forehead off a stone at the altar’s base. Stars burst across her vision, and she struggled to draw in a breath. Someone grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her upright. Even as she opened her mouth to cry for help, a hand was clamped across her mouth.
‘Try to scream, bitch, and I’ll toss you over the edge,’ hissed a voice. ‘Do you understand?’
Terrified, furious, Ariadne nodded. Who in Hades is it?
‘No one would hear anyway. Your guard is a dead man.’ The hand was removed, and she was pulled over to lie on her back. She stared up at Castus’ leering face with utter revulsion. ‘Seeking the help of your god is all very well, but doing it on your own? I thought you’d know better than that by now.’ He reached down and squeezed her breasts. ‘Nice. They’re bigger than they were.’
Ariadne’s guts roiled with fear. He’s going to rape me and then throw me off the cliff anyway.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’ He cuffed her across the head. ‘Answer me, whore!’
‘I was seeking guidance from my god. W-what brought you to this place?’ she mumbled, playing for time.
‘I wanted to placate Scylla. If we’re to sail across that stretch of open water’ — he waved a hand at the straits — ‘we’ll need all the help we can get.’
He was terrified, Ariadne realised. It wasn’t that surprising. Like most of the army, Castus would never have set foot in a boat. ‘Did you receive an answer?’
A curt laugh. ‘Of course not.’ He shrugged off the baldric that suspended his sword and laid it to one side. Using both hands, he ripped her dress to the waist. ‘But who cares? Even if I drown, I’ll go down to Neptune knowing that I fucked Spartacus’ woman.’
Ariadne tried to push him off. He laughed and slapped her hands away. She kicked frantically, but Castus was more than twice her weight. She watched in horror as he bent to nuzzle her breasts with his mouth. Savage memories of what her father’s abuse, of what Phortis the Capuan had done to her, came rushing back. Now it was about to happen again. Think! Think! Her head twisted. On one side, all she could see was the outline of Sicily, which she would never reach. On the other, the offerings left before the altar. Nothing she could reach would stop Castus. His sword was several steps away.
He reached down and his hand groped for her groin. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh. Waves of nausea mixed with the pain from her head. Ariadne wanted to die. She wished he had just tossed her over the edge.
‘Spartacus’ wife?’ he panted. ‘Who’d have thought I’d get to screw her, eh?’
It was if a lightning bolt had hit her. Spartacus’ wife. That is who I am. I cannot run away from that. The thought gave Ariadne new energy to live. To survive.
Castus paused to lick at her breasts again. He looked up at her, his face full of lust. His fetid breath washed over her. Ariadne wanted to vomit, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. Anything to delay what was about to happen. ‘You’ve wanted me for a long time?’
‘Gods, yes! What man wouldn’t?’ he panted, tugging down his trousers. ‘Ready for a decent-sized cock, not the sausage you’ve been used to? You’ve probably wanted me all along.’ He shoved forward with his hips, trying to enter her.
Ariadne couldn’t look at him any longer. She rolled her head to the left. Gods, let it be over quickly. A flicker of movement caught her eye. Her heart almost stopped. Her snake! It had got out of the basket, and had slithered on to a large stone at the altar’s foot. If only she could reach it!
Fortune intervened. Grunting with irritation, Castus released her left arm. He spat on his fingers and moved them down to rub at her crotch. ‘You’ll be as wet as a whore during Saturnalia when I’m finished with you,’ he growled, nudging forward once more.
Ariadne moved her freed hand out towards the snake. Never had she wanted it to do as she wished so much. Never had she needed it more.
Its head moved; its forked tongue flickered out towards her outstretched fingers.
Castus’ prick touched her labia, and she flinched. He laughed.
With a few twists of its body, the snake slid forward on to her palm. Yes! There was a risk of it biting her if she moved fast, but Ariadne was beyond caring. Her arm flashed up; alarmed, the serpent arched its neck and opened its mouth in threat. Ariadne aimed it at Castus’ neck.
