Without waiting for Getas or Seuthes to reply, Spartacus ran in behind the Gaul. Grabbing his right arm, he twisted it up behind his back. He touched the homemade dagger to the other’s throat. ‘Walk,’ he ordered. ‘Walk, or I’ll stick this in so far that it comes out the outer side of your fucking neck.’
The Gaul did as he was told, walking stiff-legged in the direction he’d pointed a few heartbeats earlier. ‘What are you going to do?’ he growled.
Spartacus jabbed the iron into the Gaul’s skin until blood ran down his neck. ‘Shut your trap.’ Behind him, he heard his comrades screaming abuse as they kicked and spat on the other two tribesmen. Spartacus grinned with satisfaction. The archers’ attention was now completely on that brawl. Just what he wanted. ‘Move it. Faster,’ he hissed.
Seeing steam coming out of a pair of latticed windows, Spartacus aimed for the nearest doorway. He bundled the Gaul inside and out of sight of the guards. The warm room they’d entered was square, and tiled from ceiling to floor. Colourful depictions of fish, sea monsters and Neptune covered the walls. A low bench ran around the room; it was covered with bundles of clothing, left there by the gladiators who were in the baths through the door opposite. The air was laced with the thick, pungent smell of aromatic oils. The only other occupant of the room was a half- dressed, dark-skinned, short man with black hair. He goggled in surprise at the pair’s dramatic entrance.
Good, thought Spartacus. I want a witness to spread the word. ‘So this is where you were going to take me, eh?’
Tense with fear, the Gaul nodded.
‘To suck you off?’ He spat out the words.
‘Yes.’
‘That isn’t going to happen, is it?’ Spartacus wrenched the Gaul’s arm up under his shoulder blade, causing him to moan in pain.
‘No!’
‘Sadly, I don’t have the time to make you suffer. This will have to do, you fucking shitbag.’ Pulling back the piece of iron, Spartacus plunged it into the Gaul’s neck with all his strength. There was a loud choking sound and blood spurted all over Spartacus’ hand. He jerked free the iron, and a tide of red followed it, jetting sideways on to the floor.
Making a strangled attempt to speak, the Gaul tottered forward one or two steps before crashing to the tiles, face first. A lake of scarlet rapidly began to form around his twitching body.
‘Who are you?’ Still gripping the bloody weapon, Spartacus pinned the dark-skinned man with his stare.
‘R-Restio is my name. I’m from Iberia.’
‘I see. Well, I am Spartacus the Thracian. In case you hadn’t realised, I’ve just arrived. And this is my answer to anyone who wants to fuck with me.’ He pointed at the Gaul. ‘Make damn sure that you tell every man in the ludus what you’ve seen. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not a word to Phortis, or any of the guards, though. I wouldn’t want you to end up the same way as this idiot.’
‘My lips are s-sealed.’
‘We understand each other then.’ Wiping the iron clean on the Gaul’s tunic, Spartacus shoved it into the waistband of his undergarment and sauntered outside. Whistling a tuneless ditty, he glanced up at the balcony. The guards above were showing no real interest in what was going on. He could not see Phortis either. Good. That probably means I got away with it. Next, he looked for Getas and Seuthes. They were talking loudly to Ariadne. What they were really doing, of course, was protecting her until he got back. She started forward at the sight of him, but he signalled her to wait.
‘Where are the two Gauls?’
‘They crawled off into whatever shithole they call home,’ replied Seuthes with a savage grin.
‘One had a broken arm, and I added a few cracked ribs to the smashed nose you gave the other,’ interjected Getas. ‘What about the ugly one?’
‘He’ll be staying in the baths until someone drags him out of there.’
Ariadne’s eyes filled with horror. ‘Is he…?’
‘Dead, yes,’ replied Spartacus harshly. ‘It was the only way. If I’d let him live, everyone in the damn place would regard me… us,’ and he indicated Getas and Seuthes, ‘as soft targets. This way, they know that we’re most definitely not.’
Ariadne nodded. Killing the Gaul had more than one purpose. Spartacus wouldn’t be able to watch over her all the time. It was important that every gladiator knew that she was with someone not to be trifled with. The corpse lying in the baths would send a very clear message about that.
Chapter V
It didn’t take long for the Gaul’s body to be discovered. A pair of Germans were next to enter the bathing area. They emerged, shouting at the tops of their voices. Footsteps clattered on the stairs as a group of guards descended in response. Crowds of fighters gathered to watch the limp Gaul being dragged outside. A broad trail of blood marked the ground all the way back into the baths. Spartacus watched the proceedings from the door of the cell he’d taken for himself and Ariadne. He was pleased to see that none of the guards looked especially surprised by what they’d found. Restio was doing his job too. Already he was getting plenty of looks from fighters in the yard. Most were respectful, but some were angry or challenging. Spartacus ignored them all. Without doubt, fewer men would now want to take him on than before. He wondered how Phortis would react. Unless Restio played him false, there would be no witnesses’ accounts for the Capuan to go on. All he’d have was the gossip floating around the ludus. Would that be enough for the Capuan to act on? Spartacus wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think so. Murders in the baths or toilets had to be regular occurrences. Such things kept a natural order in the ludus.
And so it proved. The evil stares that Phortis was soon throwing at Spartacus clearly showed that he’d heard of his involvement, but the Capuan did nothing. Half an hour passed, and the gladiators’ training finished for the day. A short time later, the dinner gong sounded. Spartacus marched boldly into the yard with Ariadne, as if he were going out to eat. Getas and Seuthes walked two steps behind them. They headed for the dining area, which consisted of sets of benches and tables on either side of the kitchen doors. A queue of men led through the portals; through the steamy air within Spartacus could see a large cauldron perched on a table with stacked bowls and piles of wooden spoons. Behind it stood a slave, ladle in hand, and Phortis, watching everything like a beady-eyed crow. Four beefy guards were present too, security against any trouble.
They joined the back of the line. The fighters immediately in front looked around. One or two nodded a greeting at Spartacus, which he returned. No one spoke to him or his companions, which suited him fine. The first day and night in the ludus were all about establishing his independence, his lack of need for friendship with others. He’d told Getas and Seuthes as much. In silence, they shuffled into the kitchen.
‘Here he is! The new latro.’ Phortis’ voice was mocking. ‘Watch out, or you might get stabbed in the back.’
At this, plenty of the gladiators stared. A few guffawed. None said anything.
‘I’m no bandit,’ replied Spartacus loudly.
‘Is that so?’ sneered Phortis.
‘It is.’
‘So you’d know nothing about the body in the baths, then? The ugly bastard who died of a hole in his neck?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘That’s not what I’ve heard.’
Spartacus lifted his shoulders into an expressive shrug. ‘Believe what you will. Men like to gossip. Nearly all of it is horseshit. Have you got any proof?’
‘I don’t need proof to dispense justice, you halfwit,’ barked Phortis. ‘Let’s just say that any man who can best that brute of a Gaul must be a good fighter. I’ll expect great things from you in the arena.’
Curse him! Spartacus hadn’t considered the eventuality that the Capuan would do nothing even if he
