The Gladiator

Chapter VIII

As soon as the cell doors had been unlocked, Ariadne hurried in search of Spartacus. Like faithful shadows, Getas and Seuthes followed her. They were as concerned as she. Ariadne found her husband in the sick bay, which was positioned beside the mortuary. She tried not to dwell on the significance of that proximity. He won. He’s alive. How long will his luck hold out, though? she wondered in the next heartbeat. What if his dream means that his death is imminent?

Ariadne managed to pull a smile on to her face as she entered the whitewashed room, which was furnished with several cots and an operating table covered in old bloodstains. Shelves lined one wall, stacked with a frightening variety of probes, hooks, spatulas and scalpels. Dark blue bottles of medicine stood in careful rows alongside the metal instruments.

The surgeon, a stoop-shouldered Greek of indeterminate age, was crouched over Spartacus, obscuring the view of the door. ‘Hold still,’ he ordered, pouring the contents of a little vial over the cut. ‘ Acetum,’ he said with satisfaction as Spartacus hissed with pain. ‘It stings like a dozen wasps.’

‘More like twenty, I’d say,’ replied Spartacus sarcastically.

‘It’s excellent at preventing gangrene and blood poisoning, though,’ said the surgeon. ‘So the pain is well worth it.’

‘The pain is nothing,’ snapped Spartacus. ‘How bad is the wound?’

Ariadne stopped herself from calling out. A pulse hammered at the base of her throat. Dionysus, stay with him, she pleaded.

‘Let me see.’ Picking a probe from the tray beside him, the surgeon began to examine the gash. He poked and prodded, and Ariadne saw Spartacus’ free hand clenching into a fist. Her heart bled for him, but she said nothing. She was too worried.

‘It’s not deep,’ pronounced the surgeon a moment later. ‘The blade sliced through the skin and the subcutaneous tissue, but the muscle below hasn’t been damaged. You’re lucky. I’ll place a line of metal clamps along the wound. It should be healed within two weeks. You’ll be able to fight again in a month.’

‘Wonderful,’ said Spartacus drily. ‘Batiatus will be pleased.’

The surgeon reached over to the nearest shelf and in doing so, noticed Ariadne. ‘Ah! You have a visitor.’

Ariadne hurried forward. Close up, the blood from the shallow cut on his cheek looked horrifying. Without even realising, she reached out to touch his face. ‘You’re all right?’

He smiled. ‘I will be, yes.’

They stared at each other, and then Spartacus reached up to enclose her hand in his.

Ariadne bit her lip, but she didn’t move. She could feel a strange but pleasant warmth in the pit of her stomach. He was going to be fine. Thank you, Dionysus.

The surgeon came fussing in with a bowl of metal staples and the magic vanished, like a feather carried away on the wind. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that later. What he needs now is for that wound to be closed, before any foul airs get into it. Leave us in peace.’

Spartacus’ lips twitched. ‘You heard the man. I’ll see you in our cell in a short while.’

‘Yes.’ Reluctant to let Spartacus out of her sight, Ariadne backed away. She lingered by the door until the surgeon gestured irritably at her to get out. Feeling happier than she had in an age, Ariadne walked towards the baths. This was a good time of the day to have a wash. The gladiators mostly washed in the evening, when their day’s work was done. Getas and Seuthes would check that the area was empty, and then she could relax in peace. And think about Spartacus, she thought with a guilty stab of pleasure.

She smiled at the two Thracians as they disappeared inside. For once, life was very sweet.

‘Going to clean yourself up and give him a victory fuck, are you?’

Ariadne turned in horror to find Phortis three steps away, with half a dozen guards at his back. Several were carrying lengths of rope. The Capuan clicked his fingers. ‘You know what to do.’ Grinning, the men shoved past, into the baths.

Too late, Ariadne cursed her decision not to carry her snake. She’d thought only to be gone from her cell for a few moments. ‘W-what are you doing?’ Her eyes flickered around the yard, desperately looking for Carbo, or any of the Thracians allied to Spartacus. She couldn’t see a single one.

