‘It galls you to be a slave? A gladiator?’
‘Yes.’ He’d said it before he could stop himself. ‘Of course it does.’
Spartacus threw Phortis a filthy stare. The Capuan’s lip curled in response. ‘I shouldn’t be here.’
‘That’s what every man says,’ interjected Batiatus.
Albinus and Phortis laughed.
Whoresons, thought Spartacus.
Crassus smiled politely at the joke, but his attention remained on Spartacus. ‘How did it happen?’
Spartacus blinked in surprise that the other should ask. ‘I returned to my village after fighting with the legions—’
‘You fought for Rome?’
‘Yes. For eight years. Upon reaching home, I discovered that the rightful heir to the throne had been murdered by the man who now calls himself King of the Maedi. So had my father. I immediately made plans to overthrow the usurper, but I was betrayed.’
‘By whom?’
‘A friend.’
‘It’s no surprise that you are bitter. And what would you have done if you had achieved your aim?’
Spartacus hesitated, holding Crassus’ gaze, and wondering if he should keep silent. But he was too angry to stop. ‘After putting Kotys and his henchmen to death, I would have made plans to lead my tribe against Rome again.’
Crassus arched an eyebrow. ‘And what would have been your aim?’
‘To drive the legions off our lands. Forever.’
‘Forever?’
‘Yes.’
‘You must know little of Rome and its history,’ said Crassus with an amused look. ‘Even if you had succeeded, our armies would have returned in vengeance. They always do.’
‘You have led legionaries into war?’ demanded Spartacus.
For the first time, Crassus’ self-assurance faltered. ‘Not abroad.’
‘Where then?’
‘Against my own people, in a civil war.’
It’s no surprise you did that, thought Carbo savagely. You have no mercy.
‘And I thought that I was the savage?’ asked Spartacus.
‘This is too much,’ protested Batiatus.
‘Be silent! I am still talking to this …’ Crassus hesitated. ‘… gladiator.’ He added in a hiss, ‘At least he doesn’t see the need to lick my arse.’
Batiatus flushed and looked away. Beside him, Albinus harrumphed in quiet indignation.
Encouraged by this tiny victory, Spartacus quickly continued, ‘I would have unified the tribes. What would Rome have made of that?’ He was pleased by the trace of fear in Albinus’ and Batiatus’ eyes. Phortis bristled, but did not dare speak while Crassus, his better, held the floor. A man who showed no apprehension at Spartacus’ words at all. No career soldier then, but he’s not short of courage. I wonder if he could lead an army, as I could.
‘You risk much by revealing this. A single word from me, and you’ll be a dead man,’ said Crassus, ignoring Batiatus’ alarm.
Spartacus cursed himself silently for having let his anger speak first. He looked down at the sand. Great Rider, I ask for your help once more.
‘I won’t give the order, however.’ Crassus inclined his head at the lanista, who beamed in gratitude. ‘Why? Because there’s more chance of the heavens falling than you leading an army against Rome. Look at you! Reduced to fighting for our amusement.’ He smiled maliciously. ‘You’re little more than a performing animal, damned to perform the same primitive dance whenever we demand it.’
Spartacus dropped his gaze even lower, as if in subservience. Inside, however, he was incandescent with rage. ‘That’s all I am, yes,’ he said. Or so you think. Give me half a chance, and I’d show you different.
Crassus turned away, satisfied. ‘After all that bloodshed, I feel the need for some wine.’ At once Batiatus jumped in, promising fine vintages in the humble luxury of his quarters. ‘Good.’ Crassus added in an undertone, ‘If you have other fighters of similar quality, we can do business. I’ll want that Thracian, but I will need at least twenty more for my upcoming munus.’
Spartacus’ ears pricked, but Phortis had noticed him. ‘Piss off. Get that wound seen to.’
The last he heard was Batiatus asking, ‘All mortal bouts?’ and Crassus barking in reply, ‘Naturally. I need to impress.’
From his cell, Carbo hawked and spat in Crassus’ direction. Great Jupiter, bring me face to face with him one day, please.
Spartacus shuffled off towards the infirmary. His mind was racing. Crassus’ contempt had driven home further than ever before the triviality of his existence. If he was soon to be forced into another fight to the death, what was the point in carving out a following and a position of respect among the gladiators in the ludus? He was nothing but a child’s toy. A Roman plaything.
