbs to all sides. The few survivors were finished as their skulls were destroyed with a few slung stones. His men cheered, chanting his name in the euphoria of their monumental victory. Even the usually dour and occasionally brutish Crixus seemed excited and took up the chant. Their leader had done the impossible and they had participated in the destruction of a roman force numbering 3,000 while only suffering a dozen casualties and three dead. :..: Back at their camp on top of Vesuvius, the returning men were greeted as heroes by the women, who had sat anxiously awaiting their painful return to slavery. Ariadne and her apprentices had kept the women busy, teaching them how to knap arrowheads, spearheads and knives out of the obsidian that was greatly abundant in the area. They also dried, shaped, carved and heated wooden staves into spears and arrows, allowing for the wooden tips to harden as the pitch in the wood carbonized on it's surface and joined with powdered stone, providing a strength superior to copper. Spartacus Ch. 01 The cheers that greeted the sunrise brought with them a sense of hope and the feeling that anything was possible. Ariadne automatically searched for his husband's face, exhaling a breath she hadn't known she was holding when he came into view unharmed. The women soon joined the men in lauding Spartacus for his genius that brought them victory and freedom. He dismissed the men to dig into the wine jugs that they had looted from the roman camp and celebrate, before turning to his wife and sweeping her up in his arms with a smile. Spartacus felt a large mass rubbing against his leg and looked down to see Rex, his pet wolverine, happily greeting his return. Rex was massive, at more than 80 lbs., as a result of great genes combined with unusually by nurturing and had once killed a bear that was quadruple his own weight. "I prayed for you," Ariadne whispered. "Of course you did. And your prayers brought us victory", he replied with a wry smile. "Someone's feeling humble today." "More like lusty, my love. Shall we retire to our tent?" Spartacus teased his wife, still holding her off the ground in his embracing arms. "You act like you don't already know the answer to that. When have I ever neglected my wifely duties?" Ariadne teased back. With a growl, he carried her with him as he walked over to the largish tent that they shared. Ariadne wore only a stola and some light jewelry, her natural beauty not needing any primping. She was always sensual, though sometimes playful, when it was just the two of them alone. However, something seemed different about her demeanor. It was like every movement was purposeful and expressed the immensity of the love she carried for her husband. In the ludus, Spartacus' skill and speed earned fortunes for Battiatus so the man wasn't hesitant to make sure that Ariadne didn't come to any harm, though her apprentices were forced to swallow enough seed to float a Trireme. However, Spartacus was the Champion of Capua and therefore the most expensive make prostitute in the city, rich women coming from all over to watch him fight during the day and fuck her during the night. Even those who didn't wish to have carnal relations with him for the thrill and pleasure, using him as the ultimate sperm donor should their husbands need an heir and not be up to the task, found themselves out of their minds with euphoria. For many, the greatest pleasure came from watching him duck his wife, as they were a pair of amazing specimens. Ariadne's slim figure and oversized breasts paired with the muscular but athletic figure and huge cock of Spartacus made for a highly exaggerated sexual encounter. Though they no longer had to pair with each other for the entertainment of others, Spartacus and Ariadne together in bed made for a hugely impressive sight. Unknown to either, they had a silent observer in a Roman noblewoman, Lucia, who's carriage was captured and guards killed by the slaves. Enraptured, she watched as she sat outside the tent as instructed by the large Gaul who had brought her back to their camp, waiting for Spartacus to make a decision as to her fate. She watched in awe as Ariadne undid Spartacus' loincloth, releasing the biggest cock she had ever seen. Mounted on the body of a god, the man's endowment had to be more than twice the length and triple the width of her husband's. It was at least a few inches longer, and certainly thicker, than that of her family's most hung slave. The enormous dick pulsed as it swelled and rose, it's immense weight apparent in it's movements, reaching an even larger size. She was wondering how the hell any woman got even part of that monster inside of them when the beautiful woman with pale skin kneeled before the man she knew had to be Spartacus. Unclasping the brooch that held together the shoulders of her stola, the garment came down to slowly expose two huge breasts that looked even more massive and out of place on the woman's thin frame. The oversized spheres barely hung down over her flat, toned stomach at all, displaying the perkiness of a young nubile girl. The nipples were pale pink and smaller