Spartacus: The Gladiator Page 4

  He looked back at Ariadne. ‘Do you want to go with these men?’

  ‘You don’t have to do this,’ she whispered, not quite believing her eyes and ears.

  He didn’t acknowledge what she’d said. ‘Yes or no?’

  Ariadne looked at the quartet of bodyguards and shuddered.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘No,’ she heard herself say. Instantly, guilt tore at her. Why have you involved him too?

  He shrugged carelessly. ‘You heard. She’s not going.’

  ‘What’s your name, fool?’ hissed the lead warrior, raising his spear. ‘I like to know the name of a man before I kill him.’

  He ignored the demand. Drawing his sword, he pointed it straight at the man’s face. ‘Ready to die? Because that’s what is going to happen next.’

  Even in the poor light, it was possible to see the warrior turn pale. He glanced at his companions, who also looked far from happy.

  ‘Shall we get this over with?’ he snarled, taking a step towards them.

  Ariadne couldn’t believe her eyes. The bodyguard’s confidence shrank like a bladder pricked with a knife. ‘We’ve got no quarrel with you,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Nor I with you, but I’m not about to see you seize a priestess without good explanation,’ he snapped, continuing to advance. ‘It was my understanding that we held such people in great veneration. That we didn’t treat them like runaway slaves.’

  Lifting his spear point into the air, the warrior backed away. His companions did the same. ‘This isn’t going to end here,’ muttered the first man.

  ‘I’d be disappointed if it was.’ He watched as they vanished into the gloom.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t done that. You’ve as good as signed your own death warrant,’ Ariadne said coldly, disregarding the amazement she felt at the warriors’ about-turn.

  ‘A simple thank you would suffice,’ he replied in a mild voice.

  ‘I don’t want another’s death on my conscience!’ she said, colouring.

  ‘My fate is mine to decide, not yours,’ he growled. ‘What kind of a man would I be if I just let a group of thugs carry off a priestess?’ It was a rash move, all the time. Thank the Rider that none of them recognised me.

  ‘A wise one,’ she snapped.

  ‘Got quite the temper, haven’t you? Seeing as you don’t want my help, I’ll leave you to it. The gate’s still open.’ He picked up the lead rope and clicked his tongue at his horse. ‘Come on. Let’s get you stabling and some food. And better company, if we can find it.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Ariadne, hating her fear, which had resurged at the prospect of him leaving.

  He raised an eyebrow, which made him even more attractive.

  ‘It was noble of you to intervene. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Was there anything else?’ He made to move off again.

  ‘The king’s men won’t leave it at that, you know. They act as they please.’

  ‘I can tell. But they’ll have to find me first. The settlement is a big place to search for one man.’ He nodded in farewell.

  ‘Stay for a moment,’ asked Ariadne. Walking out into the night now seemed utterly terrifying. So too did waiting for Kotys’ warriors, alone.

  ‘I was going to until you decided to be rude.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she replied, her voice catching. ‘I didn’t want to see you hurt, that’s all.’

  ‘Your concern is endearing,’ he said in a gentler tone, ‘but let me worry about things like that.’

  ‘Very well.’ Ariadne felt embarrassed, but she continued regardless. ‘Please accompany me home. I have a small shed where you could stable your horse.’

  ‘Is it far?’ He gestured at the stallion. ‘As you’ve probably seen, he’s lame.’

  ‘It’s no more than a couple of hundred paces. Follow me.’ With her heart thumping in her chest, Ariadne led the way. By now, it was completely dark and the alleys had emptied of people. Only the occasional dog skittered by, giving them a wide berth. She caught him checking every shadow, and was relieved when he eventually relaxed a little.

  Ariadne was also pleased to see no lurking shapes near her house. Polles and his men were still in the alleyway or, more likely, had returned with their cheated comrades to the king. Filling a bucket of water from the nearby well, she left him settling the horse in the lean-to. She hurried inside, noticing as she lit an oil lamp that her hands were shaking. Trying to regain her composure, she sat down on the three-legged stool. Had her situation improved in any way? In reality, she had just exchanged one set of dangers for another. He might be a fearsome warrior, but he couldn’t fight all of Kotys’ men and expect to win. Despite her pessimism, Ariadne could not deny the spark of pleasure that glowed in her heart. He had been under no obligation to step in. Most sane men would have turned the other way when they’d seen the king’s bodyguards. Instead, at the risk of his own life, he had saved her. Weirdly, Ariadne felt a trace of hope. He had to know the odds that they faced, yet he remained calm, even unperturbed. That meant he must have a plan.