A seething fury took hold of him. Spartacus recognised and welcomed the volcanic emotion. It was how he’d felt when he was riding to war with the Maedi against Rome, a lifetime ago. How he’d felt when plotting to overthrow Kotys. This time, he only had thirty or so men who’d follow him, but that no longer mattered.
He saw the snake wrapped around his neck, but shoved the disturbing image away.
Something had to be done.
Somehow he had to be free.
Chapter VIII
AS SOON AS the cell doors had been unlocked, Ariadne hurried in search of Spartacus. Like faithful shadows, Getas and Seuthes followed her. They were as concerned as she. Ariadne found her husband in the sick bay, which was positioned beside the mortuary. She tried not to dwell on the significance of that proximity. He won. He’s alive. How long will his luck hold out, though? she wondered in the next heartbeat. What if his dream means that his death is imminent?
Ariadne managed to pull a smile on to her face as she entered the whitewashed room, which was furnished with several cots and an operating table covered in old bloodstains. Shelves lined one wall, stacked with a frightening variety of probes, hooks, spatulas and scalpels. Dark blue bottles of medicine stood in careful rows alongside the metal instruments.
The surgeon, a stoop-shouldered Greek of indeterminate age, was crouched over Spartacus, obscuring the view of the door. ‘Hold still,’ he ordered, pouring the contents of a little vial over the cut. ‘Acetum,’ he said with satisfaction as Spartacus hissed with pain. ‘It stings like a dozen wasps.’
‘More like twenty, I’d say,’ replied Spartacus sarcastically.
‘It’s excellent at preventing gangrene and blood poisoning, though,’ said the surgeon. ‘So the pain is well worth it.’
‘The pain is nothing,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘How bad is the wound?’
Ariadne stopped herself from calling out. A pulse hammered at the base of her throat. Dionysus, stay with him, she pleaded.
‘Let me see.’ Picking a probe from the tray beside him, the surgeon began to examine the gash. He poked and prodded, and Ariadne saw Spartacus’ free hand clenching into a fist. Her heart bled for him, but she said nothing. She was too worried.
‘It’s not deep,’ pronounced the surgeon a moment later. ‘The blade sliced through the skin and the subcutaneous tissue, but the muscle below hasn’t been damaged. You’re lucky. I’ll place a line of metal clamps along the wound. It should be healed within two weeks. You’ll be able to fight again in a month.’
‘Wonderful,’ said Spartacus drily. ‘Batiatus will be pleased.’
The surgeon reached over to the nearest shelf and in doing so, noticed Ariadne. ‘Ah! You have a visitor.’
Ariadne hurried forward. Close up, the blood from the shallow cut on his cheek looked horrifying. Without even realising, she reached out to touch his face. ‘You’re all right?’
He smiled. ‘I will be, yes.’
They stared at each other, and then Spartacus reached up to enclose her hand in his.
Ariadne bit her lip, but she didn’t move. She could feel a strange but pleasant warmth in the pit of her stomach. He was going to be fine. Thank you, Dionysus.
> The surgeon came fussing in with a bowl of metal staples and the magic vanished, like a feather carried away on the wind. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that later. What he needs now is for that wound to be closed, before any foul airs get into it. Leave us in peace.’
Spartacus’ lips twitched. ‘You heard the man. I’ll see you in our cell in a short while.’
‘Yes.’ Reluctant to let Spartacus out of her sight, Ariadne backed away. She lingered by the door until the surgeon gestured irritably at her to get out. Feeling happier than she had in an age, Ariadne walked towards the baths. This was a good time of the day to have a wash. The gladiators mostly washed in the evening, when their day’s work was done. Getas and Seuthes would check that the area was empty, and then she could relax in peace. And think about Spartacus, she thought with a guilty stab of pleasure.
She smiled at the two Thracians as they disappeared inside. For once, life was very sweet.
‘Going to clean yourself up and give him a victory fuck, are you?’
Ariadne turned in horror to find Phortis three steps away, with half a dozen guards at his back. Several were carrying lengths of rope. The Capuan clicked his fingers. ‘You know what to do.’ Grinning, the men shoved past, into the baths.