than breasts that size would indicate, both visibly hardened. Her long, elegant neck stretched as the woman leaned forward and accepted the huge, bulbous tip into her mouth. Lucia was shaking with anxious arousal and knew that the tiniest touch to her clit would send her spiraling into a huge orgasm. The woman laved and licked the huge pillar of angry flesh, using her hands to stroke the rest, before looking up at Spartacus an lunging forward. Lucia's eyes goggled as she watched the woman feed the huge appendage into her actual throat, which bulged visibly with the monster's ridiculous passage, the enchantress nearly managing the whole dick. The woman pulled back off of it but never let the tip exit her mouth, her cheeks betraying her tongue's active motions. With increasing speed, the woman's head began to bob as she fellated the man in earnest. "If you keep that up, you're going to get a few mouthfuls", Spartacus warned. "Mmm. Good." Spartacus groaned and his body tensed, Lucia watched as the woman's cheeks bulged immediately in proof that her mouth was being fertilized. Despite the repeated, noisy gulps, semen began to flow heavily from the corners of her mouth as her lover groaned above her in his release. Thick ropes and globs began to fall on her breasts, marking the pale flesh of the large pale orbs in a mosaic of lust. She pulled back off her husband's dick a little too soon and a huge rope followed by a few smaller ones painted her face, covering one cheek completely while the rest splattered against her forehead and nose before sliding down to cover her lips and hang from her chin. "Yummy", the woman said, not even stopping to clean the spunk from her body before she climbed onto the cock of her now sitting husband. Lucia couldn't believe she was going to take that beast into her thin body, nor could she believe how he could keep going without stopping! Lucia had always been among the prettiest girls in Herculaneum, her large brown doe eyes, petite nose and pouty lips gave her an appearance that was one part woman beauty and one part girlish cuteness. A fairly tall girl, her legs were long and shapely though her hips weren't very wide and her waist was tiny, her rear end was shapely and round. Her breasts were smallish but much more perky than the other women she had seen on the baths, still exhibiting their nubile firmness yet quote full and round for their size. Her much older husband had yet to manage to successfully plant his seed in her, despite the fact that all of the women in her family were nearly fertile enough to get pregnant with a sexy look, many childless matrons and widows believing they were blessed by the goddess Juno. If she was anything like her sisters, her breasts would grow significantly after her first child. Goosebumps broke out over Lucia's olive skin as she watched the rebel leader bedding his wife, the wind tussling her lustrous brown hair as she fought a losing battle with lust. It was with a mix of horror, awe and overwhelming lust that Lucia watched the slim, big breasted woman lower herself into the huge pillar of flesh. The huge cockhead stretched her lips beyond what Lucia thought possible as her dripping slit struggled to swallow the enormous helmet. Just when she was sure something was going to tear, the woman's lips stretched around the enormous glans and closed tightly behind the head, the woman shaking with sensation. The a sly smile formed on the man's face as his cock flexed visibly and the woman screamed, releasing juice down the wrist thick shaft as an orgasm burst from her the second the top of the huge head pressed on her G. The orgasm caused the woman's over sensitive cunt to accept several more inches of pulsing shaft, the additional length nearly ripping another out of her in the vulnerable aftermath of her first explosion. By the time she had recovered, Ariadne was almost halfway down, "I'm sorry dear, I'm extra sensitive. It's been weeks, we haven't give that long with riding each other since we met." "Prepare to have me make up for it!" "Aaayyyyyyeeeeee!" Ariadne gasped as Spartacus started softly sawing in and out, a little more cock sliding in with each thrust. Reaching up, he took her nipples in his fingers and softly plucked them before lowering his mouth to her breast. Kissing and sucking on her great expanses of ivory skin, Spartacus avoided touching nipple or areola, driving Ariadne mad. With a sudden, hard suck on her left nipple and pinch on her right, she exploded in her second peak as the sensation built up over minutes of breast play combined with a firm thrust. Her beautiful body writhed in agonizing pleasure, the giant breasts vibrating on her shaking form. She had barely returned to earth when her husband attacked again. With a firm pinch on her clit and a thrust that punched through the final, tight depth of her tunnel, his cockhead nudged her cervix and her oversensitive bodies detonated once more in an uncontrollable climax. This time joining her, his body tensed making his corded muscles even more apparent, and thick white seed began to pour from Ariadne's overflowing box. Shaking and