‘The goat-fucking, yellow-livered, spineless son of a whore!’ The veins in Spartacus’ neck bulged dangerously. ‘I’ll cut off his prick and feed it to him!’
‘I’m alive. I’ll recover,’ she murmured, forgetting for a moment her own pain. ‘It’s not as if it hasn’t happened to me before.’
His jaw dropped. ‘Who? When? How?’
She couldn’t look at him. ‘My father. All through my childhood. It only stopped when I went to train in Kabyle.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, stroking her hand. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘No one does. You’re the first person I’ve ever told.’ She managed a tiny glance at him before her shame dragged her eyes away again.
‘What kind of monster was he?’ Spartacus raised his right fist and clenched it until the flesh went white. ‘If the bastard was here, I’d make him pay!’ His gaze flickered back to Ariadne. He took in some of the suffering in her eyes. ‘Let’s not talk about him, or Phortis.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Just hold my hand, please.’
‘Of course.’ He squeezed her fingers.
Reassured, she closed her eyes.
Spartacus watched over her as she slipped into a deep sleep. Alone with his thoughts again, he fantasised about killing Phortis and Ariadne’s father. Despite his overwhelming desire for revenge, he knew that murdering the Capuan would prove far more difficult than it would have previously. He’d take great care from now on never to be without protection. Yet Spartacus was more concerned about Phortis making further attempts to rape Ariadne. He made a silent oath to the Rider. That couldn’t happen. Wouldn’t happen.
Even as he swore, Spartacus felt doubt gnawing away in his gut. Although many men were now loyal to him, he wasn’t omnipotent. No matter how hard he tried to ensure that Ariadne was guarded, Spartacus couldn’t guarantee that a week or a month or a year down the line, an opportunity wouldn’t arise for the Capuan to strike. And strike he would. Getas had mentioned his threat to Ariadne.
It’s not just me that’s a piece of meat, to be observed fighting and dying, he realised with bitterness. Ariadne is one too. To abuse. To rape. To discard.
Rage consumed Spartacus again. He wanted to jump up and punch the wall, but Ariadne still had a grasp on his fingers. He looked down at her tenderly. I cannot let that fate befall her, he promised himself. I will not let it. Other than killing her, or jointly committing suicide, which were not options Spartacus would entertain, there was only one other avenue to take. The one that had come to him in the aftermath of his fight before Crassus.
I will escape this shithole, he decided. And I’ll take Ariadne and every damn gladiator that will follow me! The Thracians who are sworn to me will definitely come, and with the Rider’s blessing, more will too. Phortis will be the first to die before we leave. Batiatus too, if I can manage it. It’s a pity that Crassus won’t be here. I’d gut that bastard as well.
Finally, a smile traced its way across Spartacus’ lips.
It was good to have a real plan at last.
In the same instant, an image of the snake wrapped around his throat flashed into Spartacus’ mind. Suddenly, he felt very cold. Would he be slain in the escape? The frustration he’d been battling over Ariadne’s failure to explain the dream’s meaning flared up. The lapse in his resolve was momentary. He shoved out his chest. Death was a better end, and more appealing than waiting for Phortis to make his move. If it came, he would make it a warrior’s death. Ariadne would fight too.
They would have an end fitting for any Thracian, man or woman.
Ariadne did not wake again fully until the next morning. Spartacus was immensely relieved that she seemed much better. Even the surgeon was satisfied with her improvement, agreeing to let her sit outside in the warm sunshine rather than stay in bed.
‘I’m not going to hide away,’ asserted Ariadne. ‘I want that animal Phortis to see that he can’t crush my spirit … or own my flesh.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said Spartacus, impressed by her courage and determination.
‘I am.’
Gently, he helped her out of the door. Getas and Seuthes were already waiting. So was Carbo. They ushered Ariadne to a stool, and the Thracians stood either side of her, bristling like a pair of guard dogs. Carbo smiled at her, trying not to think about how he’d feel if the same had happened to Chloris.
Spartacus gave his friends a questioning look.
‘We will both die before anyone lays a hand on her,’ swore Getas.