Too late, Ariadne cursed her decision not to carry her snake. She’d thought only to be gone from her cell for a few moments. ‘W-what are you doing?’ Her eyes flickered around the yard, desperately looking for Carbo, or any of the Thracians allied to Spartacus. She couldn’t see a single one.
Knowing what she was doing, Phortis moved fast. He stepped in close, and shoved his face into hers. His breath stank, and Ariadne recoiled. ‘Why, nothing. I just wanted us to have a little time together without your shitbag of a husband.’
She tried to step away, but Phortis pinned her against the wall. One hand immediately dropped to her groin. Letting out a sigh of lust, he cupped her crotch with his palm. ‘Sweet,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Very sweet.’
Ariadne sank her teeth into his neck.
With an animal squeal of pain, Phortis pulled free. Ariadne had a brief impression of the blood oozing from her teeth marks before he backhanded her across the cheek with all his might. Half stunned, she felt her knees give way beneath her, but then Phortis threw an arm around her shoulders and hauled her bodily inside the door, shoving it closed with his foot.
Through eyes that were barely able to focus, Ariadne saw Getas and Seuthes lying tied up side by side. Both their faces were cut and bruised from the attack that had rendered them helpless. The leering guards stood over them. This was all planned, she thought dully. With that, Phortis threw her to the floor. Ariadne’s head cracked off the mosaic, and another sheet of pain slashed through her brain. She was barely conscious as the Capuan ripped off her clothes and pulled down his own undergarment. Old, terrible memories of her father were woken, however, when he knelt and she saw his throbbing erection spring free. ‘No!’ Ariadne mumbled. ‘Please, no.’
‘That means you really want it, you whore,’ Phortis snarled. ‘You’re all the same!’
‘No,’ she said, pitching her voice as loudly she could. Dionysus, help me!
‘Leave her alone, you bastard!’ shouted Getas.
One of the guards kicked him in the belly, and Phortis delivered another mighty slap to Ariadne’s face.
She slumped back on to the floor, unable to stop him from forcing her legs apart. He moved up to crouch over her, and she felt his stiffness pressing against her groin. ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment since I clapped eyes on you.’ With that, he leaned down to kiss her on the lips. Ariadne closed her eyes as the Capuan forced his tongue into her mouth. She tried with all her willpower to bite off the probing piece of flesh, but there was no power in her jaws. A heartbeat later, the magnitude of her ordeal was amplified a thousandfold when Phortis shoved his pelvis forward and tried to enter her.
Nausea and revulsion washed over Ariadne in a great tide – as it had so many times in her childhood. All at once, she felt an overwhelming need to vomit. She gagged; Phortis recoiled, and then she was sick all over her front. Little spatters of puke flew up to cover his face.
I wish you’d drown in it, you cocksucker.
Phortis used the arm of his tunic to wipe off the worst of the gobbets before leering down at her. ‘You dirty bitch! That’s only whetted my appetite.’ With a deep grunt, he pushed himself inside her and began to thrust to and fro.
Ariadne gasped with the shock and pain of it. She wasn’t surprised, when she looked up again, to see her father’s face instead of Phortis’. She saw the same lust twisting his features. The same glitter in his cold, dead eyes. Heard the same animal noises of pleasure leaving his lips. ‘I hate you,’ she hissed. ‘I always did, and I always will.’
‘Huh?’
She blinked. Phortis had reappeared. ‘I call down a curse on your miserable head,’ she breathed. ‘May Dionysus’ maenads stalk your every footstep. The moment that you stumble, they will swarm all over you, and rend your flesh to shreds. Nothing will be left of you but a grinning skull and a jumble of gnawed bones.’ Ariadne saw the fear mushroom in Phortis’ eyes, felt him shrivel inside her, and somehow she dragged a manic laugh from the bottom of her lungs. ‘Call yourself a man? You’re nothing but a limp-pricked pig!’
This time, it was Phortis’ turn to recoil. Ariadne’s reprieve lasted no more than a heartbeat, however. He drew back his right arm to strike her again. She closed her eyes, and steeled herself against the pain that would follow.
‘Phortis!’
Ariadne felt the Capuan tense. His blow did not fall.
‘Phortis, where are you, damn it? Crassus is about to leave. We still have much to discuss.’ Batiatus sounded irritated.