Knowing what she was doing, Phortis moved fast. He stepped in close, and shoved his face into hers. His breath stank, and Ariadne recoiled. ‘Why, nothing. I just wanted us to have a little time together without your shitbag of a husband.’

She tried to step away, but Phortis pinned her against the wall. One hand immediately dropped to her groin. Letting out a sigh of lust, he cupped her crotch with his palm. ‘Sweet,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘Very sweet.’

Ariadne sank her teeth into his neck.

With an animal squeal of pain, Phortis pulled free. Ariadne had a brief impression of the blood oozing from her teeth marks before he backhanded her across the cheek with all his might. Half stunned, she felt her knees give way beneath her, but then Phortis threw an arm around her shoulders and hauled her bodily inside the door, shoving it closed with his foot.

Through eyes that were barely able to focus, Ariadne saw Getas and Seuthes lying tied up side by side. Both their faces were cut and bruised from the attack that had rendered them helpless. The leering guards stood over them. This was all planned, she thought dully. With that, Phortis threw her to the floor. Ariadne’s head cracked off the mosaic, and another sheet of pain slashed through her brain. She was barely conscious as the Capuan ripped off her clothes and pulled down his own undergarment. Old, terrible memories of her father were woken, however, when he knelt and she saw his throbbing erection spring free. ‘No!’ Ariadne mumbled. ‘Please, no.’

‘That means you really want it, you whore,’ Phortis snarled. ‘You’re all the same!’

‘No,’ she said, pitching her voice as loudly she could. Dionysus, help me!

‘Leave her alone, you bastard!’ shouted Getas.

One of the guards kicked him in the belly, and Phortis delivered another mighty slap to Ariadne’s face.

She slumped back on to the floor, unable to stop him from forcing her legs apart. He moved up to crouch over her, and she felt his stiffness pressing against her groin. ‘I’ve been waiting for this moment since I clapped eyes on you.’ With that, he leaned down to kiss her on the lips. Ariadne closed her eyes as the Capuan forced his tongue into her mouth. She tried with all her willpower to bite off the probing piece of flesh, but there was no power in her jaws. A heartbeat later, the magnitude of her ordeal was amplified a thousandfold when Phortis shoved his pelvis forward and tried to enter her.

Nausea and revulsion washed over Ariadne in a great tide — as it had so many times in her childhood. All at once, she felt an overwhelming need to vomit. She gagged; Phortis recoiled, and then she was sick all over her front. Little spatters of puke flew up to cover his face.

I wish you’d drown in it, you cocksucker.

Phortis used the arm of his tunic to wipe off the worst of the gobbets before leering down at her. ‘You dirty bitch! That’s only whetted my appetite.’ With a deep grunt, he pushed himself inside her and began to thrust to and fro.

Ariadne gasped with the shock and pain of it. She wasn’t surprised, when she looked up again, to see her father’s face instead of Phortis’. She saw the same lust twisting his features. The same glitter in his cold, dead eyes. Heard the same animal noises of pleasure leaving his lips. ‘I hate you,’ she hissed. ‘I always did, and I always will.’

‘Huh?’

She blinked. Phortis had reappeared. ‘I call down a curse on your miserable head,’ she breathed. ‘May Dionysus’ maenads stalk your every footstep. The moment that you stumble, they will swarm all over you, and rend your flesh to shreds. Nothing will be left of you but a grinning skull and a jumble of gnawed bones.’ Ariadne saw the fear mushroom in Phortis’ eyes, felt him shrivel inside her, and somehow she dragged a manic laugh from the bottom of her lungs. ‘Call yourself a man? You’re nothing but a limp-pricked pig!’

This time, it was Phortis’ turn to recoil. Ariadne’s reprieve lasted no more than a heartbeat, however. He drew back his right arm to strike her again. She closed her eyes, and steeled herself against the pain that would follow.

‘Phortis!’