‘You’ll also hear us bellowing your name,’ Seuthes muttered.
‘No one will harm her,’ promised Carbo. ‘I swear it.’
‘Good,’ said Spartacus, satisfied. ‘And the other matter we discussed?’ Now that he was about to act on his decision, he wanted a final reassurance.
Carbo hadn’t ever thought of escaping the ludus – why would he, when things were going well? But if Spartacus was going to lead, he would have to follow. He was one of the Thracian’s men now, for good or ill. If he didn’t remain loyal, he’d never be able to hold his head up in pride again. Carbo hated to admit it, but there was also another reason. With Spartacus gone, he would again become easy prey to the predatory fighters who remained in the ludus. ‘We’re all with you, and so are the others. Thirty-two of us.’
‘To the death,’ added Getas.
Spartacus’ eyes glinted dangerously. That’s what I want to hear. He wasn’t totally sure of Carbo yet, but he didn’t think that the young Roman was a snitch.
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Ariadne.
Spartacus squatted down by her side, and the others moved away so they could talk in private. In a whisper, he explained what he’d decided the night before. ‘I’m going to approach the other leaders today.’ He was pleased by her fierce nod of approval.
‘We’ve got to do something,’ she agreed. ‘I will ask Dionysus to watch over you.’
‘Thank you.’ As Spartacus stood, he saw again the snake coiling itself around his neck. I have to do this. Regardless of the cost.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ He was surprised that she’d noticed.
Liar. ‘Who will you ask first?’
‘Oenomaus,’ replied Spartacus instantly. ‘He has the most followers.’
‘If he throws in his lot with you, others will follow,’ she said, probing.
‘That’s my hope, yes.’
‘How will you persuade him?’
‘I’ll find a way.’
Ariadne honed in on the slight uncertainty in his voice. She stared into his eyes long and hard. ‘Did you dream of the snake again?’
He nodded unwillingly. She sees much.
For the briefest instant, Ariadne considered lying, telling him that Dionysus had shown her an explanation for his vision. No, she decided. That might anger the god. Might make things worse than they already were. ‘And you think that this could mean your death?’
‘Our deaths,’ he answered quietly.
Ariadne looked at him. The loud sounds of activity in the yard died away as the world closed in around them. Even Getas and Seuthes, who were only a few steps away, seemed less real.
‘If things go wrong, I can’t leave you behind for that fucking jackal. I, or one of us, will end it for you first.’
She gripped his hand. ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way. We will stay together – in life or death.’
He smiled grimly. ‘So be it.’
Ariadne watched as Spartacus walked off alone. She nodded a welcome as Getas, Seuthes and Carbo resumed their positions, but inside, doubts plagued her. After what had happened the previous day, it was all too easy to presume the worst possible outcome from his dream. Dionysus, help him, she prayed. I have ever been your faithful servant. Do not forsake me or my husband now.
Spartacus headed straight for Oenomaus, who was sitting at a table, eating with his men. The certainty he’d felt the night before was still there, but he had no idea if the
German – or anyone else for that matter – would agree with him. He’d never spoken to Oenomaus, and his plan did border on the lunatic. Great Rider, stay by my side. I ask you to guide my path. Spartacus was a dozen steps from Oenomaus when a barrel-chested man with long hair and a bushy beard stood up and blocked his way. Several others moved to join him, their hands reaching into their tunics for hidden weapons. ‘Stop right there,’ growled the first man in poor Latin. ‘What do you want?’
Spartacus raised his hands in peaceful greeting. ‘Nothing much. Just a word with Oenomaus.’
‘Fuck off. He doesn’t want to speak to you.’
Spartacus peered around the other’s bulk. ‘Oenomaus!’
The German turned his head. ‘Who called my name?’
‘I did,’ answered Spartacus. He glanced at the bearded man blocking his way. ‘Your polite friend here says that you wouldn’t want to talk to me.’
‘Polite? Him?’ The corners of Oenomaus’ lips lifted a fraction. ‘He’s right, though. Why would I bother with the likes of you?’
‘What I’ve got to say might interest you.’
‘You’re the one who fought before Crassus?’