  She smiled as he entered, barring the door behind him. ‘Is your horse fed and watered?’

  ‘He is,’ he replied, looking satisfied.

  ‘You care for him greatly.’

  ‘I do. He’s been under me, or by my side, through more than five years of constant war.’

  ‘That’s a long time to be fighting.’

  ‘It is. That’s why I came home. To hang up my sword and settle down for a while. Instead, I’ve done the complete opposite.’ His lips twisted wryly. ‘To be honest, I’m not that surprised. The Rider has a habit of doing this to me. And he knows best.’

  ‘Nonetheless, I’m sorry,’ said Ariadne, feeling even worse.

  ‘We’ve covered this ground already,’ he said in a reproving voice. ‘It was my decision to intervene.’ My decision to enter the village, even when I was recognised.

  ‘It was,’ she acknowledged. Then, ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  ‘Nor I yours,’ he replied, smiling.

  ‘Ariadne.’ She couldn’t stop her cheeks from burning as she spoke.

  ‘It’s an honour to meet you. I am Spartacus.’

  She frowned. The name rang a bell in her head, but she didn’t know why. ‘How long have you been away exactly?’

  ‘Eight years, give or take. You’ve not been here that long.’

  ‘No. Six months.’

  ‘When did Kotys start bothering you?’

  ‘Practically from the first moment I got here. I’ve managed to fend him off thus far, but today, for whatever reason, he had had enough. Ostensibly, I was to dine with him, but it was just a façade. For him to—’

  ‘I can imagine,’ he interjected. ‘I knew that the whoreson was a murderer, but a rapist too? The world will be a better place when he’s gone.’ And if the Rider wills it, my blade will end his stinking life.

  ‘So the rumours are true then?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ he replied bitterly. ‘When Rhesus, the last king died, Kotys had his son and heir slain. Sitalkes, my father, must have tried to intervene, because he was killed too.’

  ‘Your father, murdered?’ Ariadne’s heart went out to him. ‘How did you find this out?’

  ‘I met a boy tending stock not half a mile from the front gate. It was easy enough to persuade him to talk. I wasn’t sure whether to believe it all, but one of the guards was an old comrade of my father’s. He confirmed the story. So did the friends I spoke to briefly.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She reached out to touch his arm, but suddenly self-conscious, stopped herself.

  His scowl deepened. ‘Not half as sorry as Kotys and Polles, whoever the fuck he is, will be soon.’

  Ariadne’s breath caught in her chest. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m told that Kotys is very unpopular. That the majority of warriors hate his guts and only his bodyguards are truly loyal. There are what, a hundred of them or so?’

  Still not
believing what she was hearing, Ariadne nodded.

  ‘If I can persuade sixty or seventy men to follow me, we’ll take them.’

  She saw the self-belief in his grey eyes, and her heart filled. Thank you, Dionysus! ‘This is what I’ve been praying for.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve also been plotting to overthrow a king?’

  ‘What of it?’ she retorted. ‘He’s nothing but a tyrant.’

  ‘Feisty, aren’t you?’ He gave her an approving look, and her stomach fluttered. ‘So you will help?’

  ‘In whatever way I can. I will consult the god, but I have no doubt that he would wish Kotys removed from power.’

  ‘Good. With your permission, I’ll tell the warriors exactly that.’

  She started up in alarm. ‘You’re going?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ll stay until midnight or so. If Polles and his men haven’t appeared by then, they’re not going to before the morning. I’ll rest until then. It’s been a long day.’

  Ariadne caught him looking at the cupboard where she kept her provisions. ‘I’m sorry. You must be hungry after your journey.’

  ‘I could eat.’

