Chapter 20: Competition (1) Winter has passed, and the day for the war had finally arrived.
While it was not uncommon for a father and eldest son to go to war together in Rome, having a son who had not yet reached adulthood made the situation different.
Marcus's mother, Tertulla, was worried until the moment they were dispatched.
"Are you sure you want to go? It's not too late to stay at home. Why follow your father to such a dangerous place?"
"Don't worry, Mom. I'm turning 14 this year. In three years, I'll be old enough to officially enlist. Consider this an opportunity to gain experience."
"But there's no need to rush it. Why gain that experience three years early? How did you become so stubborn?"
Tertulla cast a resentful glance at Crassus, who was quietly inspecting his horse.
"You should have stopped him if he was being unreasonable. If something goes wrong, how will you handle it?"
"He'll always stay with me, so nothing will go wrong. I promise."
"If something happens to Marcus, don't even think about seeing my face again."
"That won't happen…"
Crassus, usually firm in their relationship, now had to yield to his wife. When the issue first arose, there were even discussions of divorce.
In the end, Marcus had to stay close to Tertulla and persuade her for several days to gain her conditional approval.
The conditions were clear: once this war was over, Marcus was not to go to war again until he was an adult. Crassus also swore to take responsibility for anything that might go wrong.
Despite agreeing to these terms, Tertulla continued to try to change Marcus's mind at every opportunity. It was the heart of a mother concerned for her child.
Marcus did his best to reassure her, but as he prepared to leave, Tertulla's worries remained.
Marcus mounted his horse, stepping into the stirrups.
"Y-Young Master…"
Danae rushed over, hesitating and struggling to find her words. Marcus looked down at her.
"What is it?"
"Young Master, could you please take me with you?"
"Take you?"
"Yes."
Desperation shone in Danae's eyes. She was frightened by the prospect of being left alone. The thought of living without Marcus was even more terrifying to her.
Danae was Marcus's personal slave, and she felt she belonged wherever Marcus was. She couldn't imagine life in Crassus's mansion without him.
"Even the elder master takes a slave to serve him."
"No. First of all, you're too young. Besides, unlike my father, I'm not of age to serve in the army. Bringing a slave along would reflect poorly on me."
"But if you're not here, I don't know what to do."
"I've already arranged for Septimus to assign you a tutor. While I'm away, focus on your studies, especially geometry."
Danae nodded, her expression tinged with sadness. Though she wanted to accompany him, she understood her position.
"I will do as you ask. Please, come back safe."
She turned to Spartacus, who stood by Marcus's side, and said, "Please take good care of the Young Master."
"Don't worry. I'll risk my life to protect him, not letting a single hair be harmed."
"I trust you, Spartacus."
As Danae and Spartacus spoke, Septimus approached Marcus and said, "Boss, did you tell Spartacus about the report I gave you the other day?"
"No, not yet."
"Should I tell him?"
Marcus shook his head slightly to avoid notice and whispered in a voice so low that Spartacus couldn't hear, "I'll tell him when the time is right. Good job on the research."
"Thank you. But please take care of yourself."
Septimus quietly stepped back without offering further advice.
After a brief farewell, Marcus rode out of the mansion with Crassus. It was not a final goodbye, so words were kept to a minimum.
The road down Palatine Hill, where the mansion was located, appeared as usual.
Crassus paused and looked back at Marcus with a serious expression.
"In the military, before being your father, I am the commander-in-chief of the corps. So, I want to say one last thing."
"Yes, please go ahead."
"I've spent my life focused on accumulating wealth and achieving political success. Maybe it's in my nature, but that hasn't changed. Recently, my ambitions have grown even more. Now, I desire to see you surpass me and anyone else, to achieve greatness beyond my reach. So—"
Crassus paused, his expression softening with a smile he had rarely shown.
"—So, stay by my side no matter what. Gain experience safely and become someone that neither I nor Pompey can surpass in the future."
Embarrassed by his own words, Crassus rode forward without waiting for a response.
