must take a sip of this every hour. Call for me if there’s any deterioration in her condition. I’ll check on her later.’ He disappeared from view.
‘Gods.’ Ariadne finally recognised the interior of their cell. ‘You carried me in here?’
‘Yes, after Getas came screaming for me like a madman. He told me what had happened.’ Shame coated Spartacus’ every feature, and he hung his head. ‘I’m sorry. I failed you. I should have been there.’
‘You were having your arm seen to,’ she chided. ‘How were you to know that Phortis would attack me then? Getas or Seuthes aren’t to blame either.’ Panic seized her. ‘You haven’t done something to them, have you?’
Spartacus’ sheer fury twisted his good looks into something bestial. Something primeval. It was truly terrifying. ‘Not yet,’ he grated. ‘But they will pay, have no fear of that.’
‘No.’ Forcing away her weakness, Ariadne took his arm. ‘You must not. They were only following your orders, to check the baths before I went in. Phortis sent in six men to tie them up while he attacked me.’
‘So what?’ he spat. ‘They should still have protected you.’
‘Getas and Seuthes are not gods, they’re men. Just like you. They’re also your most loyal followers. And they are your friends.’ Seeing him flinch, Ariadne gentled her voice. ‘Knowing they failed will make them both twice as determined not to make the same mistake again.’
He nodded slowly. ‘They’ve sworn to die rather than let anything happen to you ever again.’
‘Forgive them then,’ she urged.
‘I have to forgive myself for what happened.’ Spartacus let out a heavy sigh. ‘So I suppose I can give the fools a second chance.’ His brows lowered. ‘As for that bastard Phortis! He will die screaming for his mother. Soon.’
‘Good. I want to watch him suffer too. But-’
‘I know.’ Regret replaced the fury. ‘There can be no quick revenge. He’ll be waiting for that. Just like he’ll be looking for another opportunity to-’ Spartacus’ jaw clenched. ‘Did he actually…?’ he asked without looking at her. ‘Getas and Seuthes couldn’t see, but they heard…’
Emotion closed Ariadne’s throat, but she wrenched it open. Spartacus deserved to know. ‘He did, briefly.’
‘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.