Ariadne felt the Capuan tense. His blow did not fall.

‘Phortis, where are you, damn it? Crassus is about to leave. We still have much to discuss.’ Batiatus sounded irritated.

Phortis grabbed Ariadne’s chin and forced her to look at him. ‘You’re in luck, you whore. Next time, you won’t be so fortunate. And don’t think that there won’t be a next time! I’ll be watching you, from dawn till dusk. Spartacus and his pathetic rabble can’t watch over you every moment of every day. A gag in your mouth will stop you from spewing your poison. If you should choke to death on your vomit while I fuck you, no one would be better pleased than I.’

‘Phortis!’ yelled Batiatus.

‘I’m coming, master!’ Adjusting his clothing, the Capuan got to his feet. He glared at the guards. ‘Untie those two. Follow me out when you hear me move off with Batiatus.’ With a final, malevolent look at Ariadne, he was gone.

Overcome by her pain, her shame and her terror, Ariadne lapsed into the oblivion that had been threatening to overcome her.

When Ariadne awoke, her head felt as if someone was pounding a pair of lump hammers off it. A thin, thready pulse beat off the back of her eyelids. She opened her eyes, and a wave of nausea swept through her. She retched, and at once someone — the surgeon? — rolled her on to her side, placing the cold lip of a vessel to her lips. ‘Let it out. Let it all out.’

After a moment, it was clear that there was little left in Ariadne’s stomach to come up. The bowl was taken away, and she was moved on to her back again. ‘Spartacus,’ she croaked.

‘I’m here,’ he said gently.

Her eyes swivelled, finding him only a step away, right behind the surgeon. ‘Thank the gods,’ she whispered.

His smile was supposed to be reassuring, but the worry was etched clearly on his face as he turned to the Greek. ‘Well?’

‘I couldn’t feel any breaks in her skull, but it’s far too early to say if there’s been any lasting damage,’ muttered the surgeon. ‘She needs to stay in bed for at least a day and a night.’

Lasting damage? thought Ariadne in amazement. There was a fuzzy edge to her vision, and her headache was excruciating, but she could feel her strength beginning to return. ‘How long was I unconscious?’

‘Long enough. Phortis is an animal!’ replied the surgeon savagely. He handed Spartacus a glass phial. ‘She 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.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ He was surprised that she’d noticed.

Liar. ‘Who will you ask first?’

‘Oenomaus,’ replied Spartacus instantly. ‘He has the most followers.’

‘If he throws in his lot with you, others will follow,’ she said, probing.

‘That’s my hope, yes.’

‘How will you persuade him?’

‘I’ll find a way.’

Ariadne honed in on the slight uncertainty in his voice. She stared into his eyes long and hard. ‘Did you dream of the snake again?’

He nodded unwillingly. She sees much.

For the briefest instant, Ariadne considered lying, telling him that Dionysus had shown her an explanation for his vision. No, she decided. That might anger the god. Might make things worse than they already were. ‘And you think that this could mean your death?’

‘Our deaths,’ he answered quietly.

Ariadne looked at him. The loud sounds of activity in the yard died away as the world closed in around them. Even Getas and Seuthes, who were only a few steps away, seemed less real.

‘If things go wrong, I can’t leave you behind for that fucking jackal. I, or one of us, will end it for you first.’

She gripped his hand. ‘I wouldn’t want it any other way. We will stay together — in life or death.’

He smiled grimly. ‘So be it.’

Ariadne watched as Spartacus walked off alone. She nodded a welcome as Getas, Seuthes and Carbo resumed their positions, but inside, doubts plagued her. After what had happened the previous day, it was all too easy to presume the worst possible outcome from his dream. Dionysus, help him, she prayed. I have ever been your faithful servant. Do not forsake me or my husband now.

