him off.’
‘What is he planning?’
‘I don’t know,’ snapped Lycurgus. ‘I don’t want to know. If anyone asks later, we didn’t recognise him. Understand?’
Chapter II
Ariadne’s mood was darkening. The usual ritual of burning incense and meditation had brought her nothing but a sequence of fractured, distressing images. Most of them featured Kotys, naked on a bed. Others also involved Polles, which revolted her. The more appealing — and dangerous — ones were those in which she defended herself against the king with a knife, or her snake. What use is there in killing him? she wondered hopelessly. I’d have to flee the settlement to avoid being killed by his bodyguards. Where would I go then? Kabyle? Ariadne could think of nowhere else, but she dismissed the notion out of hand. The priests in the city would not shelter a regicide. She was trapped. Alone, with no one to help her.
Cloaked by misery, she shut up the temple and headed for her hut. The sky was full of clouds threatening snow, and she wanted to gain the safety of her door before it started falling heavily. The settlement wasn’t dangerous for most, but Kotys could easily have set some of his warriors to lie in wait for her. As she hurried towards the alleyway that led home, Ariadne saw a man entering by the main gate. She’d never seen him before, but his slow, self-assured carriage attracted her attention. He was of average height, with short brown hair, and wearing a mail shirt and closely fitting red trousers. A Roman soldier’s belt circled his waist; from it hung a sheathed sica and dagger. The bronze helmet he was holding had a forward curving crest, and the lame white stallion following him was also clearly Thracian.
He called out a low greeting to a bunch of warriors who were standing nearby. Ariadne recognised three of them: Getas, Seuthes and Medokos. Hearing the other’s voice, Getas turned his head. He frowned, and then with delighted looks, he and his companions descended on the newcomer.
So that’s the traveller whom Berisades met, thought Ariadne. He must be well liked if they have not forgotten him in his absence. She kept walking. Reaching home was more important than staring at strangers. Perhaps Dionysus would visit her that night. Give her some hope. She consoled herself with that idea. A moment later, she heard a characteristic, braying laugh coming from inside the alleyway. Recognising Polles by the sound, Ariadne reacted without thinking. She quickly angled away from the alley’s entrance to approach it from the side. Poking her head around the corner, she saw the outline of at least three men a short distance inside. Their slouching posture was at direct odds with the naked weapons in their hands. Feeling very weary, Ariadne sagged against the house’s cold wattle and daub. Kotys was being true to his word. The bodyguards were there to abduct her. Curse him! Creeping around them to reach her hut by another route would merely delay the inevitable. In that instant, the helplessness that Ariadne had felt when her father was about to assault her sexually returned. It sat in her belly as if it had never been absent, an acid pool of nausea and self-loathing.
Her indecision seemed to last an eternity, but in reality was no more than a few heartbeats. Unsure of where to go, Ariadne stumbled across the central space. It was then that she saw a second party of warriors heading towards her from the temple. Ducking her head in a pathetic attempt not to be seen, she changed direction. There was only one way to go. To the main gate. It didn’t matter that it was bitterly cold, snowing, or that it was dangerous beyond the village walls. She had to get away from Kotys, and it didn’t matter how.
‘Priestess!’ a voice called behind her.
A sob escaped Ariadne’s lips, and she quickened her pace. All she had to do was reach the entrance. The guards outside wouldn’t dare to stop her and the impending snowstorm would swallow her up as surely as the underworld. What she was doing was madness, but in that exact moment, Ariadne didn’t care. Death was better than experiencing again what she’d endured as a child. She glanced over her shoulder and was pleased to see that the warriors were too far away to prevent her from escaping. With few other people about, this one tiny victory would not be denied her.
Totally absorbed, Ariadne wasn’t looking where she was going. With a thump, she collided with someone. It was only the other’s strong arm that prevented her from falling flat on her back. She looked up to find a pair of amused grey eyes regarding her. It was the man who’d just arrived with the lame stallion. Ariadne blinked. This close, he was quite handsome.
‘My apologies. I don’t usually make it my business to knock over attractive women.’
‘N-no, it was my fault,’ she faltered.
Noticing the tattoos and red cloak which marked her station, he released his grip. ‘I’m sorry, priestess, I meant no disrespect. Why the hurry?’
‘I-’ Ariadne glanced back. The warriors were less than twenty paces away. ‘I have to go. Leave the village.’
‘In this weather, priestess?’ He looked alarmed. ‘You’ll catch your death. If not, the wolves will have you.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ muttered Ariadne, ‘but I’m going nonetheless.’ She made to move past.
He threw out his arm, stopping her. ‘What have you done?’ he asked, nodding his head at the approaching group.
‘Done? Nothing!’ She laughed bitterly and tried again to walk on, but his arm was immovable, like a bar of iron. Ariadne didn’t have the strength — or will — to push against it.
‘Something tells me that lot aren’t coming to discuss the weather. Who are they?’
‘Kotys’ men,’ she replied flatly.
‘Kotys?’ I haven’t thought of the prick for years, but now his name is falling from everyone’s lips.
‘The king.’
His lip curled. ‘The king. You’ve crossed him, I take it?’
‘Does refusing to go to his bed count as crossing him?’ she spat back. ‘If it does, then yes, that’s what I’ve done. Now let me go.’
He lowered his arm. ‘So they’re coming to take you to Kotys, but you won’t have it?’
‘Yes. I’ll die before I let that bastard rape me.’ Ariadne stared into his eyes, and was surprised by what she saw. As well as anger, there was admiration. And hate — but not for her.
‘Don’t move.’ Dropping the horse’s lead rope, he stepped in front of her.
‘What are you doing?’ she stammered.
‘Men might act like that in war, but not in peacetime, in my fucking village,’ he barked. ‘I thought I’d left all that behind me.’ I thought I could come home without discovering that my father had been murdered by a man he once called friend.
Ariadne watched, petrified, as the warriors arrived, four well-armed warriors with hawkish expressions and a purposeful manner. ‘Well met,’ called the first. ‘We’re in your debt for stopping that woman.’
‘I didn’t stop her,’ he replied harshly. ‘We collided and I prevented her from falling.’
‘It’s of no matter how you did it.’ Revealing rows of rotten teeth, the warrior’s leer was more snarl than smile. ‘She’d have escaped but for you. We’re grateful. Now step aside.’
‘Why? What’s she done?’
‘None of your damn business,’ growled the warrior.
‘She’s a priestess. Hardly a common criminal. Not the type of person to manhandle either, unless you want to anger a god. Don’t you agree?’ His voice was low but menacing.
The warrior blinked in surprise. ‘Look, friend, we’re just following orders. The king wants to see her. So do us a favour and piss off, eh?’
He looked back at Ariadne. ‘Do you want to go with these men?’
‘You don’t have to do this,’ she whispered, not quite believing her eyes and ears.
He didn’t acknowledge what she’d said. ‘Yes or no?’
Ariadne looked at the quartet of bodyguards and shuddered.
‘Well?’
‘No,’ she heard herself say. Instantly, guilt tore at her. Why have you involved him too?