‘Yes.’
‘Most men would have succumbed to the wound you took. You did well to win.’
‘Thank you.’
Oenomaus indicated the bench across the table from him. ‘Take a seat.’ The men opposite hastily shuffled out of the way.
Stepping around the glowering German, Spartacus walked forward. He glanced around as he sat down, checking that none of the guards appeared interested. To his relief, none were even looking in their direction. Phortis was nowhere to be seen either. All the more reason to move fast.
‘So, what do you want?’ asked Oenomaus bluntly.
He’s direct. That’s good. Spartacus glanced at the fighters to either side. ‘What I’ve got to say is private.’
‘These are my most trusted men,’ growled Oenomaus. ‘Speak your piece or piss off.’
‘Fair enough.’ Spartacus leaned closer. ‘I’m going to escape from the ludus with my followers. I wondered if you wanted to join me.’
Shock filled every face around him. Oenomaus was the first to recover. ‘Say that again.’
Spartacus took a quick look around. Still no sign of Phortis. Calmly, he repeated himself.
‘You don’t know me or what I’m capable of. How can you be sure that I won’t just turn around and tell Batiatus what you’re planning?’ demanded the German.
‘I can’t,’ replied Spartacus with a careless shrug. ‘But in my experience, a man who leads more than fifty others is not usually a rat.’
Oenomaus looked pleased. ‘You’re right about that. Go on.’
Spartacus seized his chance. ‘There are two hundred of us in the ludus. Batiatus has, what, thirty, thirty-five guards?’ He thumped one hand into the other, quietly, so that no one would see. ‘If enough of us took part, there is no way that they could stop us from seizing the armoury.’
Oenomaus’ gaze flickered to the balcony above. ‘The guards are well armed. Many men would die before we laid our hands on the weapons.’
‘Probably,’ retorted Spartacus. ‘Isn’t that better than dying in the arena to the roars of a Roman crowd?’
‘Some would say not, especially if they have survived a year or two within these walls.’ Oenomaus’ eyes were shrewd. ‘If their woman was under threat from Phortis, of course, they might feel differently.’
‘That’s not the only reason I want to escape.’
‘No?’
‘When I killed that warrior yesterday, I saw Batiatus’ and Crassus’ reactions. To them, I was no more than a circus act. Crassus said as much too.’
‘Do you not think I know that? We fight. Sometimes we are wounded. Sometimes we die. A little prize money comes our way from time to time. The best of us have a woman. It’s not much different to being a warrior in a war band.’
Have you no spine? Spartacus wanted to shout. He had the wits not to. That would be the surest way of turning the German against him. He pitched his voice low. Assertively. ‘By escaping, we would recover not only our independence and the right to determine our own fate, but our pride. Our pride!’
Oenomaus rubbed a finger along his lips, thinking.
Spartacus waited. He mustn’t push too hard.
‘It’s risky. Very risky,’ pronounced Oenomaus a moment later. ‘Who else is with you?’
The stakes were too high to lie, thought Spartacus. ‘I came to you first.’
‘No one else has said “yes” then?’
‘I have thirty-one men who will follow me to their deaths.’
‘That’s certainly what they will do if there are no more of you,’ replied Oenomaus acerbically.
‘So you won’t join me?’
‘If you manage to persuade some others, we can talk again.’ Oenomaus made a gesture of dismissal.
Spartacus raised his eyes to the heavens. Is that it? he screamed silently.
The bearded brute who’d tried to stop him talking to Oenomaus was already at his back. ‘Time to go.’
Furious, Spartacus stood. There was no point creating a scene. That would burn the foundations of any bridges he might have just built.
Oenomaus turned away to confer with one of his cronies.
‘Come on,’ growled the bearded German. He laid a hand on Spartacus’ arm.
‘Don’t touch me,’ hissed Spartacus. He was gratified when his order was actually obeyed.
He’d taken perhaps half a dozen steps when a finger of memory tickled his brain. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He spun around, alarming the bearded man. ‘Wait. I must speak with Oenomaus again.’
‘No fucking way. You had your chance.’ Ham-like fists reached out to grab Spartacus’ tunic.