The Gaul reacted with preternatural speed. It was the speed born of desperation, of years spent fighting as a gladiator, and it saved him from being bitten. He reared away from Ariadne, his mouth open in an ‘O’ of horror. As he fell to the ground, she rolled away and scrambled up. A muttered word to her snake, and it calmed a fraction. Spinning around, she found Castus already on his feet. Grim satisfaction filled her. The cliff edge was only a couple of steps behind him.
Holding the snake out before her, she advanced. ‘Ready to die, you filth?’
Castus’ face twisted with fear. He had nowhere to go. ‘That thing might bite me, but I’ll take you with me, you whore! We’ll both dine with Neptune tonight!’ He made a grab at her arm, but she swept the snake at his face and he had to dodge back out of the way. One of his sandals skidded; his foot shot out into nothingness and it took all of his effort not to fall backwards.
Ariadne was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘How do you like it, you bastard? Which way would you rather die — from poison or by tumbling on to the rocks?’ She rammed the snake at him again. Angry now, it tried to sink its teeth into his arm. By some miracle, he moved out of its way. Ariadne didn’t mind. There was no way he could get out of this. ‘You choose!’
Castus didn’t answer. He just prepared himself for her next attack.
Ariadne would never say it, but he was a brave man. It was time to end it, though. ‘Do this for Dionysus,’ she whispered to the snake. Unsettled, it writhed within her grasp. ‘Patience. Your prey is ready.’ She looked up, expecting to see a trace of fear in Castus’ face. What she saw was very different; he was trying to hide it, but there was triumph in his gaze. His eyes flickered; Ariadne sensed movement behind her. Instinct made her dodge to her right, towards the altar. As she struggled not to lose her balance, there was a muffled curse and Ariadne saw a thickset man carrying a sword — one of Castus’ followers — hurtle into the space where she’d been. With a despairing cry, he shot over the cliff edge and disappeared from sight.
By the time she had righted herself, Castus had darted past her to safety. He swept up his weapon. Panic filled Ariadne, and she prepared to take him on with only the snake. To her surprise, however, he backed away. ‘You’re a crazy bitch!’
Taking a step towards him, she let out a cracked laugh. ‘That’s right, you piece of shit, I am mad! I am also one of Dionysus’ chosen ones!’ Right on cue, the snake opened its mouth, revealing its lethal fangs.
Castus’ face went grey. Muttering a prayer, he shuffled backwards on to the path. Then he turned and was gone.
With a thumping heart, Ariadne waited, but he did not reappear. She calmed the snake, placed it back in the basket and fastened the lid. With her torn dress rearranged as best she could, she poured the rest of the wine on the ground, thanking her god with even greater fervency than before. Long moments passed, but nothing came to her. No vision, no words of wisdom. Ariadne felt no anger, just an overwhelming gratitude to be alive. More than anything, she wanted to see Spartacus.
His name triggered a memory. Castus had called her ‘Spartacus’ wife’. Ariadne smiled.
Dionysus had sent her a message after all. Two messages, in fact.
First, she was going nowhere. Standing by Spartacus was what counted — whatever the consequences. Second, Castus was not to be harmed. By rights, he should have just died. The fact that he had not told her that the gods still favoured him. It was not for her, or Spartacus, to intervene further.
To Ariadne’s relief, the soldier who had followed her was not dead, as Castus had said. He’d been knocked half-senseless by a blow from behind, but he came to when she ministered to him. Having decided that Spartacus was to be kept in the dark, she swore the man to secrecy. His injury was to have come from a fall. He was only too glad to agree to her demand. His leader’s fearsome temper was well known; the soldier who failed in his duty to guard Ariadne could not expect to live long.
The guards at the bottom were mightily relieved when the pair returned. They showed no sign of having seen Castus, who must have skulked down the far side of the headland. Ariadne ignored the sidelong looks aimed at her torn dress and dust-covered hair. They probably assumed that she had been taken by ritual mania, the trance-like state beloved of Dionysus’ female adherents.