Spartacus headed straight for Oenomaus, who was sitting at a table, eating with his men. The certainty he’d felt the night before was still there, but he had no idea if the German — or anyone else for that matter — would agree with him. He’d never spoken to Oenomaus, and his plan did border on the lunatic. Great Rider, stay by my side. I ask you to guide my path. Spartacus was a dozen steps from Oenomaus when a barrel-chested man with long hair and a bushy beard stood up and blocked his way. Several others moved to join him, their hands reaching into their tunics for hidden weapons. ‘Stop right there,’ growled the first man in poor Latin. ‘What do you want?’

Spartacus raised his hands in peaceful greeting. ‘Nothing much. Just a word with Oenomaus.’

‘Fuck off. He doesn’t want to speak to you.’

Spartacus peered around the other’s bulk. ‘Oenomaus!’

The German turned his head. ‘Who called my name?’

‘I did,’ answered Spartacus. He glanced at the bearded man blocking his way. ‘Your polite friend here says that you wouldn’t want to talk to me.’

‘Polite? Him?’ The corners of Oenomaus’ lips lifted a fraction. ‘He’s right, though. Why would I bother with the likes of you?’

‘What I’ve got to say might interest you.’

‘You’re the one who fought before Crassus?’

‘Yes.’

‘Most men would have succumbed to the wound you took. You did well to win.’

‘Thank you.’

Oenomaus indicated the bench across the table from him. ‘Take a seat.’ The men opposite hastily shuffled out of the way.

Stepping around the glowering German, Spartacus walked forward. He glanced around as he sat down, checking that none of the guards appeared interested. To his relief, none were even looking in their direction. Phortis was nowhere to be seen either. All the more reason to move fast.

‘So, what do you want?’ asked Oenomaus bluntly.

He’s direct. That’s good. Spartacus glanced at the fighters to either side. ‘What I’ve got to say is private.’

‘These are my most trusted men,’ growled Oenomaus. ‘Speak your piece or piss off.’

‘Fair enough.’ Spartacus leaned closer. ‘I’m going to escape from the ludus with my followers. I wondered if you wanted to join me.’

Shock filled every face around him. Oenomaus was the first to recover. ‘Say that again.’

Spartacus took a quick look around. Still no sign of Phortis. Calmly, he repeated himself.

‘You don’t know me or what I’m capable of. How can you be sure that I won’t just turn around and tell Batiatus what you’re planning?’ demanded the German.

‘I can’t,’ replied Spartacus with a careless shrug. ‘But in my experience, a man who leads more than fifty others is not usually a rat.’

Oenomaus looked pleased. ‘You’re right about that. Go on.’

Spartacus seized his chance. ‘There are two hundred of us in the ludus. Batiatus has, what, thirty, thirty-five guards?’ He thumped one hand into the other, quietly, so that no one would see. ‘If enough of us took part, there is no way that they could stop us from seizing the armoury.’

Oenomaus’ gaze flickered to the balcony above. ‘The guards are well armed. Many men would die before we laid our hands on the weapons.’

‘Probably,’ retorted Spartacus. ‘Isn’t that better than dying in the arena to the roars of a Roman crowd?’

‘Some would say not, especially if they have survived a year or two within these walls.’ Oenomaus’ eyes were shrewd. ‘If their woman was under threat from Phortis, of course, they might feel differently.’

‘That’s not the only reason I want to escape.’

‘No?’

‘When I killed that warrior yesterday, I saw Batiatus’ and Crassus’ reactions. To them, I was no more than a circus act. Crassus said as much too.’

‘Do you not think I know that? We fight. Sometimes we are wounded. Sometimes we die. A little prize money comes our way from time to time. The best of us have a woman. It’s not much different to being a warrior in a war band.’

Have you no spine? Spartacus wanted to shout. He had the wits not to. That would be the surest way of turning the German against him. He pitched his voice low. Assertively. ‘By escaping, we would recover not only our independence and the right to determine our own fate, but our pride. Our pride!’

Oenomaus rubbed a finger along his lips, thinking.

Spartacus waited. He mustn’t push too hard.

‘It’s risky. Very risky,’ pronounced Oenomaus a moment later. ‘Who else is with you?’

