thought Spartacus sombrely, as he stood over Getas’ grave. Lying in Thracian soil would have been better, but that was impossible. Sleep well, my brother.
With his respects paid, he turned his attention to more practical matters. Every last weapon and scrap of food had to be taken from the camp. Crixus and his men had found the stores of wine, and were already making deep inroads into it. Spartacus didn’t even try talking to him. It took all of his powers of persuasion to get Castus and Gannicus to stop their followers joining in. Moving the provisions in the darkness was hard enough without everyone being paralytic. Waiting until sunrise meant risking the return of the legionaries, but Spartacus considered that unlikely. He placed men on watch in any case. After their stunning victory, it would be stupid to have the tables turned upon them.
Those gladiators who weren’t drunk were organised. Using a stock of torches that had been found to illuminate the scene, systematic checks were made of every Roman body. Unsurprisingly, many legionaries were still alive — injured, unconscious or simply playing dead in the hope of escape later. On Spartacus’ orders, every single man was to be executed. Universal whooping broke out at this announcement. ‘It’s better treatment than the bastards would give us,’ he snapped, catching the burst of anguish in Carbo’s eyes. ‘All we would get is a cross. The women too. Have you ever seen someone die on one of those?’
‘Yes. My father took me when I was a boy to witness a local criminal being crucified.’ If he concentrated, Carbo could still hear the man’s piercing screams as his ankles were nailed to the wooden upright. Within a short time, his noises had died away to a bubbling, animal whimper. It only increased in volume when he attempted to take the pressure off his roped arms by standing up on his ruined, pinioned feet. The criminal had lasted until the next afternoon, but his body wasn’t taken down for weeks. Walking past the stinking, blackened thing, seeing all the stages of decay before it ended up as a grinning skeleton, had almost been worse than seeing the crucifixion, Carbo thought. Almost. ‘It was horrific.’
‘Exactly. It’s far better to have a sword slide between your ribs and end it in the blink of an eye.’
‘I suppose,’ admitted Carbo. He’d slain at least two legionaries that night. He had no desire to kill more of them in cold blood. He surprised himself with his next thought: I would if I had to.
It must be hard for him, reflected Spartacus. But he fought well during the attack. That is sufficient evidence of his loyalty.
Ariadne tried tossing her knucklebones over and over, but she saw nothing of any relevance in the patterns in which they fell. She was relieved, therefore, when her meditation carried her far beyond the levels she’d achieved in recent weeks. Although she was used to long periods when Dionysus would give absolutely no indication of his intentions, it had never been more frustrating. Spartacus’ dream about the snake was of great importance. Was it a good omen or a bad one, however? Like Spartacus, Ariadne burned to know. Her concerns over it ate her up, yet she knew they paled in comparison to the unease Spartacus must feel. He hid it well, but she saw it all the same. As far as she was concerned, matters had reached the stage where it would be better to know — even if the indications were bad. An enemy named was an enemy that could be fought. Unnamed, it was like a disease, eating the flesh from within.
All the same, it was horrifying when an image of Spartacus, with the snake around his neck, flashed into her mind. No wonder he was frightened. Ariadne could feel her own heart beating faster. She waited. The serpent uncoiled and reared up in Spartacus’ face and, terrified, Ariadne prepared for the worst. The characteristic pattern on its skin was the same as that on her own lethally poisonous snake. If Spartacus was bitten, he would die as fast as Phortis had.
Ariadne could not quite believe her eyes when Spartacus lifted his left arm. The serpent did not attack. Instead, it smoothly uncoiled from his neck and slithered over, coiling itself around his arm, as Ariadne’s did. Spartacus raised his right arm and, with a thrill, Ariadne saw the sica in his hand. Armed thus with sword and snake, he turned to the east, the direction in which Thrace lay. He called out in a great voice, but she could not make out the words. With that, he was gone.
This can mean only one thing. He has been marked by Dionysus.
A great and fearful power surrounds him.
Ariadne’s vision wasn’t over, however. The mountaintop he’d occupied was none other than Vesuvius. And the crater was filled with tents. Hundreds of them.
Do they belong to his followers?
Ariadne waited for a long time, but nothing more was forthcoming. She offered a last heartfelt prayer for Spartacus’ safety, and then she covered herself with her blanket and lay down. If the god wished to send her more insight, he could do it as she dreamed. Falling asleep was not as easy as Ariadne might have wished, however. Her mind raced endlessly. What was going on in the Roman camp? Had Spartacus’ plan worked, or had the gladiators all been massacred? Ariadne batted the various outcomes around until she was exhausted. Just because Dionysus had marked him out didn’t mean that a stray sword couldn’t find its home in his flesh, ending the dream before it even started. Do not let it be so. When sleep finally claimed her, the first pink-red fingers of light were tingeing the eastern horizon.
Chapter XII
An hour after the sun had risen, Spartacus came trotting up the path to the crater. There had been no sign of any Romans on the plain and he was content leaving the gladiators to gather the weapons and equipment together and pack it on to the mules. They could follow him up later. Crixus had mentioned taking the Roman camp as their own, but Spartacus had advised against it. ‘We’re far too few to defend the damn thing. Better to stay on the peak. It’s easier to hold, and the lookouts can spot anyone coming for miles.’ Bleary-eyed and weaving where he stood, Crixus had grumbled but protested no further. Castus and Gannicus seemed happy enough with the decision, so Spartacus waited no longer. Carrying the news to Ariadne was now the most important thing on his mind.
He found her asleep by the fire they’d shared. Seeing the knucklebones, he bit back the ‘Hello’ rising in his throat. She could have been up half the night, praying. Treading quietly to where she lay, he squatted down on his haunches. Strands of her dark hair lay across her cheek. She looked very peaceful. Beautiful too. Pride filled Spartacus that she was his wife. She was strong and fierce. And brave. Ariadne wouldn’t sleep with him, but he could bear the sexual frustration for the moment because she was such a good catch.
He shifted position, scuffing some gravel with one of his heels.
Ariadne’s eyelids fluttered and opened. A fleeting look of incomprehension flashed across her face, and then she was leaping up. Throwing her arms around him. ‘You’re alive! Oh, thank the gods!’
‘Yes, I’m here.’ He crushed her to him. Awkwardly, because they’d never been so close. ‘I’m covered in blood.’
‘I don’t care.’ Deliberately, she buried her face in his neck. ‘You’re here. You’re not dead.’
Spartacus was doubly glad that Getas had saved his life.
They stayed like that for a long time before Ariadne pulled away. ‘Tell me everything,’ she ordered.
Taking a deep breath, Spartacus began. Ariadne did not take her eyes off his face as he spoke. ‘Getas died that I might live,’ he concluded. ‘It was a great gift, and I must honour him for that.’
‘He was a fine warrior,’ said Ariadne sadly. Inside, she was rejoicing. Thank you, Dionysus, for taking Getas instead.
‘Oenomaus is gone too.’
Her hand rose to her mouth. ‘No!’
‘Yes. But he did not die in vain. The Germans have made me their leader.’ He threw her a fierce smile. ‘I now have more men than any of the Gauls. That is a strong position to be in.’
Jubilation filled Ariadne. Elements of her vision were making more sense. ‘The god visited me last night,’ she said.
He pinned her with his gaze. ‘What did you see?’
‘I saw you here, on the top of the mountain. A snake was wrapped around your neck. In your right hand you held a sica.’
‘Go on.’ I will accept whatever she has to say. Whatever the gods have sent for me.
‘The snake reared up in your face, but it did not bite you,’ she revealed, smiling. ‘Instead, it wound itself