shuttering, Spartacus lowered his wife down into the piles of furs that they used as a bed, a puddle of jizz the size of a dinner plate steadily growing from the constant stream issuing from between her abused labia. His length slipped from her embrace to allow recovery time and he simply held her in a gentle embrace for a moment before rising and dressing. Lucia tried to look distracted as the tent flap opened and the man she now knew to be Spartacus appeared, asking, "what do you want?" "I... they told me to wait for you. That'd you'd want to talk to me..." Lucia replied with none of the contemptuous venom she had intended. "Are you highborn?" "Yes, my lord." "You seem to lack to arrogance that usually saturated your class." "Yes, my lord." "I don't suppose you gave any military secrets? Is your husband an officer? A young tribune perhaps?" For the first time, the girl shower contempt, "no. My husband is neither young or an officer." "Ah. I see now." "What... what will you do with me?" She asked, trying not to sound helpless. "That's up to you. You may not know any military secrets but you'll have knowledge that I want. How about a trade?" "What would I have to do?" "It's quite simple, really. Give me information when I need it and I will put you under my wife's protection. Perhaps you will find solace in her ecstatic God. Otherwise, I will kick you loose into the camp, something that would be less than pleasant without the protection of a strong man. Unfortunately, that's just how it is. So, what'll it be?" "You won't hurt me?" "Unlike Romans, I don't like to hurt women or children." "That's not true!" Lucia protested. "I don't think you're dumb enough to believe that," Spartacus said, "girl, your free now. You may feel captive but you're free from the ignorance and limits of society. All you have to do is but seize it. Either way, when this is over, your destiny and life will be your own." "Alright. I agree," Lucia replied. "Information for safety." :..: The word of the Roman defeat at Vesuvius had spread like wildfire, amongst both slaves and masters. In the first day following their victory, the gladiators received dozens of slaves from local estates and farms, eager to join them. The following days saw hundreds of shepherds, woodcutters, field slaves and laborers arriving from the rich agricultural lands surrounding Vesuvius. Before he could rejoice, Spartacus had to deal with another issue. Apparently, the mass desertion by slaves had attracted Fugitivarii, bounty hunters specializing in recapturing runaway slaves, to the area in unprecedented numbers. Usually the bounty hunters worked in groups of eight or ten men but the promise of hundreds of slaves drew them like flies to honey. Unlike the terrified local civilians, the Fugitivarii didn't fear the slaves, even in such larger numbers. Their nature prevented them from fearing the subhumans that they had grown used to running down as individuals or small family units, using hounds, whips and shackles-or bows, should the slaves make the rare decision of fighting back. In addition, they no doubt assumed that their prey would be broken up into unorganized groups, without the necessary unity to oppose them in a cohesive fighting force. Spartacus wondered if they had heard of the slave's victory over the Praetor's army yet, as such would inform them that their prey wasn't as vulnerable or divided as one would assume. In either case, it really didn't matter. His men weren't ready for any kind of pitched battle, even if they had the numbers, yet there was more motivation for their destruction than simple contempt. Because they were hunters more than fighters, the Fugitivarii wielded bows, unlike Roman soldiers. The Romans had the best army in the world, yet they had two glaring tactical weaknesses; archers and cavalry. As a Scythian, who were the best archers and horsemen on the planet, this was something he planned to take advantage of. Unfortunately, since the Roman way was to fight on foot with short sword and javelin, it wasn't so easy to find horses and bows in their homeland. Destroying the slave hunters would provide a number of both, as well as satisfying and encouraging the mindset of a free man in his fighters. Ordering the former slaves to undergo weapons training with a few of the older, more experienced gladiators while the camp followers continued to form and heat branches into sharpened spears, use pitch pits to draw the pitch from the surrounding pines nearby and knap spear and arrow heads from the abundant obsidian, Spartacus took only fifty of the gladiators and fifty of the shepherds with him when he marched out of camp at dusk. The remaining gladiators, who weren't busy training the new arrivals, were sent out to scout in every direction for threats, resources or simply the lay of the land. Most of the shepherds were expert slingers, having nothing more than a sling and any local rocks they could scavenge to protect their master's sheep and goats from the abundance of wolves, lynxes and bears that resided in the Campanian area. While the shepherds carried slings and hatchets, the gladiator chose either