The stakes were too high to lie, thought Spartacus. ‘I came to you first.’

‘No one else has said “yes” then?’

‘I have thirty-one men who will follow me to their deaths.’

‘That’s certainly what they will do if there are no more of you,’ replied Oenomaus acerbically.

‘So you won’t join me?’

‘If you manage to persuade some others, we can talk again.’ Oenomaus made a gesture of dismissal.

Spartacus raised his eyes to the heavens. Is that it? he screamed silently.

The bearded brute who’d tried to stop him talking to Oenomaus was already at his back. ‘Time to go.’

Furious, Spartacus stood. There was no point creating a scene. That would burn the foundations of any bridges he might have just built.

Oenomaus turned away to confer with one of his cronies.

‘Come on,’ growled the bearded German. He laid a hand on Spartacus’ arm.

‘Don’t touch me,’ hissed Spartacus. He was gratified when his order was actually obeyed.

He’d taken perhaps half a dozen steps when a finger of memory tickled his brain. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? He spun around, alarming the bearded man. ‘Wait. I must speak with Oenomaus again.’

‘No fucking way. You had your chance.’ Ham-like fists reached out to grab Spartacus’ tunic.

Spartacus ducked back, out of the way, and then darted forward to plant a fist in the other’s solar plexus. He used all his strength. The bearded man’s mouth opened in a great ‘O’ of surprise as the air left his lungs, and he sank to his knees like a stunned ox.

There was instant uproar. Benches clattered to the ground. A dozen Germans jumped up. Weapons glinted as they were whipped out, and Spartacus knew he had the briefest instant to speak before they were buried in his flesh. ‘Oenomaus! I regret downing your man, but he wouldn’t listen to me. There is something else.’

To his surprise and relief, Oenomaus raised a hand. His glowering supporters held back. He raised an eyebrow. ‘This had better be good.’

‘It is,’ promised Spartacus. ‘As Crassus went upstairs yesterday, I heard him say that he needed twenty skilled fighters for a munus. He seemed keen to buy them from here.’

‘Nothing remarkable about that,’ snapped Oenomaus. His men took a step towards Spartacus and this time, he didn’t stop them.

‘They are all to fight in contests to the death.’ Again he had all of their attention. What Spartacus didn’t say — didn’t need to say — was that at least half of the men would be German.

‘You’re lying!’

Spartacus stared straight at Oenomaus. ‘I swear on the grave of my mother, and by Dionysus and the Great Rider, that I am not.’

Oenomaus frowned.

Spartacus threw up another prayer, asking the gods for their help.

‘Who would lead this enterprise?’

Another loaded question, thought Spartacus. Thank the Rider he’d come up with the answer beforehand. ‘No one man. Both of us will look after our own followers. The same will apply to Gavius and the Gauls’ leaders, if they want to be part of it.’

Oenomaus grunted. ‘Where would we go?’

‘I don’t know yet. But one of my men is the new auctoratus. He knows the area, and can give us some ideas.’ That’s it. I’ve done my best.

There was a long pause.

Then Oenomaus leered. His expression was all teeth, like a wolf’s. ‘Count us in.’ He winked at those around him, and like a pack who have spotted an easier prey to take down, they growled in agreement.

Spartacus’ heart leaped. He gave a tiny nod, as if he’d expected nothing else. ‘Good.’

‘Can you persuade the others to join too?’

He offered the German a confident smile. ‘Leave them to me.’

‘Keep me informed.’

‘I will. Not a word to anyone.’ Movement flickered at the edge of Spartacus’ vision. A quick look told him it was Phortis. Shit! He framed the Capuan’s name with his lips.

Oenomaus winked to show he’d understood.

Spartacus kicked the bearded German. ‘Tell this idiot to watch his step.’

‘Go fuck yourself,’ yelled Oenomaus.

Spartacus backed away slowly, as if wary of being attacked. The Germans showered him with insults as he went. When Spartacus looked again, Phortis was smirking at the apparent enmity between him and Oenomaus. He’s taken the bait. Good.

