us.
‘If I am killed-’
‘Don’t talk like that.’ Her eyes brimmed with instant tears.
‘It’s stupid not to consider the possibility of my dying. If Getas and Seuthes aren’t also slain, they will look after you. Failing that, use the money in my purse to get to the east coast. Take a ship to Illyria, and make your way home to Thrace.’
‘To Kotys and the welcome he’ll give me?’ Ariadne replied, more harshly than she’d intended. ‘No thanks. I’ll use my snake on myself.’
‘You’re a true Thracian,’ he said respectfully. ‘I’m proud to have you as my wife.’
Ariadne blushed to the roots of her hair.
Clack, clack, clack. Phortis’ sword rattled off the bars of the cells on the far side of the yard. ‘Wake up, you whoresons! It’s another beautiful day.’
Spartacus sprang up off the bed. Throwing on his tunic, he waited patiently until the Capuan reached their barred window.
‘Pull your prick out of your woman, latro! It’s time to get up.’
Ariadne shuddered. The man was vile — less cold-blooded than her snake but, in his own way, as venomous.
Spartacus didn’t give Phortis the satisfaction of a reply. ‘Have you got my breakfast ready?’ he shouted.
A chorus of laughs rose up from the fighters within earshot.
‘Count yourself lucky that there’s any food at all!’ snapped Phortis. Unlocking the door, he moved on.
‘May the gods watch over you,’ whispered Ariadne.
‘Thank you.’ Spartacus gave her a broad smile, which belied his churning stomach. Stay by my side, Great Rider. Pushing wide the portal, he stepped into the yard. All around him, dozens of other gladiators were emerging from their cells. It was a crisp spring morning. The area of sky framed by the ludus’ high walls was entirely clear of cloud. Spartacus admired it. He had a good feeling in his guts.
‘Hungry?’
Turning, Spartacus saw Restio leaning against the wall. The Iberian’s face was an unhealthy grey colour, and he had big rings under his eyes. ‘You look awful. Didn’t sleep?’
‘Not a wink,’ Restio muttered. ‘Did you?’
‘Not bad,’ lied Spartacus. Restio was one of the few men who hadn’t been told about the escape attempt. Why would you care how I slept? A memory tickled at Spartacus, but Carbo, Getas and Seuthes joined him, and he put it to one side. ‘Come on,’ he said to Restio. ‘Some porridge in your belly will make you feel better.’
Stepping out into the yard proper, Spartacus felt a prickle of unease. The balcony above was lined with guards. He glanced sidelong at Restio, who appeared unconcerned. He wasn’t surprised that Carbo hadn’t noticed, but Getas and Seuthes were already scowling.
‘Practically every shitbag Batiatus employs is up there,’ hissed Getas in his ear. ‘And there are far more men on the gate than normal.’
Spartacus grunted. Someone’s told Batiatus, or Phortis.
They joined the queue for the porridge. Oenomaus was at the end of the line with his closest henchmen. One of them immediately engaged Restio in a conversation about money. Spartacus moved closer to Oenomaus, relieved that the Iberian could no longer hear what he said.
‘Seen the extra company we’ve got?’ growled the German.
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. There’s nothing that we can do right now anyway. Let’s eat and see what happens.’
With a noncommittal look, Oenomaus turned his back on them.
Spartacus frowned. Were the Germans still with him? Oenomaus’ men crowded around him, preventing any further chat. ‘Seen Crixus?’
‘He’s over there,’ said Getas, jerking his head at the furthest benches.
Spartacus was about to leave the queue when something made him look around. Phortis was staring at him with naked aggression. Something’s definitely not right. Rather than make his way over to Crixus, he shuffled forward with the rest.
‘Look, it’s the latro! Come for some porridge?’ cried Phortis.
Silently, Spartacus picked up a bowl and held it out.
Phortis leaned over and grabbed it before the kitchen slave had even lifted his ladle from the pot. ‘I’ll take that,’ he said. Clearing his throat, he spat a large gob of phlegm into the dish. ‘Fill it up,’ he ordered. A moment later, he handed the steaming bowl to Spartacus. ‘With my compliments.’
Spartacus’ blood pounded in his ears, and all sound died away. He was so incensed that his entire world shrank to a narrow tunnel before him. At its end was the smirking Phortis, his lips moving in more insults. Spartacus felt his mouth twist into a snarl. It would be so easy. Just dash the bowl in his face, leap over the table and smash the whoreson to a pulp.
He forced his eyelids into a blink, and came crashing back to reality. ‘Thank you.’ Without meeting the Capuan’s gaze, Spartacus reached out and took the bowl. He didn’t see the two guards on the balcony behind him lowering their bows, nor the fleeting look of disappointment on Restio’s face.
‘Fucking coward,’ Phortis snarled.
We’ll see about that. Externally, Spartacus didn’t even register the insult. He walked off and sat down beside the four Scythians, who threw him eager grins. Carbo, Getas and Seuthes plonked themselves alongside. Their table was nowhere near those of Crixus or Oenomaus, but he didn’t dare approach them. From the corner of his eye, he could see Phortis still glaring at him. Spartacus dipped his spoon into the top layer of porridge and took a mouthful, swallowing the thick liquid without even tasting it.
‘Why did he do that?’ Oddly, Restio had joined him again.
‘The fucker enjoys goading me.’ What do you care, anyway?
‘Why?’
‘He’s tried to rape Ariadne once already,’ said Spartacus. ‘If I were beaten unconscious by the guards, I wouldn’t be able to stop him when he tries again.’ More likely, it would foil the escape attempt before it even started. If the Thracians were no longer part of the equation, would the other leaders risk their men’s lives? I doubt it.
‘Dirty bastard,’ said Restio sympathetically.
Spartacus ate some more porridge from the top of the bowl. When Phortis was finally distracted, he emptied the rest on to the sand by his feet. Spartacus’ nerves were wire-taut, killing any appetite he might have had. Ignoring Restio’s attempts at conversation, he sat in silence until breakfast had stopped being served.
Time for the trainers to appear, and the room containing the practice weapons to be unlocked. Long moments dragged by, and nothing happened. Carrying the empty porridge pot, the slave had vanished into the depths of the kitchen. Phortis was nowhere to be seen. It’s just a short delay. Yet Spartacus could see his unease mirrored on many of the gladiators’ faces.
He hadn’t sneaked a look at the guards for a short time. Seated under the walkway, he could only see the ones at the far end of the balcony. Glancing upwards, Spartacus’ heart stopped. Why did they have arrows notched to their bowstrings? They surely weren’t alone acting in such a manner. He could taste bile in the back of his throat now. We’ve definitely been betrayed.
All at once, things began to happen very fast.
Batiatus appeared on the balcony, Phortis by his side. Both men’s faces were hard. Cold.
Spartacus clenched his fists. He wasn’t going to back out now. Even if the Germans and Gauls don’t join in. He tensed, preparing to leap up and roar at the Thracians to run for the stairs.
There was a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision. Spartacus glanced to his left, and was startled to see one of the Scythians hurtling over the table at him. There was no time to move. The bearded warrior crashed into him, driving them both backwards, to the sand. In the same instant, Spartacus felt something strike the Scythian in the back. The man grunted in pain, and went limp. Is he dead? Angry voices shouted and Spartacus could sense a struggle going on overhead.
Abruptly, the body was hauled off him. Getas and another of the Scythians filled his vision. The warrior