bows or slings, based on his own skills, to augment their gladiatorial weapons used for close combat on Spartacus' orders. In the end, the fight would bring with it a few surprises. Spartacus and his men had found a spot, suitable for an ambush, along the road that they Fugitivarii would have to take to approach Vesuvius. The group of slave hunters, their temporary alliance of greedy men boasted more than 400 in all. Perhaps they have heard of our victory over Glaber after all, Spartacus thought when he noticed groups of mercenaries interspersed amongst the slave hunters. The command of the mixed group seemed to be with a pudgy man wearing rich clothes, obviously a wealthy merchant. It would've been him who paid the mercenaries and organized the lot of them into more than a few disorganized bands. The man rode atop a beautiful horse, a Spanish breed from the Lustitania from the looks, a few meters in front of his force. If the man was able to succeed where a Praetpr failed, he could certainly expect a sudden increase in his upward social mobility. The slave hunters carried bows, daggers and clubs while a great many irons and nets were carried in the accompanying wagons. The majority of the group travelled on foot, though the leader was accompanied by about forty riders mounted on small horses, their dark skin and tribal clothing separating them from the Italians. These were almost certainly the man's bodyguards, pickpockets and muggers weren't the only issue for a rich man in a large city, as few Romans got rich without earning significant enemies in the process. The horsemen were obviously Numidians, certainly recruited not only for their warlike nature and swift skills but also because a rich Roman couldn't ever truly trust another Roman as a guard, never knowing if the man was in the secret employ of one of his enemies. A hand motion from down the line caught Spartacus' attention and he turned. A skilled young gladiator from Numidia, named Juba, was gesturing to speak with his leader. Backing away from the rise that his half of their men, Spartacus walked crouched down until he was next to the young man. "Yes, Juba?" "Horsemen. I know", the dark skinned young man whispered excitement. "Yes, I know. They are very deadly warriors. We will have to..." "No, lord. I know warriors. Those warriors," Juba said, again gesturing down to where the riders were nearing. "You actually know them? Personally?" Spartacus asked in surprise. The young man nodded, a smile on his face. "They serve my father. They take oath. My father chieftain who rebelled against Rome. I lead Numidian horsemen for Rome's army but soldiers come put me in chains when father start fight with Rome." "They were your father's men?" Spartacus clarified. "Yes. My father dead but they not know I alive. They serve me, serve you." "If you're wrong, we will all die." "I not wrong. Watch. You keep men hiding. I go down to road and tell them help us?" After a moment's reflection, Spartacus nodded, knowing he was taking a huge risk. Juba slithered down to an animal trail halfway between the slave's hiding place and the road before he stood up. The front of the group was nearly even with the slaves position when Juba called out in his native language, speaking nonstop for several seconds before he started running down towards the road. The enemy troops watched him wearily but as soon as they realized that he wasn't the first in a wave of attacking slaves, they ignored him. Except for the leader of the Numidian riders, who approached Juba and had a brief vocal exchange before he turned back to the rich man and called out in accented Latin, loud enough for Spartacus to hear. "He say many slaves short miles ahead. He say his master send him for find help," the Numidian captain called out. "Find them! And don't let any escape!" Yelled their wealthy leader. The Numidians thundered off down the road at a spoken word, the captain pulling Juba up onto the horse behind him. Well, Juba got rid of their horsemen, even if they wouldn't join us. He gave us an opening, Spartacus thought. Despite the fact that their position on a broken hill wouldn't have been vulnerable to a horse charge, with the enemy's largest advantage now gone he sensed the men's confidence grow further. Waiting for the front of the column to pass their hiding spot was torture on the nerves but Spartacus' men held and waited for his command. He was tempted to include the horsemen in his attack plan but there was no way to know whether they would intervene, and if they did, on whose behalf, so he stuck with his original attack plan. Less than three minutes after the Numidians had ridden off, Spartacus signaled the attack. From the side of the road opposite his position, a hail of stones, arrows and thrown spears tore into their ranks, killing dozens in the first volley and wounding more. A second volley hit a second later, doing nearly as much damage as the first, before discipline broke down and the slaves on the high ground, mostly shepherds, began firing at will. The Fugitivarii had no shields, they never had need of any, as a result, many fell before they