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.’