SPARTACUS - Arvind Gupta

273 Pages·2008·1.28 MB·English

SPARTACUS

WAS BORN A ROMAN SLAVE

Trained to kill for the idle pleasure of
his masters, he sparked the revolt against
their cruel, degenerate rule. Spartacus
was the gladiator who led the hopeless
men, women and children out of the kitchens,
the fields, the slave-pens and the stockades,
in the greatest rebellion the ancient
world ever saw.

Howard Fast's books include Citizen Tom
Paine, The Unvanquished, Freedom Road, My
Glorious Brothers and Moses Prince of Egypt.
Translated into eighty-two languages across
the world, they have sold millions of copies.
SPARTACUS is his epic achievement, a thrilling,
eloquent testament to man's unquenchable
courage and his passion for freedom.
"MAGNIFICENT!"

SAN FRANCISCO CHRONICLE

BOOKS BY HOWARD FAST

CONCEIVED IN LIBERTY

THE LAST FRONTIER

THE UNVANQUISHED

CITIZEN TOM PAINE *

FREEDOM ROAD

MY GLORIOUS BROTHERS

MOSES, PRINCE OF EGYPT

THE WINSTON AFFAIR

* Published by Bantam Books

by HOWARD FAST
G. M. DAUDISTEL

Bantam Books

New York

THIS LOW-PRICED BANTAM BOOK

printed in completely new type, especially designed for easy reading, contains the complete text of the original, hard-cover edition.

NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED.

SPARTACUS
A Bantam Book / published by arrangement with Crown Publishers, Inc.
PRINTING HISTORY
Blue Heron Press edition published December 1951
2nd printing..........January 1952
3rd printing.........February 1952
4th printing.........February 1952
5th printing............March 1952
6th printing............March 1952
7th printing.............April 1952
Bantam edition published August 1960
Copyright MCMLI by Howard Fast.
Reproductions of Tom Van Sant's drawings and illustrations—© Bryna Productions, Inc. and Universal Pictures
Company, Inc. 1960.
All rights reserved.
Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada.
Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, Inc. Its trade-mark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a
bantam, is registered in the United States Patent Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Printed in the United States of
America. Bantam Books, Inc., 271 Madison Ave., New York 16 N Y.

This book is for my daughter, Rachel, and for my son, Jonathan. It is a story of brave men and women who lived long ago, and
whose names have never been forgotten. The heroes of this story cherished freedom and human dignity, and lived nobly and
well. I wrote it so that those who read it, my children and others, may take strength for our own troubled future and that they may
struggle against oppression and wrong—so that the dream of Spartacus may come to be in our own time.
The time of the beginning of this story is 71 B.C.

PART ONE.

How Caius Crassus journeyed along the highroad from Rome to Capua, in the
month of May.

It is recorded that as early as the middle of the month of March, the highroad
from the Eternal City, Rome, to the somewhat smaller but hardly less lovely
town of Capua, was opened to public travel once again; but this is not to say
that traffic upon this road immediately reverted to normal. For that matter,
during the past four years no road in the Republic had known the peaceful and
prosperous flow of commerce and person which was to be expected of a Roman
road. More or less of disturbance had been encountered everywhere, and it
would not be incorrect to say that the road between Rome and Capua had
become symbolic of this disturbance. It was well said that as the roads go, so
does Rome go; if the roads know peace and prosperity, so does the city know it.
The news was posted around the city that any free citizen having business
in Capua might travel there to transact it, but for the time being travel for
pleasure to that lovely resort was not encouraged. However, as time passed and
sweet and gentle springtime settled down over the land of Italy, restrictions
were lifted, and once again the fine buildings and splendid scenery of Capua
called to the Romans.
In addition to the natural attractions of the Campania countryside, those
who enjoyed fine perfume yet balked at inflated prices, found profit as well as
pleasure in Capua. There were situated the great perfume factories, unequaled
in the whole world; and to Capua were shipped the rare essences and oils from
all over the earth, exotic and exquisite scents, Egyptian oil of roses, the essence
of the lilies of Sheba, the poppies of Galilee, the oil of ambergris and of the rind
of lemon and orange, the leaf of sage and mint, rosewood and sandal-wood,
and so forth and so on almost without end. Perfume at Capua could be
purchased at less than half the price asked in Rome, and when one considers
the growing popularity of scents in that time, for men as well as for women—
and the necessity for them as well—one can understand that a trip to Capua
for that, if for no other reason, might well be undertaken.
II