were able to take shelter behind the wagons that accompanied them. The mercenaries faired better, raising their shields in time for the second volley, though their small, round shields couldn't protect the entire body and several were killed or injured. Spartacus Ch. 01 Soon, the slave hunters were firing their bows at anyone they could see from behind their wagons. Just as they began to gain confidence, a cacophony of loud battle cries from directly behind them caused them to turn. A few were able to lose arrows at the charging fighters but it didn't help them at all as the gladiators smashed into their broken column, slashing and hacking with glee. The mercenaries to the front and rear tried to flee but the timely return of the now-allied Numidian cavalry prevented any escape as they were ridden down. Apparently one of the Numidians had lent Juba his horse, as the young man rode through the dying melee whooping in joy as he cut down a slave hunter who had somehow managed to survive the projectiles and gladiators. It was all over in a few minutes. :..: As the wagons had worked their way up the final stretch of the trail leading up to the barren summit of Vesuvius, the assembled slaves cheered as they saw their leader returning with an even larger number of men as well as the wagons. Spirits were high in camp and in the day that Spartacus had been gone there had been a significant increase in the number of slaves rushing to join the rebels and their ragtag army. Even more than the defeat of Glaber, the tongues of Roman and slave alike wagged about the fearful gladiator Spartacus, whose story had grown to legend due to his reputation in the arena as well as success against the Romans sent to deal with him. He had grown to folk hero of the slaves in the matter of a few days, whispered about in hushed tones that brought fear to some and hope to others. The crater at the barren peak on top of Mount Vesuvius was beginning to fill with men. Already fall, they would have to find a better place to winter as the mountain offered no food, shelter or wood. Spartacus had already shown that he had a knack for turning Rome's strengths to weakness, and he was just getting started. Rome's military might and aggression had grown significantly in the prior decades, resulting in thousands upon thousands of professional warriors being sold into slavery. Current conflicts with the Roman rebel Sertorius in Spain and Mithridates in the East added huge numbers of enemies captured in battle to those acquired a couple decades prior with the legion's victory over such foes as the Cimbri and Teutons from Germania and King Jugurtha of Numidia, not to mention many smaller conflicts and attempted coups in client kingdoms. The Roman civil war and resulting proscriptions of Sulla even put Italians into slavery, especially those who had fought for Marius but not been prominent enough to warrant an execution. Despite the huge pool of veteran warriors and soldiers, they all spoke different languages and fought in different styles, yet Spartacus would have more than a ragged bunch of untrained slaves and he had every intention of using the winter months to create a true army. Already his fellow gladiators were training every man in the use of weapons and further training in tactics would follow as soon as possible. First, there were issues to tackle. The slaves would have to find a good place to winter, with food and warmth supplied to their growing numbers. There was only on solution that Spartacus could think of. "What troubles you, my love?" Ariadne asked. "Winter, love. Winter." "What conclusion have you reached?" "That we will freeze and starve on this mountain. We don't have engineers, siege engines or high enough numbers but the only way I can think to provide food and shelter for such a large group is to capture a city." Spartacus sighed. "Then that's what we will do," replied his wife, as if it was as simple as that. "We will have to think of some sort of ruse..." "Yes. But not tonight. Come to bed and we'll deal with the future tomorrow. Now, I need you inside me." :..: The region of Campania consisted of wild mountains filled with bandits and predatory animals and wealthy lowlands with extremely fertile soil. To the Roman elite, Campania was a vacation area for wealthy, who built large estates in the countryside. Economically, Campania's fields and granaries provided vast amounts of grain, exceeded only by imports from Egypt and Sicily. In addition, the area has a long history of dissatisfaction with Roman rule, even allying themselves with Hannibal in his invasion more than a century prior. All in all, it was a very good position for the budding force of slaves to spend the winter becoming an army. :..: 2 months later... Spartacus watched the surprisingly tranquil town of Thurii from the balcony of the lavish villa that he had appropriated for himself and his wife, along with their freed servants. He had made a point to head off the inevitable reprisals against the civilians of the town by convincing his men that they needed to prove that they were better than the Roman legions who slaughtered or