Encouraged by his early success, Spartacus spent the rest of the day approaching other leaders in the ludus. When Gavius, the stocky fighter who led more than forty Samnites, heard of Oenomaus’ involvement, he was quick to promise his support. So too were the majority of the Thracians. Spartacus had no such luck with Castus and Gannicus, who led two separate groups of Gauls. Neither seemed as if they’d inform on him, but the pair couldn’t put aside their suspicion of the other factions, let alone of each other. He made no effort to talk to the remaining fighters. They were made up of too many nationalities. Spartacus didn’t bother trying to win over Crixus either. The big man’s glare followed him around the yard and told him his likely response.

Troubled by his failures, he took counsel with Getas and Seuthes. Carbo lingered in the background, feeling honoured to be included.

‘Maybe we should just forget about the Gauls,’ said Getas, scowling. ‘They’re troublesome bastards at the best of times.’

Seuthes chuckled. ‘He’s not wrong there.’

‘Yes, but they’re fearsome bloody fighters,’ added Spartacus. ‘Once we’re on the outside, we’ll be completely alone, with no friends. Every man’s hand will be turned against us. Think of that.’ If we succeed, where will we go? He felt a thrill of hope. I could go back to Thrace. Find Kotys.

‘It’s true,’ said Getas gloomily.

‘Fifty Gauls would make a huge difference to our capabilities,’ admitted Seuthes. ‘But you’ve already failed to persuade Castus and Gannicus, and Crixus is unapproachable. What else can we do?’

Spartacus frowned. ‘There has to be some way around this obstacle.’

‘Would they follow you if you beat them individually in combat?’ asked Carbo suddenly.

‘Eh?’ Seuthes rounded on him. ‘You want Spartacus to take on three champion fighters, one after another? Why don’t you do it instead, fool?’

Flushing, Carbo buttoned his lip.

‘I think you’re on to something.’

Spartacus ignored Getas and Seuthes’ shocked expressions, and Carbo’s confused one. ‘Obviously, I don’t want to fight all three of them. Even if I succeeded, I’d probably end up in the infirmary for a month. Neither Castus nor Gannicus would necessarily join if the other did.’

‘Of course not. They hate one another’s guts,’ said Getas.

‘But if I were to beat Crixus and he joined us, they might change their minds.’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ whispered Seuthes. ‘Your arm isn’t healed. And the man’s a beast.’

‘Just leave it,’ advised Getas. ‘We can do it without the Gauls.’

‘Can we?’ Spartacus inclined his head at the patrolling guards. ‘Think of the casualties that those whoresons could cause in the first few moments. We’ve all seen attacks broken by a volley of arrows before. The same could happen here.’

A grim silence descended, and Carbo wished he’d kept his mouth shut. They had all seen the guards practising in the yard. Most could feather a target with half a dozen shafts inside sixty heartbeats.

If there was ever a time to fight Crixus, it was now, thought Spartacus. Up till now, he’d avoided confrontation because it would have been pointless. Now, there was so much to gain. If virtually every man in the ludus was taking part, they had a much greater chance of success. His gut feeling was that he should do it, and if he admitted it, Spartacus knew it was also because he wanted to be seen as the man who had unified the gladiators. Regardless of what happened once they’d escaped, that would not be forgotten. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? Crixus might break a few of my ribs,’ he joked.

Getas’ mouth opened in protest, and shut again. ‘When?’

‘In the morning,’ replied Spartacus. ‘After a good night’s sleep.’

‘But-’ said Carbo, worried now.

‘Leave it,’ warned Seuthes. ‘I’ve seen that look in his eyes many times before.’

‘You’re risking your life.’

‘And that’s my choice,’ grated Spartacus.

Carbo looked down. What if he fails? he thought in anguish. What if Crixus kills him? I’ll have no one to protect me. Guilt suffused him for being so selfish, but he couldn’t help it.