  ‘Let me fetch you something.’ Conscious of his eyes on her the whole time, Ariadne prepared a plate of bread and goats’ cheese. She added a spoonful of cold barley porridge from a blackened iron pot. ‘Apart from water, that’s all I have.’

  ‘It’s plenty,’ he said, reaching out with eager hands.

  Ariadne crept to the door while he demolished the food. Placing her ear against the timbers in a number of places, she listened. Nothing, apart from the usual chorus of dogs barking. It was some relief. Not knowing what else to do, she found a spare blanket and tossed it to him. She saw his eyes move to her bed. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas. You can rest on the floor.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked amused. ‘I expected no less.’

  Discomfited by his confidence – was it smugness? – she lay down on her bed without undressing and pulled up the covers.

  ‘Sleep well.’ He moved around the room, blowing out all but one of the oil lamps. Laying the mantle by the door, he drew his sword and placed it alongside. Then, sitting with his back against the wall, he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and closed his eyes.

  Almost at once, Ariadne found herself staring at him. The flickering of the lamp’s flame threw Spartacus’ regular features half into shadow, giving him a mysterious appearance. His hair was cut close to the scalp in the Roman military fashion. A faint scar ran off his straight nose on to his left cheek. A heavy growth of stubble covered his square, determined jaw. It was an attractive face, as she had noticed before. Hard, too, she thought, but she could see no cruelty there, no similarity to the likes of Polles or Kotys.

  Was it possible that he had been sent by Dionysus? she wondered. It was tempting to think so. If he hadn’t appeared, she would currently be dying of exposure, or of injuries sustained from falling off one of the precipices that lined the road away from the village. She offered a prayer of thanks to her god. That done, Ariadne relaxed on to her bed. It was time to get what rest she could. Tomorrow was another day.

  Ten steps away, Spartacus was silently communing with his own favourite deity, the Thracian rider god. He who shall not be named. I ask you to keep your shield and sword over us both. Let the warriors listen to me as I go among them. It was a heartfelt plea. For years, Spartacus’ life had been about nothing more than fighting, killing and learning Roman battle tactics. In the last two hours, things had changed more than he could have thought possible. His hopes of a warm homecoming had vanished. He was now seeking vengeance for his father’s murder. He was a potential regicide. Spartacus let out a long breath. Such was the way of the gods. Over the years, he’d learned to take the knocks that life delivered him, but this one was harder than most. As always, I bow to your will, Great Rider. He took a surreptitious look at Ariadne, and his fierce expression softened. Not everything that had happened since his return was to be regretted.

  Ariadne woke from an arousing dream in which Spartacus had enveloped her in his arms. Shocked, she sat up, clutching her blanket to her chest. He was by the door, sheathing his sword. ‘Good sleep?’

  ‘I-I think so,’ she muttered, hating her crimson cheeks and racing pulse.

  ‘You’re beautiful.’

  Startled, she glanced at him. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You heard. The best-looking woman I’ve ever seen in this village, if I may say so.’

  ‘You made a habit of comparing them, then?’ she asked, using sarcasm to cover her embarrassment.

  ‘Of course,’ he said, grinning. ‘Every man does.’

  Disarmed by his honesty, and more pleased than she’d ever let on, Ariadne pointed at the door. ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘No, nothing. It’s time for me to go.’

  Reality came crashing back, and her stomach clenched into a painful knot. ‘I see. How will I know what has happened?’

  ‘You’ll hear the fighting. It will soon be obvious who won.’

  Terror constricted Ariadne’s throat. She wanted to ask Spartacus not to leave, but she knew that would be futile. Everything about him now oozed grim determination. She let herself take strength from that. ‘The gods keep you safe.’

  ‘The Rider has been good to me all these years. I trust that he will continue to do so.’ He fixed her with his grey eyes, and smiled. ‘Afterwards, I would like to get to know you better.’

  For a moment, Ariadne’s tongue wouldn’t move. ‘I-I would like that too,’ she managed.

  ‘If things go against me—’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ she whispered. Images of Kotys filled her head.

  ‘Nothing is certain,’ he warned. ‘If it comes to it, take my horse and go. Even though he’s lame, you’re light enough for him to carry. With all that will be going on, nobody will notice that you’re gone for a day at least. You’ll be able to reach the next village, and seek sanctuary there.’

