Trying to shift his thoughts from the bloody images that sprang to mind, he returned his gaze to the sea. Some distance out, a dolphin leaped out of the water. It was followed by another, and another. Soon Spartacus had counted eight. He grinned at their mischievous play, their clear pleasure at swimming together. They are truly free.
At first, the sail that came into sight beyond the dolphins didn’t register.
When it did, Spartacus’ heart leaped. Could the gods have answered his prayers?
Taxacis’ guttural voice broke the silence. ‘A ship!’
‘I see it,’ said Spartacus, keeping his voice calm.
‘Is it… merchant?’ asked Atheas.
‘We’ll have to wait and see,’ replied Spartacus. He settled down on his haunches. Perhaps it was because of the dolphins, but he had a good feeling in his belly.
They waited for a long time. No one spoke, but the silence between them was companionable. There was plenty to watch. Drawn by the same shoal of fish as the dolphins, hundreds of gulls swooped and dived over the waves. Successful birds rose in triumph with a fish in their beaks, and screeched indignantly at any of their fellows that tried to steal their catch. Eventually, the vessel drew near enough for its shape to be determined. Spartacus eyed the long, predatory shape with undisguised glee. ‘If that’s a merchantman, my name’s Marcus Licinius Crassus!’
Atheas squinted at him. ‘No. You… still ugly… as ever.’
Taxacis chortled.
‘It’s not big enough to be a trireme,’ mused Spartacus. ‘It must be a bireme.’
The ship sailed closer to the shore. With increasing excitement, they waited until it was parallel with their position. As Spartacus had thought, there were two sets of oars, one above the other. It had a sharp prow and a typical rounded stern. A large rectangular sail billowed from a central mast. At a rough estimate, there were thirty to forty oarsmen a side. Other figures lined the sides. What drew Spartacus’ attention more than the crew, however, were the weapons on view.
‘Those are catapults on the deck!’ he cried, jumping up and down. ‘Here! Here!’ he roared.
The Scythians copied him, and a moment later, it was clear that they had been seen. A shouted command and the ship hove to. The oars were shipped, and an anchor thrown out. Several men scrambled into the little boat that was tied astern.
Spartacus glanced at Atheas, who was already fingering his sword. ‘Let’s play it friendly. We don’t want to scare them off. You too, Taxacis.’
Taxacis nodded, but Atheas adopted a false hurt expression, which made him look even fiercer. ‘I… always friendly!’
For the first time in weeks, Spartacus laughed.
The rowing boat didn’t take long to reach the beach. As soon as it was in the shallows, three of the four heavily armed men within jumped out. Led by a short, dark-skinned figure, they waded ashore. They stopped a short distance away.
‘Well met,’ said Spartacus, his manner amiable.
‘Well met,’ replied the dark-skinned man suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’
‘I could ask the same of you, my friend.’
‘You don’t have three catapults trained on you,’ retorted the pirate.
He didn’t bother checking. ‘Since you spoke first, I will answer. I am Spartacus the Thracian. You may have heard of me.’
The pirate’s composure slipped a little. ‘How can you prove this?’ he demanded. ‘Half the brigands in Italy probably claim the same thing.’
‘I have no need to demonstrate who I am. In the next bay sits an army sixty thousand strong. Ask any soldier in it who their leader is.’
The pirate’s manner changed at once. ‘It is an honour to meet you. I am Heracleo. Your messenger — Carbo, was it? — may have spoken of me. We met near Croton some time since.’
‘He did. You were to bring as many ships as you could. You brought but one,’ said Spartacus, showing none of his concern.
‘It was more difficult than I expected to recruit ships. The market at Delos is busier than ever, and all that most captains are concerned with is finding slaves to sell there. The reality of that is easier to believe in than my tale. But do not fear, everything is in order.’ Heracleo flashed a greasy smile. ‘Two captains of my acquaintance operate in this area. I sent word to them, arranging a meeting to the north of here. A couple of days, and I’ll return with at least one trireme and another bireme. Maybe more, if the word has gone out as I’ve hoped.’
Spartacus’ eyes held Heracleo’s for several moments, but the pirate did not look away. The dog is telling the truth, or he’s a damn good liar, he thought. ‘I had hoped for more vessels, but three should suffice. How many soldiers can each ship transport at a time?’
‘For a short crossing like this?’ Heracleo waved dismissively at Sicily. ‘The biremes can carry fifty, perhaps even sixty each. The trireme will take nearly a hundred.’
Spartacus did a quick mental calculation. ‘About a dozen trips should see my men on the other side then.’
‘Indeed, indeed,’ agreed Heracleo. A greedy look entered his eyes. ‘And the price-’
‘It remains the same,’ interrupted Spartacus.
‘I was to be paid a hundred and twenty-five thousand denarii when I arrived.’
‘When you arrived with ships. I see only one.’
Heracleo licked his lips. ‘The other captains might need some evidence of your… goodwill.’
Spartacus didn’t trust the pirate, but the fact that Heracleo had turned up was a good indicator that he might honour his side of the bargain. It would be politic to keep him sweet. Like it or not, he had far more to lose than Heracleo. ‘You’ve been honourable thus far. As a friendly gesture, I’d be willing to give you twenty thousand denarii more. What captain wouldn’t be persuaded to help when you hand him some of that?’
Heracleo sucked in a breath, considering. Then he was all smiles. ‘Thank you. How soon could-’
‘Wait here. I’ll have a party of my men bring the money at once.’ Heracleo rubbed his hands together and Spartacus gave him a warning look. ‘Play me false, and I’ll hunt you down, even if it takes me the rest of my days. Do you understand?’
‘I will return. You have my word on it.’ Heracleo stuck out his hand.
Pleased, Spartacus accepted the grip. ‘Two days until you return, you say?’
‘Two, maybe three. No more than that.’
‘Good. We’ll be waiting for you here.’
Leaving Maron in the care of the midwife, Ariadne set off through the camp, the wicker basket containing her snake under one arm. Inside, she had carefully placed a small amphora of wine, a little sheaf of wheat and a bunch of grapes. Half a dozen soldiers — protection given her by Spartacus — dogged her footsteps, but they knew well enough to hang back. She didn’t know exactly where to go, but as long as she found solitude, it didn’t matter. Living in the midst of an enormous army felt like dwelling in a city. Ariadne didn’t like it, nor had she grown used to it. The villages in Thrace that she had grown up with contained no more than a few thousand inhabitants. Even Kabyle, the only city, had not been large. There she had prayed to her god in the temple, but had also been able to access wild places. Places where she could almost feel the otherworld, where Dionysus’ voice wasn’t drowned out by the sound of people.
More than anything, Ariadne longed for guidance. It had been too long since she felt the certainty of the god’s will in her actions. Spartacus’ purpose seemed as implacable as ever, yet that didn’t mean he wasn’t also making mistakes. Since his return from Rome, they had resolved their differences, but there was a faint distance between them that hadn’t been there before. Spartacus sought out her opinion less than he had; she asked fewer questions about what he was doing.