The road was opened in March, and two months later, in the middle of May,
Caius Crassus and his sister, Helena, and her friend, Claudia Marius, set off to
spend a week with relatives in Capua. They left Rome on the morning of a
bright, clear and cool day, a perfect day for travel, all of them young and
bright-eyed and full of delight in the trip and in the adventures which would
certainly befall them. Caius Crassus, a young man of twenty-five, whose dark
hair fell in abundant and soft ringlets and whose regular features had given
him a reputation for good looks as well as good birth, rode a beautiful white
Arabian horse, a birthday present from his father the year before, and the two
girls travelled in open litters. Each litter was carried by four slaves who were
road-broken and who could do ten miles at a smooth run without resting. They
planned to spend five days on the road, putting up each evening at the country
villa of a friend or relative, and this way, by easy and pleasant stages, to come
to Capua. They knew before they started that the road was tokened with
punishment, but they didn't think it would be enough to disturb them. As a
matter of fact, the girls were quite excited by the descriptions they had heard,
and as for Caius, he always had a pleasant and somewhat sensuous reaction
to such things, and he was also proud of his stomach and of the fact that such
sights did not inordinately disturb him.
"After all," he reasoned with the girls, "it is better to look at a crucifix than
to be on one."
"We shall look straight ahead," Helena said. She was better looking than
Claudia who was blond but listless, pale skin and pale eyes and an air of
fatigue which she nurtured. Her body was full and attractive, but Caius found
her rather stupid and wondered what his sister saw in her—a problem he was
determined to solve on this trip. He had several times before resolved to seduce
his sister's friend, and always the resolution had broken down before her
listless disinterest, a disinterest not specific in terms of himself, but general.
She was bored, and Caius was certain that only her boredom prevented her
from being utterly boring. His sister was something else. His sister excited him
in a fashion that troubled him; she was as tall as he, very similar to him in
appearance—better looking if anything, and considered beautiful by men who
were not fended away by her purpose and strength. His sister excited him, and
he was conscious that in planning this trip to Capua, he hoped for some
resolution of this excitement. His sister and Claudia made an odd but
satisfying combination, and Caius looked forward to rewarding incidents on the
journey.
A few miles outside of Rome, the tokens of punishment began. There was a
place where the road crossed a little wasteland of rock and sand, a few acres in
extent, and the person in charge of the exhibit had, with an eye for effect,
chosen this particular spot for the first crucifix. The cross had been cut out of
fresh new wood, pitch-bleeding pine, and since the ground fell away behind it,
it stood stark and bare and angular against the morning sky, so huge and
impressive— over-large, since it was the first—that one hardly noticed the
naked body of the man who hung upon it. It stood slightly askew, as is so often
the case with the top-heavy crucifix, and this added to its bizarre, demi-human
quality. Caius drew up his horse, and then walked the animal toward the
crucifix; and with a little flick of her courtesy quirt, Helena ordered the litter-
slaves to follow.
"May we rest, oh mistress, oh mistress?" whispered the pace setter of
Helena's litter, when they came to a halt before the crucifix. He was a
Spaniard, and his Latin was broken and wary.
"Of course," said Helena. She was only twenty-three, but already of strong
opinion, as all the women of her family were, and she despised senseless
cruelty toward animals, whether slave or beast. Then the litter-bearers gently
lowered the carriages, squatting gratefully beside them.
A few yards in front of the crucifix, on a straw chair shaded by a small,
patched awning, sat a fat, amiable man of distinction and poverty. His
distinction was manifest in each of his several chins and in the dignity of his
huge paunch, and his poverty, not unmixed with sloth, was plainly evident by
his poor and dirty clothes, his grimy finger nails and his stubble of beard. His
amiability was the easily worn mask of the professional politician; and one
could see at a glance that for years he had scavenged the Forum and the
Senate and the wards as well. Here he was now, the last step before he became
a beggar with only a mat in some Roman lodging house; yet his voice rolled out
with the robust quackery of a barker at a fair. These were the fortunes of war,
as he made plain to them. Some choose the right party with uncanny facility.
He had always chosen the wrong one, and it was no use saying that essentially
they were both the same. This is where it brought him, but better men fared
less well.
"You will forgive me for not rising, my gentle sir and my gentle ladies, but