  What good will that do? Ariadne wanted to scream. All she did, however, was to shake her head in silent assent.

  He lifted the beam that barred the door. ‘Replace this after I’ve gone.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Get some more rest if you can.’

  Her chin firmed. ‘No.’

  He was halfway through the doorway, but he turned. ‘Eh?’

  ‘I will pray to Dionysus for your success. And Kotys’ death,’ she added.

  His eyes glinted. ‘Thank you.’ He slipped out without another word.

  Gods, but she’s fiery. Attractive too. Putting thoughts of Ariadne aside, he let his vision adjust to the darkness. Using all his senses, he scanned the alleyway. After a few moments, he relaxed. No one was stirring. Even the dogs had gone to sleep. Keeping a hand to his sword, he stole off through the gloom. Eight years of absence didn’t stop him from unerringly making his way to Getas’ house. He’d grown up here and knew every alley and path in the settlement like the back of his hand. The yellow glow of lamplight through chinks in the wall drew him past the palisade, and he rapped lightly on the portal. ‘Getas?’

  The muffled conversation within died away. He heard footsteps approaching. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Spartacus.’

  There was a scraping noise as the locking bar was lifted, and then the door eased open, revealing a skinny man with a mass of tangled red hair. He grinned. ‘Come in, come in.’

  Spartacus stooped and crossed the threshold. The inside of the rectangular hut was similar to most in the village. A large fire burned in a fireplace set into the back wall. Bunches of herbs hung from the roof beams. Tools were stacked untidily in one corner; bowls, pots and pans in another. A weapons rack stood proudly by the entrance, weighed down with javelins, spears and swords. To the left of the fireplace, two small children were curled up together under a blanket, like puppies. A dark-haired woman lay alongside them, her eyes watching his every move. Getas urged Spartacus to the bench
in front of the blaze, where three warriors clad in long-sleeved, belted tunics were sitting. They all rose, smiling, as he approached.

  ‘Spartacus! It’s been too long!’ exclaimed a tall man with a shaven forehead. ‘Thank the gods you have returned.’

  ‘Seuthes!’ Spartacus returned the embrace before greeting the two others in the same way. ‘Medokos. Olynthus. I’ve missed your company.’

  ‘And we yours,’ replied Medokos, a barrel-chested figure with a wiry beard. Olynthus, who was older than all of them, murmured in loud agreement.

  ‘Sit,’ said Getas, waving a clay jug. ‘Let’s have a drink.’

  When they all had a cup in hand, he poured the wine. Raising his right arm, he toasted them all. ‘To the Rider, for bringing Spartacus home in one piece.’

  ‘To the Rider!’ They all drank deeply.

  ‘To the end of Kotys’ tyranny,’ said Seuthes. ‘May he be rotting in hell very soon.’

  ‘Polles too,’ added Getas.

  ‘And plenty of the other scumbags who follow at their heels,’ snarled Medokos.

  They threw back the wine. Getas poured everyone refills.

  ‘Let’s be clear,’ warned Spartacus. ‘What we’re talking about places all of our lives in great danger.’ His eyes flashed to the woman and the children. ‘You understand me?’

  ‘We know the dangers, Spartacus,’ said Getas fiercely. ‘And we still want to be part of it.’

  ‘Good. I need to talk to every warrior that you three regard as trustworthy. How many do you think that is?’ He scanned their faces intently. Everything hinged on the rough poll he’d asked them to conduct earlier. Let there be enough, Great Rider, or we’re all dead men.

  ‘I had nineteen men say “Yes”,’ said Getas.

  ‘Sixteen,’ added Seuthes.

  ‘Twelve.’ Medokos looked annoyed. ‘One of them delayed me for at least an hour. He insisted on drinking in your honour.’

  Spartacus smiled. ‘You did well.’ He glanced at Olynthus, who had always been slightly aloof. It was probably because of the hunting injury that had left him with a permanent limp in his right leg. Aware that Olynthus’ peer group often poked fun at him, Spartacus had always made him welcome, including him in all their boyhood exploits. Nonetheless, he knew Olynthus less well than the others.