enslaved the populations of their enemies, including the families of many of his men. There were also more practical reasons. They would receive more cooperation, sympathy and even support if they didn't take their anger out on the civilians. It helped that the first town they captured, Forum Anii, had received the bulk of his men's blood lust after the chaos of the town's capture and the town's slaves turning against their masters set off a chain reaction that left many women and children dead. He could stil see the deceptively peaceful faces of the children who had been cut down in the frenzy and it wrenched his heart. His reputation and perceived power had been a huge help in controlling his men and moderating their more base desires. His capture of Forum Anii had increased his legend to mythical proportions, exaggeration snowballing with every telling. The fact that Spartacus had managed to breech the city walls and destroy the garrison with a single arrow caused even his own men to look upon him in reverence, leaving him feeling oddly lonely. Having sent two men into the town ahead of their attack, they had set about purchasing barrels of olive oil and pine pitch before puncturing their bases and loading them into two wagons with holes drilled in the bed. The men had parked one wagon beside the granary before driving the other to the barracks of the town guard. Walking boldly from the trees, well into the missile range of the defenders, Spartacus had called out, "I am Spartacus! Open the gates and you will not be harmed. If I have to breech your city, the tribute you will pay won't be in food and supplies, but in lives and blood!" The town's folk had been suitably impressed by the stunning figure standing brazenly in the open wearing only a barely concealing wrap around his waist, a wide, bronze plated gladiator belt that protected his lower abdomen and the chainmail manica that covered each arm in long protective sleeved, running from shoulder to wrist. In addition to the twin swords on each hip, a Roman Gladius on the right and a Thracian Sica on the left, the lean, muscular and strikingly handsome man wore a gorytos, combined bow holder and quiver, with a composite recurve bow and dozens of arrows. The city guard and the prominent citizens, however, had exhibited their usual Roman pride and cast down insults and derision upon the 'savages'. With a sigh, Spartacus had plucked out the only arrow in his quiver with fletching feathers dyed red and the shaft painted black to nock it on his bowstring. The arrow had been oriented in his quiver so that the broad iron arrowhead was nestled into a small clay phial that he had hidden inside the quiver at it's bottom. The jar was filled with red hot coals, when the arrow was loaded onto the bowstring, the it's tip glowed angry red with it's extreme heat. Many on the wall laughed and jeered when they saw Spartacus draw the bow, his men watching from concealment in the trees behind him as he aimed the arrow and loosed it well over the wall. The shock was palpable, both inside and outside the wall, when a huge explosion ripped open a section of the wall, followed a few seconds later by an intense 'woosh' sound as an enormous conflagration sent a mushroom shaped mass of fire high into the air above the town a few blocks away from the initial thermobaric explosion. The arrow, with it's red hot tip, had been accurately aimed to strike the large wooden vent near the top of the granary building nearly three hundred meters from Spartacus' position outside the walls. The vent was used an as exit for all of the tiny pieces of chaff and grain densely thrown up into the air by the threshing process and the grain lift that occupied the center of the multistory structure. When the arrow reached the vent, the red hot arrowhead, fanned by it's passage through the air, ignited the cloud of flammable particles issuing heavily from the wooden slats covering the vent. A chain reaction was started as the particles ignited and spread to the highly dense cloud inside the industrial granary causing an enormous dust explosion. The higher density of particles and enclosed nature of the building enhanced the explosion, distributing the contents of the grain storage into the air to further fuel the detonation of a giant cloud of fuel mixed in with the air. The resulting detonation, with a force far beyond the deflagrations caused by barrels of flammable liquids being ignited, leveled several of the surrounding buildings and warehouses as well as igniting the wagon strategically positioned nearby. Adding flames to the explosion was a benefit but the main purpose was achieved when the oil and pitch that had leaked from the holes in the wagon beds was ignited. Following the stream of flammable liquid lead the flames right to the second wagon, parked just outside the door to the city guard's barracks. The soldiers, having just assembled inside the barracks to don armor and weapons after the word went out that Spartacus had arrived, and the barracks itself never had a chance. A mad rush into the city had followed, him all but losing complete control of his