Spartacus ducked back, out of the way, and then darted forward to plant a fist in the other’s solar plexus. He used all his strength. The bearded man’s mouth opened in a great ‘O’ of surprise as the air left his lungs, and he sank to his knees like a stunned ox.
There was instant uproar. Benches clattered to the ground. A dozen Germans jumped up. Weapons glinted as they were whipped out, and Spartacus knew he had the briefest instant to speak before they were buried in his flesh. ‘Oenomaus! I regret downing your man, but he wouldn’t listen to me. There is something else.’
To his surprise and relief, Oenomaus raised a hand. His glowering supporters held back. He raised an eyebrow. ‘This had better be good.’
‘It is,’ promised Spartacus. ‘As Crassus went upstairs yesterday, I heard him say that he needed twenty skilled fighters for a munus. He seemed keen to buy them from here.’
‘Nothing remarkable about that,’ snapped Oenomaus. His men took a step towards Spartacus and this time, he didn’t stop them.
‘They are all to fight in contests to the death.’ Again he had all of their attention. What Spartacus didn’t say – didn’t need to say – was that at least half of the men would be German.
‘You’re lying!’
Spartacus stared straight at Oenomaus. ‘I swear on the grave of my mother, and by Dionysus and the Great Rider, that I am not.’
Oenomaus frowned.
Spartacus threw up another prayer, asking the gods for their help.
‘Who would lead this enterprise?’
Another loaded question, thought Spartacus. Thank the Rider he’d come up with the answer beforehand. ‘No one man. Both of us will look after our own followers. The same will apply to Gavius and the Gauls’ leaders, if they want to be part of it.’
Oenomaus grunted. ‘Where would we go?’
‘I don’t know yet. But one of my men is the new auctoratus. He knows the area, and can give us some ideas.’ That’s it. I’ve done my best.
There was a long pause.
Then Oenomaus leered. His expression was all teeth, like a wolf’s. ‘Count us in.’ He winked at those around him, and like a pack who have spotte
d an easier prey to take down, they growled in agreement.
Spartacus’ heart leaped. He gave a tiny nod, as if he’d expected nothing else. ‘Good.’
‘Can you persuade the others to join too?’
He offered the German a confident smile. ‘Leave them to me.’
‘Keep me informed.’
‘I will. Not a word to anyone.’ Movement flickered at the edge of Spartacus’ vision. A quick look told him it was Phortis. Shit! He framed the Capuan’s name with his lips.
Oenomaus winked to show he’d understood.
Spartacus kicked the bearded German. ‘Tell this idiot to watch his step.’
‘Go fuck yourself,’ yelled Oenomaus.
Spartacus backed away slowly, as if wary of being attacked. The Germans showered him with insults as he went. When Spartacus looked again, Phortis was smirking at the apparent enmity between him and Oenomaus. He’s taken the bait. Good.
Encouraged by his early success, Spartacus spent the rest of the day approaching other leaders in the ludus. When Gavius, the stocky fighter who led more than forty Samnites, heard of Oenomaus’ involvement, he was quick to promise his support. So too were the majority of the Thracians. Spartacus had no such luck with Castus and Gannicus, who led two separate groups of Gauls. Neither seemed as if they’d inform on him, but the pair couldn’t put aside their suspicion of the other factions, let alone of each other. He made no effort to talk to the remaining fighters. They were made up of too many nationalities. Spartacus didn’t bother trying to win over Crixus either. The big man’s glare followed him around the yard and told him his likely response.
Troubled by his failures, he took counsel with Getas and Seuthes. Carbo lingered in the background, feeling honoured to be included.
‘Maybe we should just forget about the Gauls,’ said Getas, scowling. ‘They’re troublesome bastards at the best of times.’
Seuthes chuckled. ‘He’s not wrong there.’
‘Yes, but they’re fearsome bloody fighters,’ added Spartacus. ‘Once we’re on the outside, we’ll be completely alone, with no friends. Every man’s hand will be turned against us. Think of that.’ If we succeed, where will we go? He felt a thrill of hope. I could go back to Thrace. Find Kotys.