Marcus, riding beside him, felt a tightness in his chest. After two years of calling Crassus "father" and living together, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of affection.
Marcus was determined to fulfill Crassus's wish, ensuring that his end would not be as tragic as in the original history. This was one outcome he could guarantee.
**
The sight of over 50,000 Roman soldiers lined up was truly magnificent.
With eight legions assembled, even if only the centurions were counted, there would be 500 of them.
The legionnaires, surveying their vast numbers, felt a natural confidence. Such an overwhelming force seemed unbeatable.
Even the troops from the defeated Archon's Legion felt revitalized.
Crassus, adorned in the scarlet cloak reserved for the commander-in-chief, addressed the troops.
"Listen, all troops! We are here to crush this vile rebellion. The rebels in the south are terrorizing and plundering Roman citizens, violating everything we hold dear.
"In the name of Jupiter, I will not forgive these wretches for their actions! But why have they been so bold?
"The reason is that our predecessors were defeated. Were we weaker than them? No! Rome has conquered Pyrrhus of Epirus, Hannibal of Carthage, and the powerful Eastern dynasties. We were defeated by these rebels because we failed to see them as a serious threat. We allowed ourselves to be undone by complacency and carelessness!"
The shame on the soldiers' faces was palpable. Particularly, those who had been defeated by gladiators could not bear to look straight ahead, their heads bowed.
"The current situation is dire. The enemy far outnumbers us, and despite our confidence from previous victories, they are not intimidated. To emphasize the seriousness of this situation, I am imposing the extreme punishment of decimation on the corps that was recently defeated."
The soldiers from the Archon's corps turned pale. Decimation was the harshest punishment in the Roman army: one in ten soldiers would be randomly selected to be executed by the other nine.
This severe punishment was rarely carried out, even when decreed. The fact that it was being considered on a corps-wide scale indicated the gravity of the situation.
At this moment, the staff intervened. They argued that the previous defeat was due to the prior commanders' ambition for military glory and pleaded for another chance before any action was taken.
Crassus had initially intended to enforce the decimation but was persuaded otherwise by Marcus. Marcus suggested pretending to enforce the sentence, similar to the tactics used by Caesar in his Gallic campaigns.
Crassus, reluctant to appear excessively cruel in front of his son, ultimately agreed to this approach. However, the soldiers, unaware of the ruse, were deeply anxious.
After the staff and corps commanders pleaded for mercy, Crassus finally spoke.
"Since there has been a plea for another chance, the execution of the sentence will be postponed. However, this decision is not canceled. If you underestimate the enemy and fight weakly, the sentence will be carried out."
The staff members quickly expressed their gratitude, and the soldiers from the corps who were to be sentenced vowed loudly to fight with all their strength.
The other legionnaires, observing the scene, displayed resolute determination in their eyes.
Crassus, seeing the disciplined resolve of his troops, nodded in satisfaction.
"Never forget your current earnestness and fighting spirit. Don't be afraid of the enemy, and don't be overconfident in yourself. Trust in your training and follow the orders of your commanders. I swear by Mars, the god of war, that as long as we stand together, defeat will not be our fate!"
As Crassus raised his weapon, the soldiers' fighting spirit surged, erupting in a roar that pierced the sky.
"Whoooooa!"
The soldiers' morale soared, their spirits lifted by the resounding cry.
Amidst the deafening cheers, Marcus felt a shiver run through his body. The echo of the soldiers' battle cry signaled the true beginning of the war. The memory of their previous defeat vanished from the minds of the Roman soldiers as they advanced with renewed determination.
With fiery resolve, they stomped the ground, ready for the promised victory and revenge.
**
The news of the Romans' advance quickly reached Crixus.
The pressure of facing eight legions weighed heavily on him.
In contrast, his subordinates seemed unfazed.
"They say the Romans are coming."
"Shouldn't we prepare for battle?"
"If we win again, the Romans are finished. We'll definitely defeat them."
Their casual talk belied the seriousness of the situation.
