wrenched from this situation?
‘May I ask why?’
‘They were plotting to overthrow me.’
Phortis didn’t look surprised. ‘What will you take for them, Your Majesty? A thousand pieces of silver?’
‘You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that! Do you really think that I’d give these lumps of dogshit away free?’
‘Of course not, Your Majesty,’ replied Phortis smoothly. ‘How does fifteen hundred sound?’
‘It’s two and a half thousand, or nothing. I know as well as you that Thracian slaves are worth double the price of every other race.’
Phortis didn’t even blink. He gestured at Spartacus and the others. ‘May I…?’
‘Be my guest. Fortunately for you, only the first one has been beaten. He’s escaped lightly too. My champion was just getting warmed up when you arrived.’
Spartacus lifted his head from the wooden frame and gave Phortis a baleful stare as he approached. The trader ignored him, instead studying his back. ‘Your Majesty is correct. There’s no lasting damage.’ He moved on to examine the two others, prodding their muscles and examining their teeth as he would a horse. He made an approving noise at Seuthes’ shaved forehead. ‘So your enemy can’t grab you by the hair at close-quarters, eh?’ Seuthes glowered but did not reply.
Phortis glanced at the king. ‘It’s a fair price, Your Majesty,’ he admitted.
As Kotys smiled with triumph, Phortis barked an order, and one of his men hurried back to the mules. He returned bearing two heavy purses. ‘There should be more than enough here,’ said Phortis.
Kotys motioned Polles forward. Without ceremony, the champion upended the leather bags on to the ground and with the help of another warrior, began counting the silver coins that tumbled out. ‘It’s all there,’ Polles growled eventually.
‘Good, said Kotys. ‘Then we have a deal. Release them.’ He directed a triumphant, malevolent glance at Ariadne. He had no idea that her heart was racing with anticipation. She had a plan at last, born of her utter desperation. Or was it Dionysus finally intervening? Ariadne could no longer tell. Her tactic might not work either, but it felt better than doing nothing.
At least I am not to die today. Spartacus summoned the reserves of his strength. When the last of his bonds were cut away, he was able to stand, knees locked, rather than simply fall to the ground. What about Ariadne? His eyes wandered to where she stood. He took heart. Inexplicably, her expression was no longer distraught, but determined. She will survive somehow.
‘Get over here,’ barked Phortis. ‘You’re mine now.’
Spartacus and his friends shuffled towards him and allowed the trader’s men to fasten iron collars around their necks. These would be attached to the other slaves by a chain. Their indignity was completed by the fetters placed around their ankles. They left no chance of escaping. This leads to the arena. At least there I’ll have a fighting chance of survival, Spartacus told himself. That fate was infinitely preferable to the one on offer from Kotys. His heart wrenched again with guilt. What would happen to Ariadne? Determination would only carry her so far.
‘Have you any other men like these, Your Majesty?’ asked Phortis.
‘It’s the wrong time of year for prisoners,’ Kotys snapped. ‘It’s best to come in the summer, when we’re raiding other tribes.’
‘I told my master that, Your Majesty,’ said Phortis, ‘but he wouldn’t listen. At this rate, I’ll be lucky to avoid snow on the mountain passes that lead back to Illyria. With your permission?’
‘You may go,’ Kotys grunted. He was already turning towards Ariadne.
Spartacus clenched his fists, feeling more helpless than he ever had in his life.
She was utterly terrified, but Ariadne knew that she had to act now. Rolling the blood clots to the side of her mouth, she began to speak in her harshest voice. ‘As his faithful priestess, I call upon Dionysus, the powerful Almighty, the god of intoxication and mania, to witness my curse upon the king of the Maedi.’
A hushed silence fell over the watching villagers. Polles and the other bodyguards gave each other nervous looks. Even Phortis and his men stopped what they were doing. Kotys’ face went white, but he dared not stop her.
‘No one loves a tyrant or a murderer, Kotys. I curse you to an early, violent death. I curse you to die slowly and painfully, with an enemy’s blade buried deep in your guts.’ Ariadne paused, relishing her power. Dionysus had returned to her! ‘Your final moments will be filled with agony, and when your miserable soul leaves your body, the gates of the warrior’s paradise will be closed to you. Instead, Dionysus’ maenads will carry you below, to the underworld. There, for all eternity, they will rip off pieces of your flesh and present them to the god.’ Delighting in Kotys’ shocked expression, she spat the gobbets of blood in his face. ‘Finally, I mark you as one of Dionysus’ chosen ones.’
There were loud, reverential gasps from the onlookers. Most people looked petrified, as if they had seen a divine apparition. The king’s eyes were filled with living horror. He stood mutely, with trails of scarlet running down his cheeks, as Ariadne walked towards Spartacus. ‘I am this man’s wife. I am following him into captivity,’ she announced in a loud, authoritative voice.
‘His wife?’ roared Polles, moving to block her way.
‘That’s right. We exchanged our vows last night,’ lied Ariadne. She gripped the fabric of her cloak until her fists hurt. Let me pass!
‘We also consummated the marriage,’ croaked Spartacus. ‘After so many years on campaign, I couldn’t wait any longer.’
Ariadne’s cheeks flamed as the bystanders roared with laughter.
Kotys glared, humiliated anew, and Ariadne dared to feel a scintilla of hope. No king would want a woman who had given her virginity to another. ‘It is Dionysus’ wish that I should go with Spartacus into exile,’ she shouted.
‘Dionysus! Dionysus! Dionysus!’ The villagers’ thunderous roar of agreement drowned out all other sound.
Visibly furious, Polles stood aside. Ariadne hurried to stand with Spartacus.
Phortis shrugged. He wasn’t about to argue with the mouthpiece of a god or hundreds of angry Thracians. ‘One more mouth to feed shouldn’t matter.’
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ asked Spartacus in an undertone.
‘Look at my alternative.’ With a tiny jerk of her head, Ariadne indicated Kotys.
‘I understand.’
‘We will travel to Italy, and see what fate awaits us there,’ she intoned, trying to ignore the new fears that clutched at her. Part of Ariadne was pleased, however. I can stay with him — for now at least.
Spartacus was glad too. ‘This way, you won’t be left alone.’
Chapter III
Capua, Italy
‘Show me again, Paccius,’ ordered Carbo, offering the gladius.
Refusing to accept it, the doorman — a big Samnite with a mass of curly black hair — looked uneasily over his shoulder, towards the open doors of the tablinum, the main reception area. ‘We should stop, young master. It was one thing play fighting with wooden swords when you were a boy, but you’re sixteen now, and nearly a man. I’m not supposed to use a real blade unless your father orders me to. If he catches me showing you how to use one of his own weapons-’
‘He won’t,’ declared Carbo briskly. ‘He will be gone all day. Mother won’t be back for hours either, and the only other people about are the kitchen slaves. I’ve given them a coin each to keep their mouths shut. Stop worrying. Our secret is safe.’
‘If you’re sure,’ said Paccius unhappily.
‘I am,’ Carbo snapped.
Paccius didn’t know the reason for Carbo’s father’s absence. Jovian’s financial situation was desperate. Carbo