men as they vented their anger and pain caused by Rome on the local populace. The next town they sacked, Heraclea, had been breached rather easily as a large section of the town's rear wall was down, with only a six by six foot ditch acting as any kind of barrier. Moving faster than any of the refugees from Forum Anii, the slaves had arrived in the dark of night and immediately executed their assault. The sentries on the walls, surprisingly few in number given the current state of the slave threat, were each dropped with several simultaneous arrows to guarantee they wouldn't cry out as they died. The gladiators and the most skilled warriors climbed the walls easily using cloth covered grappling hooks. Spreading through the town like wraiths, any guards encountered on the streets were silenced with garrotes made from braided rawhide. The garrison consisted of a few hundred men, yet proved no problem as the entrances to their barracks were barred closed from the outside. Worst case, all they had to do was burn the wooden building with the guardsmen inside if they refused to surrender. Even if they had feigned surrender and then attacked when the doors were open, they would have proved no obstacle with the doorways forced them to exit one by one. All in all, the capture of Heraclea had been achieved with remarkably little bloodshed. The town of Metapontum had fallen after a group of his men had shaved their faces clean, cut their hair and donned the uniforms and armor from some of Glaber's men. However, the town had a larger garrison than the others and was much more prepared. While the group in Roman attire captured the gatehouse and the city officials there to greet them, the large garrison was destroyed by the town's slaves. Prior to their arrival, Spartacus had sent men into the city with weapons hidden in their wagons. These had been distributed among the slaves with instruction to hide them in appropriate places. When the commotion at the front gate drew the city guard patrols in that direction, the isolated groups were caught unawares as slaves produced hidden weapons and fell upon them savagely before they could form up into defensive formations. After, there were limbs and heads scattered in the streets as testament to the butchery of the untrained but ferocious local slaves. All of the inhabitants of the town's were sent back to the Romans, escorted by his men into the area surrounding the winter camp of the Praetor Varinus, the man sent by Rome to replace Glaber in the duty of eliminating the slaves running amok in southern Italy. To the Romans, the situation was embarrassing but hardly threatening, viewing the matter more as a policing action than an actual war. Their perspective was that the slaves had caught a few lucky breaks and their leader had shown himself clever yet the slaves were still weak, untrained and unorganized subhumans who could never threaten the great Republic and were beneath the contempt of their superior masters. Spartacus was eager to encourage that opinion and it seemed that Varinus thought that he simply didn't have the manpower to completely slaughter the populations of the fallen towns. It never occurred to Varinus that Spartacus might have spared the inhabitants out of honor and practicality, herding them to the Praetor's force right before the onset of the winter snows in an effort to drain the Roman force's food and supplies as they were forced to provide and care for the refugees. In such tight confines, even during winter, disease and sickness would grow and spread, possibly even infecting a significant portion of the legionaries. Unlike Glaber, Varinus commanded a force of actual legionaries, not the weak, barely trained militia that they had easily wiped out at the foot of Vesuvius. Though mostly old retired veterans and freshly recruited youths, theirs was a force of real Roman soldiers numbering just under a full legion. Lucius Furius, one of the Praetor's lieutenants, was wintering at a town on the Adriatic coast, gathering recruits to march back to Varinus at the first thaw of spring. Romans, like most people, didn't fight during winter so the campaign wouldn't truly begin until the first thaw of spring. Until then, the Romans would stay in their camp preparing for spring and trying to stay warm. It never even occurred to them that the slaves would be active in winter, let alone building a true army, the likes of which the world hadn't seen. Now, his men occupied the large town of Thurii, living in relative peace alongside the native inhabitants. Spartacus had ordered his men not to harm any women or children and to refrain from raping, as they now had a large number of prostitutes from the towns they had sacked accompanying them and many Roman women had fantasies of being taken by barbarians or gladiators and they eventually began to show the men why Roman's were famous for their orgies. The haughty and disdainful women of higher rank and status proved to be the most insatiable once they gave into the pleasure and humiliation of being fucked by brutes they considered far below them. In addition to prostitutes and horny