Publilius sat inside the military tent at the rebel army camp. Outside, the cries of elderly men, screams of women, and sobs of children echoed without pause. He seemed deaf to it all, engrossed in fiddling with a severed head handed to him by his subordinate. Finally, he spoke: "I’ve heard that this Cross had an impressive win rate in Capua’s gladiatorial arena. Any gladiator who faced him was either killed or gravely injured. Spectators called him the Gaul Evil Wolf. Judging by his ferocious features, it’s quite fitting."
"No matter how fierce the brute, before you, my lord, they are mere clay chickens and mangy dogs," his subordinate flattered quickly.
"No, this Cross cannot be underestimated. Even with such poor equipment, they managed to inflict thousands of casualties on us. If I hadn’t prepared thoroughly in advance, this battle might’ve ended quite differently..."
Publilius spoke solemnly to his subordinate, "Take this severed head and immediately return to Rome. Announce this victory to the people, but when reporting to the Senate, be truthful about the grueling nature of this battle. Let them understand these rebels are not so easily vanquished. That way, our triumph will appear all the more hard-earned."
Publilius turned to another subordinate. "If even this Cross was so troublesome, defeating Spartacus’ rebel army, who are stronger and more numerous, will surely be an even greater challenge! Head north immediately, find Crodianus, and remind him not to engage this band of rebels alone. Hold the camp firmly until I arrive with reinforcements. Then we’ll crush them together."
..........................................
The rebel army’s main forces traversed Apulia, entering Fluentani territory—a shift from flat plains into hilly terrain that significantly increased the difficulty of their march.
Although advancing along the coastal roads would be smoother, Spartacus understood that relying entirely on roads deep within enemy territory would be incredibly perilous. Thus, he adopted a different marching strategy from Maximus and the vanguard forces, splitting the main forces into two. The supply camp and non-combat personnel used the coastal route, while he led the combat troops through the hills.
This inevitably slowed their march considerably. However, with the Roman Army’s pursuit still lackluster, Spartacus and the other leaders weren’t overly anxious.
The food supply, however, demanded their immediate attention. The main rebel forces were vast in number, and while stationed in camps in the Calabria Region, feeding everyone was already the leaders’ most pressing concern—though still manageable. But on the march, the demand for food skyrocketed, and supplying grain became increasingly strained.
Fortunately, it was now May. Though wheat wasn’t fully ripe, most had reached the grain-filling stage and could barely be consumed. Fluentani’s hilly terrain was crisscrossed with streams and dotted with numerous farmlands. Moreover, the forests provided an abundance of wild vegetables, fruits, and active wildlife. After deliberating with his fellow leaders, Spartacus implemented strict food rationing measures, ensuring minimal consumption of stored supplies. They camped early daily, allowing the warriors to gather provisions locally to satisfy their hunger.
This approach naturally infringed upon Fluentani’s interests. Yet, the Fluentani people, perhaps intimidated by the sheer might of the rebel army, refrained from taking hostile actions. As long as the rebels didn’t attack their cities, the locals tolerated their fields being harvested and items from houses outside the city being looted...
Meanwhile, Maximus’ vanguard forces, advancing along coastal roads, lived relatively comfortably.
Historically, the coastal Fluentani people maintained intricate ties with Adriatic Pirates. In fact, the cliffside town of Ortona was built with Fluentani consent for pirates to inhabit. Their dwellings were pieced together from wrecked ships and scorned as "beast-like abominations" by Romans.
After occupying Sarabia, Maximus’ forces developed favorable relations through maritime trade with certain Adriatic pirates, especially Karsipengpas. With their assistance, Maximus negotiated agreements with the Fluentani coastal towns: the rebels wouldn’t launch aggressive actions against the towns in return for food and essential supplies for the march and camp life...
Maximus’ forces crossed the Atenum River first, entering Umbria.
Umbria barely extends towards the Adriatic coast, with most of its territory inland. Within days, the forces reached Pisenum.
Pisenum, still characterized by hills, was home to various ethnic groups: Pisentini, Vestini, Marsi, Peligni, and Marussini. Though small in number, these groups were undeniably courageous, making Pisenum one of Italy’s regions most distant from Rome.
Decades ago, the Roman Alliance War began here, sparked by the Marsi people. Their leader, Pompeius, sought to replace Rome with Cophenium, renamed Italica. This demonstrated their ambition and earned the moniker "Marci War." Unfortunately, they ultimately lost, leading to years of Roman oppression. Recent years hadn’t been favorable for these people.
The arrival of the rebel army, surging like a flood, evoked behavior from the Pisenum locals similar to the Fluentani’s—but with less fear and subtle hints of hope.
Maximus led his forces to Pisenum’s southern coastal town, Mateninum, when Cavalry Captain Haguks, responsible for scouting ahead, rushed back.
"Leader, we scouted a Roman Camp near Ascoli Port, stretching westward to Ascoli Piceno. Due to Roman cavalry patrols near the camp, we avoided getting too close and couldn’t estimate their numbers."
Haguks didn’t appear discouraged. He gestured to a farmer he had brought back. "On my way back, I encountered this man. He claims to know the origins of this Roman force and is willing to join us in the fight against the Romans."
"Oh?" Maximus curiously studied the farmer: a short man in tattered linen clothing, coated in dust—a clear sign of hardship. Yet, his well-defined features radiated a spirit of unyielding defiance.
The farmer slightly lowered his head before declaring loudly, "Greetings! My name is Demolius, a Marsi, nephew of Pompeius!—"
Pompeius... Maximus was stunned, glancing at Quintus by his side. The staff officer had recently recounted this region’s Roman history to him, including mention of the name. The young farmer’s proud expression clearly showed his admiration for his deceased relative.
"...Due to that war decades ago, Rome has treated the people of Pisenum unjustly. Everyone harbors resentment in their hearts..."
Demolius’ face flushed with anger. He took a deep breath, calming his emotions before continuing, "Last year, we heard of your uprising and rejoiced that someone dared to resist the Romans. We’ve been keeping a close eye on you since. However, the Roman officials, constantly wary of us, tightened their grip on Pisenum towns, preventing us from joining you sooner—"
"When you say ’we,’ who are you referring to?" Maximus couldn’t help but ask.
"The Pisenum people eager to fight Rome alongside you, including myself!" Demolius straightened his chest, pointing to himself with determination. "Though they are currently tied down, I managed to slip away to meet you."