Crixus appeared to be the only one troubled by the news.
Last year, when a consul led an army against them, most of Crixus's followers had been shouting for retreat. But, with a bit of luck and the enemies' negligence, they achieved a miraculous victory.
Now, tens of thousands of rebels shared a common belief:
"It's worth more than we thought."
"They've been making a fuss about Rome, but there's nothing special about it."
Repeated victories and the absence of Spartacus to keep them in check led the rebels to lose their sense of caution.
Despite the looming threat of eight Roman legions, they continued to sneer and underestimate the danger.
The sense of crisis was numbingly absent.
Ashre, Crixus's right-hand man, pointed to the crude map spread out before them.
"I believe the Romans are likely advancing through this route. Even if they divert a bit, they are crossing a wide plain to avoid being caught off guard."
A hint of temptation sparked in the eyes of the rebel commanders who heard the explanation. The former slave shepherd, who led the assault force, spoke up.
"With the Romans numbering about 50,000, and our forces being twice that size, why don't we take the opportunity to strike here?"
The rebel commanders were not entirely foolish. They had their own reasons for their confidence.
Firstly, they could see their numerical advantage with their own eyes. The rebel ranks had swelled to nearly 100,000, including non-combatants, bringing the total to over 120,000. This was a force far exceeding any previous rebellion led by Spartacus.
Instead of fleeing north, they had plundered southern cities and recruited slaves and lower-class people. Such overwhelming numbers bred a sense of invincibility.
Secondly, they had already achieved victories against the Romans despite being outnumbered.
These factors combined to fuel their overconfidence.
The commanding officer, who had been cautious about troop supplies, raised a concern.
"It's not just a matter of holding out. With the increased numbers, our food supply is depleting too quickly."
"So, if we defeat all the Roman soldiers, we can easily resolve our supply issues."
"Exactly. Furthermore, another victory will likely break the resolve of the major southern cities. The path to real victory will be open."
"Make your decision!"
All eyes turned to Crixus.
Crixus scanned the faces of the commanders, sharing their enthusiasm for battle. Despite his own confidence bolstered by recent victories, a sliver of anxiety remained.
"The Romans must be furious after our previous victories. The 50,000 troops they've sent this time should be considered elite."
"Of course. We're not underestimating them. But it's also true that we can't simply retreat. We've grown too large to just run away."
The stocky middle-aged man's words were accurate. With close to 100,000 troops, it was unrealistic to keep retreating. They needed to fight at some point.
Still, Crixus hesitated. He wasn't sure if facing the Romans head-on was the right choice. It seemed feasible against an army comparable to the consul's, which they had previously fought. Though their armament was inferior, the rebels' numbers provided an advantage.
Roman soldiers were better trained, but the rebels had unmatched fighting spirit and anger toward Rome.
'Can we win? But a loss here could mean the end...'
Unlike Rome, which could continually replenish its legions, the rebels risked losing everything with a single defeat. Therefore, decisions needed to be made with care.
However, Crixus couldn't ignore the voices of his subordinates. If opinions were divided, none of his men were opposed to a confrontation. He was unsure what would transpire if he dismissed such unified support.
After a moment's hesitation, he finally nodded in agreement.
"Alright. Let's fight on the plains."
"Wow!"
"Let's bathe in Roman blood once more!"
As soon as Crixus finished speaking, cheers and applause erupted from all around.
Despite the enthusiasm, Crixus decided to take precautions. He pointed to a location on the map and spoke thoughtfully.
"However, the decisive battle will be here. If things go wrong, we can retreat to the forest behind us. Even in the worst-case scenario, we won't be annihilated."
"Ha ha, that won't happen."
"Didn't we overcome worse situations? We'll win again."
While the commanders were optimistic about the future, Crixus couldn't shake his anxiety.
'In addition to preparing for battle, I must also plan for potential defeat.'
'Even if I achieve my goal, I'm not ready to end things here.'
His troubled gaze remained fixed on the crude map, unseeing and heavy with concern.
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