Phortis grabbed Ariadne’s chin and forced her to look at him. ‘You’re in luck, you whore. Next time, you won’t be so fortunate. And don’t think that there won’t be a next time! I’ll be watching you, from dawn till dusk. Spartacus and his pathetic rabble can’t watch over you every moment of every day. A gag in your mouth will stop you from spewing your poison. If you should choke to death on your vomit while I fuck you, no one would be better pleased than I.’
‘Phortis!’ yelled Batiatus.
‘I’m coming, master!’ Adjusting his clothing, the Capuan got to his feet. He glared at the guards. ‘Untie those two. Follow me out when you hear me move off with Batiatus.’ With a final, malevolent look at Ariadne, he was gone.
Overcome by her pain, her shame and her terror, Ariadne lapsed into the oblivion that had been threatening to overcome her.
When Ariadne awoke, her head felt as if someone was pounding a pair of lump hammers off it. A thin, thready pulse beat off the back of her eyelids. She opened her eyes, and a wave of nausea swept through her. She retched, and at once someone – the surgeon? – rolled her on to her side, placing the cold lip of a vessel to her lips. ‘Let it out. Let it all out.’
After a moment, it was clear that there was little left in Ariadne’s stomach to come up. The bowl was taken away, and she was moved on to her back again. ‘Spartacus,’ she croaked.
‘I’m here,’ he said gently.
Her eyes swivelled, finding him only a step away, right behind the surgeon. ‘Thank the gods,’ she whispered.
His smile was supposed to be reassuring, but the worry was etched clearly on his face as he turned to the Greek. ‘Well?’
‘I couldn’t feel any breaks in her skull, but it’s far too early to say if there’s been any lasting damage,’ muttered the surgeon. ‘She needs to stay in bed for at least a day and a night.’
Lasting damage? thought Ariadne in amazement. There was a fuzzy edge to her vision, and her headache was excruciating, but she could feel her strength beginning to return. ‘How long was I unconscious?’
‘Long enough. Phortis is an animal!’ replied the surgeon savagely. He handed Spartacus a glass phial. ‘She must take a sip of this every hour. Call for me if there’s
any deterioration in her condition. I’ll check on her later.’ He disappeared from view.
‘Gods.’ Ariadne finally recognised the interior of their cell. ‘You carried me in here?’
‘Yes, after Getas came screaming for me like a madman. He told me what had happened.’ Shame coated Spartacus’ every feature, and he hung his head. ‘I’m sorry. I failed you. I should have been there.’
‘You were having your arm seen to,’ she chided. ‘How were you to know that Phortis would attack me then? Getas or Seuthes aren’t to blame either.’ Panic seized her. ‘You haven’t done something to them, have you?’
Spartacus’ sheer fury twisted his good looks into something bestial. Something primeval. It was truly terrifying. ‘Not yet,’ he grated. ‘But they will pay, have no fear of that.’
‘No.’ Forcing away her weakness, Ariadne took his arm. ‘You must not. They were only following your orders, to check the baths before I went in. Phortis sent in six men to tie them up while he attacked me.’
‘So what?’ he spat. ‘They should still have protected you.’
‘Getas and Seuthes are not gods, they’re men. Just like you. They’re also your most loyal followers. And they are your friends.’ Seeing him flinch, Ariadne gentled her voice. ‘Knowing they failed will make them both twice as determined not to make the same mistake again.’
He nodded slowly. ‘They’ve sworn to die rather than let anything happen to you ever again.’
‘Forgive them then,’ she urged.
‘I have to forgive myself for what happened.’ Spartacus let out a heavy sigh. ‘So I suppose I can give the fools a second chance.’ His brows lowered. ‘As for that bastard Phortis! He will die screaming for his mother. Soon.’
‘Good. I want to watch him suffer too. But—’
‘I know.’ Regret replaced the fury. ‘There can be no quick revenge. He’ll be waiting for that. Just like he’ll be looking for another opportunity to—’ Spartacus’ jaw clenched. ‘Did he actually … ?’ he asked without looking at her. ‘Getas and Seuthes couldn’t see, but they heard …’
Emotion closed Ariadne’s throat, but she wrenched it open. Spartacus deserved to know. ‘He did, briefly.’