rich women, who were paid generously with Glaber's gold or barbarian cock and cunt, according to their priorities, the slaves had captured all of the skilled laborers and workmen residing in the captured town. They brought the engineers, workmen, carpenters, bronze workers and blacksmiths from the other towns with them to Thurii for the winter. Forges and workshops had popped up all over the town, mostly in the forum, producing weapons and armor using the iron from chains and shackled as well as the town's own huge supply or iron and bronze. There was even many residential domus that had been converted into archery workshops and fletchers. Some of the former Iberian and Celtic tribesmen instructed the Italian smiths in the methods of producing pattern welded composite steel, combining tough but soft iron and hard but brittle steel to make blades that would bend but not break and hold a much sharper edge along with face hardened armor plates that used the same principle to create armor that wouldn't fail nearly so easily. It helped that there were so many mines and harbors in southern Italy, though the slave chains and looted metal provided more than enough raw material. The technology was used to create superior quality gladius for the infantry and the downward curving Spanish blade, the falcata, for the cavalry. Composite recurve bows were built for the cavalrymen, who were training meticulously to learn the complicated art of horse archery, using horn, wood and sinew to give far more power in a far smaller package than a simple wood bow. The bows were built with asymmetrical limbs, with the lower limb shorter than the upper, providing the arrow more stability in the release as well as the ability to turn to shoot in all directions without the horse's back interfering with the lower limb. The men and women used the long winter nights to make thousands upon thousands of arrows. Some were even equipped with the new composite steel arrowheads made by the blacksmiths instead of the standard bronze or iron types used by most peoples, delicately fletched with feathers from geese, buzzards or birds of prey in the long winter nights. The foot archers didn't use composite recurve bows, unless they bought or looted one, as the construction process was complicated, slow and expensive. Instead yew longbows were made for them in the Northern European design, taking only a couple hours per bow to manufacture. Though not as compact or efficient as the composite recurve design, the longbows were taller than their users and capable of shooting an arrow over three hundred meters or penetrating armor. The slingers were equally effective, their repetitive training and drilling allowing them to loose a withering hail of projectiles. Instead of small pebbles, they used lead sling bullets and fist sized stones as ammunition, each man carrying small, medium and long slings on his person like the slingers from the Balearic isles. Like with the archery equipment and other weapons, the armorers and craftsmen labored indoors day and night while the soldiers trained. "You look to be deep in thought, my love. What are you thinking about?" Ariadne asked. "Oh, you know, the usual." "Yes, I don't have to be a prophetess to see that. However, you've done everything you can for now. The smiths work around the clock, you've had every tree within a mile cut down and dragged here to supply shafts for weapons, firewood and pitch, and we even have the artillery from Metapontum and Herculaneum in addition to the machines that were already here." "You're right, my love, as usual," Spartacus said, his voice full of love as the stress of his deep thoughts faded away. "Of course I am, I'm a priestess to Dionysus," Ariadne replied with a wink. "The men are even training extremely hard. The gladiators train the new men in weapons and then your Centurions train them as legionaries. It really was a great idea to use Roman tactics against Romans." "A simple phalanx, even a Macedonian style phalanx, would've been easier but legionaries are the best heavy infantry on the planet. It helps that most of the men who were warriors before their capture have been allowed to fight in their native styles. The untrained slaves will become our legionaries, they are blank slates that don't have to forget and relearn everything they ever knew about war." "But not all men have what it takes to be legionaries..." "Very true. Those who aren't a good fit have been training as spearmen, woodsmen, scouts, archers or slingers. The Cretans and Balearics are the best missile troops in the Mediterranean and the men are acquiring a high level of skill quickly. It helps that many were forced to use bows or slings to defend their mastes' flocks, herds and lands from wolves and bandits. Even better, some of them have been joining my cavalry," Spartacus detailed. "I had asked for any who knew how to ride to at least give it a try but it would appear that many believe the heavy infantry will the where the loot and glory are won. I guess I should be glad that these westerners, Romans especially, don't seem to grasp the value of horsemen like we do."