the heart—the heart." He put his hand on the great paunch in the general area.
"I see you are out early, and early you should be out, since that is the time for
travel. Capua?"
"Capua," said Caius.
"Capua indeed—a lovely city, a beautiful city, a fair city, a veritable gem of a
city. To visit relatives, no doubt?"
"No doubt," answered Caius. The girls were smiling. He was amiable; he was
a great clown. His dignity slipped away. Better to be a clown for these young
people. Caius realized that there was money involved somewhere in these
proceedings, but he didn't mind. For one thing, he had never been denied
money sufficient for all his needs or whims, and for another, he desired to
impress the girls with his worldliness, and how better than through this
worldly fat clown of a man?
"You see me a guide, a story teller, a small purveyor of bits of punishment
and justice. Yet does a judge do more? The station is different, yet better to
accept a denarius and the shame that goes with it than to beg—"
The girls couldn't keep their eyes from the dead man who hung from the
crucifix. He was directly above them now, and they kept darting glances at his
naked, sun-blackened, bird-torn body. The crows swooped around him
tentatively. The flies crawled on his skin. As he hung, his body leaning out and
away from the cross, he seemed always to be falling, always in motion, a
grotesque motion of the dead. His head hung forward, and his long, sandy hair
covered what horror might have been in his face.
Caius gave the fat man a coin; the thanks was no more than what was due.
The bearers squatted silently, never glancing at the crucifix, eyes on the
ground; roadbroken they were, and well trained.
"This one is symbolic, so as to speak," said the fat man. "Mistress mine, do
not regard it as human or horrible. Rome gives and Rome takes, and more or
less, the punishment fits the crime. This one stands alone and calls your
attention to what will follow. Between here and Capua, do you know how
many?"
They knew, but they waited for him to say it. There was a precision about
this fat, jovial man who introduced them to what was unspeakable. He was
proof that it was not unspeakable but ordinary and natural. He would give
them an exact figure. It might not be right, but it would be precise.
"Six thousand, four hundred and seventy-two," he said.
A few of the litter-bearers stirred. They were not resting, they were rigid. If
anyone had regarded them, they would have noticed that. But no one regarded
them.
"Six thousand, four hundred and seventy-two," the fat man repeated. Caius
made the right remark. "That much timber," Caius said. Helena knew it was a
fraud, but the fat man nodded appreciatively. Now they were en rapport. The
fat man extracted a cane from the folds of his gown and gestured at the
crucifix.
"That one—merely a token. A token of a token, so as to speak."
Claudia giggled nervously.
"Nevertheless of interest and of importance. Set apart with reason. Reason is
Rome and Rome is reasonable." He was fond of maxims.
"Is that Spartacus?" Claudia asked foolishly, but the fat man found patience
for her. The way he licked his lips proved that his paternal attitude was not
unmixed with emotion, and Caius thought,
"The lecherous old beast."
"Hardly Spartacus, my dear."
"His body was never found," Caius said impatiently.
"Cut to pieces," the fat man said pompously. "Cut to pieces, my dear child.
Tender minds for such dreadful thoughts, but that's the truth of it—"
Claudia shuddered, but deliciously, and Caius saw a light in her eyes he
had never noticed before. "Beware of superficial judgments," his father had
once said to him, and while his father had weightier matters in mind than
estimation of women, it held. Claudia had never looked at him as she looked at
the fat man now; and he continued,
"—the simple truth of it. And now they say Spartacus never existed. Hah! Do
I exist? Do you exist? Are there or are there not six thousand, four hundred
and seventy-two corpses hanging from crucifixes between here and Capua
along the Appian Way? Are there or are there not? There are indeed. And let me
ask you another question, my young folk—why so many? A token of
punishment is a token of punishment. But why six thousand, four hundred
and seventy-two?"
"The dogs deserved it," Helena answered quietly.
"Did they?" The fat man raised a sophisticated brow. He was a man of the
world, he made plain to them, and if they were higher in station, they were
younger enough in years to be impressed. "Perhaps they did, but why butcher
so much meat if one can't eat it? I'll tell you. Keeps the price up. Stabilizes
things. And most of all, decides some very delicate questions of ownership.
There you have the answer in a nutshell. Now this one here—" gesturing with
his cane, "—have a good look at him. Fairtrax, the Gaul, most important, most
important. A close man to Spartacus, yes, indeed, and I watched him die.
Sitting right here, I watched him die. It took four days. Strong as an ox. My, oh
my, you would never believe such strength. Never believe it at all. I have my

chair here from Sextus, of the Third Ward. You know him? A gentleman—a
very great gentleman, and well disposed toward me. You'd be surprised how
many people came out to watch, and it was something well worth watching.
Not that I could charge them a proper fee—but people give if you give them
something in return. Fair measure for fair measure. I took the trouble to inform
myself. You'd be surprised what profound ignorance there is here and there
about, concerning the wars of Spartacus. Now see here, this young lady, she
asks me, is that one Spartacus? A natural question, but wouldn't it be
exceedingly unnatural if it was so. You gentle ones live a sheltered life, very
sheltered, otherwise the young lady would have known that Spartacus was cut
up so that not hair nor hide of him was ever found. Quite different with this
one—he was taken. Cut up a little, true—see here—"
With his cane, he traced a long scar on the side of the body above him.
"Number of scars—and most interesting. Side or front. None in the back.
You don't want to stress such details for the rabble, but I can tell you as a
matter of fact—"
The litter-bearers were watching him now and listening, their eyes-gleaming
out of their long, matted hair.
"—that these were the best soldiers that ever walked on Italian soil. Bears
thinking about, something like that. Come back to our friend up here. Took
four days for him to die, and it would have taken a good deal longer if they
hadn't opened a vein and bled him a bit. Now you may not know that, but you
got to do it when you put them on the cross. Either you bleed them or they
swell up like a bloater. And if you bleed them properly, then they dry properly
and they can hang up there for maybe a month with no more offense than a
little bit of smell. Just like curing a piece of meat, and you want plenty of
sunshine to help it along. Now this was a fierce one, all right, defiant, proud—
but he lost it. First day, he hung up there and cursed out every decent citizen
who came along to watch. Frightful, foul language; you wouldn't want any
ladies around to hear such language. Comes of no breeding, and a slave is a
slave, but I bore him no ill will. Here I was and there he was, and now and then
I'd say to him, Your misfortune is my fortune, and while yours may not be the
most comfortable way to die, mine is by no means the most comfortable way to
earn a living. And precious little I'll earn, you keep up that kind of talk. Didn't
seem to move him much, one way or another, but toward evening of the second
day, he closed up. Clammed up, tight as a trap. Do you know what was the last
thing he said?"
"What?" whispered Claudia.
"I will return and I will be millions. Just that. Fanciful, isn't it?"
"What did he mean?" Caius wondered. In spite of himself, the fat man had
woven a spell over him.
"Now what did he mean, young sir? I have no more idea than you have, and
he never spoke again either. I poked him up a little the next day, but he never
said a word, just looked at me out of those bloodshot eyes of his, looked at me
like he could kill me, but he wasn't for killing anything else. So you see, my
dear," addressing Claudia again, "he wasn't Spartacus, but was one of his
lieutenants and a hard man. Close to Spartacus, but not so hard. That was a
hard one, was Spartacus, hard indeed. You would not like to meet him along
this highroad and never will neither, for he's dead and rotting. Now what else
would you like to know?"
"I think we've heard enough," Caius said, regretting the denarius now. "We
must be on our way."
III

In those days, Rome was like a heart which pumped its blood along the Roman
roads to every corner of the world. Another nation would live a thousand years
and build one third-rate road which perhaps connected its major cities. With
Rome it was different. "Build us a road!" said the Senate. They had the skill.
The engineers plotted it; contracts were handed out and the construction men
took it under way; then the labor gangs built that road like an arrow to
wherever it had to go. If a mountain stood in the way, you got rid of the
mountain; if there was a deep valley, you flung a bridge across the valley; if
there was a river, you bridged the river. Nothing halted Rome and nothing
halted the Roman road.
This highroad, upon which these three light-hearted young people were
travelling south from Rome to Capua, was called the Appian Way. It was a well-
built, broad road of alternate layers of volcanic ash and gravel, and surfaced
with stone. It was made to last. When the Romans put down a road, they laid it
not for this year or the next, but for centuries. That was how the Appian Way
was laid down. It was a symbol of the progress of mankind, the productivity of
Rome, and the enduring capacity of the Roman people for organization. It
stated quite clearly that the Roman system was the best system mankind had
ever devised, a system of order and justice and intelligence. The evidence of