Panting, Spartacus looked to either side. He could see no living guards, just a mass of grinning, bloodied gladiators. Getas was two steps away. Where’s Seuthes? he wondered. There was no time to look. ‘Open the gate! Go out on to the street, beyond arrow range. Wait for us there,’ Spartacus roared. ‘Castus! Gannicus! Gavius! Oenomaus! The entrance is secured.’ Through the din, he heard his call being answered. Good. Some of them will get away at least. Whether I — or Ariadne — will remains to be seen. ‘Getas, come with me.’ Spartacus grabbed one of the Scythians by the arm. ‘I must fetch my wife. Will you come?’ He was gratified by the man’s instant nod.
‘My friend come too. We protect you,’ growled the Scythian. A fierce grunt of agreement from the second man proved the point.
Spartacus spun and ripped his gladius free. The guard’s lifeless body slid down the gate, smearing a wide, red trail on the wood. ‘Follow me!’ Pushing his way through the throng, he sprinted for his cell. He had never felt such a pressing need for speed. The moment that the men holding the tables at the base of the stairs abandoned their posts, the guards would swarm into the yard. If he, Getas and the Scythians didn’t rescue Ariadne very fast, they’d all be killed.
What made his heart stop was not a tide of guards, however, but the sight of Phortis making his way, sword in hand, towards his cell. He’s going to kill her. ‘No!’ Spartacus screamed. But he was too far away. Too far to do anything but watch.
Phortis reached the door. Gripping the handle with his left hand, he flipped it open. ‘Where’s your man now, you whore?’
There was a heartbeat’s delay, and then something thin and black was tossed from within the cell, into Phortis’ shocked face. A cracked scream left the Capuan’s mouth, and he staggered backwards, clutching at his throat. His sword clattered to the ground, unnoticed.
Her snake! She threw her damn snake at him! Spartacus exulted as he reached Phortis, who had fallen to his knees. His face had already turned purple and his swollen tongue poked out of his black, bloated lips. Spartacus hawked and spat on the Capuan. Good enough for you. ‘Guard the door,’ he ordered Getas. He neatly sidestepped the snake, which had raised itself up into a threatening posture, and bounded into the cell. ‘Ariadne?’
‘Spartacus!’ She threw herself into his arms, sobbing.
‘It’s all right. I’m here. Phortis is dying.’
‘What happened? It all went wrong.’
‘Not now,’ he muttered. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Of course.’ Quickly, she grabbed up a fabric-wrapped bundle and a wicker basket from the bed. ‘I’m ready.’
Gods, but she’s brave. Taking her by the hand, he led her outside. He was relieved to find that although the guards had emerged into the yard, they were making little headway. Holding tables, Crixus and the last of his men were mounting a ferocious rearguard action, allowing more gladiators to escape. Time is still of the essence.
‘Wait.’
‘Ariadne!’
Pulling free, Ariadne began talking to her snake in a low, calm voice. When she had approached to within a few steps, she threw a cloth over it and swiftly grabbed it behind the head. Shoving it into the basket, she gave Spartacus a pleased look. ‘I can’t leave it behind. It saved my life.’
‘Let’s go!’
Together with Getas and the Scythians, they raced past Phortis’ corpse, following the walkway around to the gate rather than crossing the yard. Spartacus was about to shout at Crixus to pull back when the Gaul turned and saw him.
‘Where’s Gavius?’ asked Spartacus.
‘Dead. The remainder of his men have broken.’
Spartacus hid his disappointment. ‘Time to go then.’ Quickly, he led Ariadne out on to the street, which was filled with gladiators. Among them were Castus and Gannicus. He saw Carbo’s face there, and those of Amatokos and Chloris too. Considerably less than a hundred. So few. ‘All men with weapons, to the front! When Crixus and his lads come out, I want a false charge at the guards. Show them that we mean fucking business. It’ll remind them that Batiatus wields no power beyond the ludus. Clear?’
They roared their agreement back at him. Barely armed or not, the gladiators’ bloodlust was up. Spartacus felt the same, but he calmed himself.
They waited on either side of the gate as the Gauls withdrew in good order towards them.
‘Crixus! Tell your men to split in the middle as you come out,’ Spartacus shouted. ‘We’ll drive the bastards back.’
Crixus bellowed something in Gaulish.
With eager faces, the gladiators around Spartacus moved forward a step.
‘Hold!’ He lifted his gladius high. ‘Hold!’
They did as he said.
Crixus and his men shuffled backwards out of the ludus.
The guards’ instinct kicked in, and their advance slowed.
The Gauls split apart, opening a central corridor.
‘Let’s show them that we’ll rip their hearts out!’ roared Spartacus. ‘Now!’ He charged forward, and was followed by a heaving mass of gladiators.
The guards took one look at them and came to a dead halt. Then, as one, they began retreating into the ludus.
Spartacus burned to pursue them. Instead, he slowed down and stopped. ‘Halt,’ he cried. ‘They’re scared enough. Back to the street!’ Keeping his face to the front, Spartacus began reversing. On the balcony, he could see Batiatus screaming abuse at his men. Shout all you like, cocksucker. They have more sense than to die needlessly. In forlorn twos and threes, the fighters who had been left behind stood and watched as the escaping gladiators withdrew. They had their chance, thought Spartacus harshly. ‘Pull the gates to. The dogs won’t dare open them again for a while.’
The four other leaders were waiting for him. They exchanged a brief, wary look.
‘Which way?’ demanded Oenomaus.
‘Carbo?’ cried Spartacus.
‘Vesuvius is that way.’ Carbo pointed confidently down the street. ‘If we skirt around the walls, we can join the main road to the south of the town.’
‘Good,’ said Spartacus.
Oenomaus was already issuing orders to his men. The three Gauls were doing the same.
Spartacus glanced at Ariadne, who nodded her readiness. About twenty men were waiting for his command. The majority were Thracian, but Carbo was there too. He also spotted at least one Greek, and a pair of Nubians. Another woman in addition to Chloris. And, of course, the two remaining Scythians. I don’t even know their names.
His eyes darted around. ‘Where’s Seuthes?’
Getas’ face darkened. ‘He didn’t make it.’
‘What happened?’
‘One of the guards at the gate was playing dead. He stabbed Seuthes from below.’ Getas’ fingers touched his groin. ‘Seuthes didn’t have a chance. He bled out as I watched.’ His face twitched with grief.
Spartacus’ gaze flickered back to the gate. Sleep well, brother. Then, out loud, ‘Time to move.’
He loped off. Ariadne ran beside him. Behind them came Getas, Carbo and his men. In a swarming tide, the remainder followed.
From the vegetable garden, the cock crowed again.
Spartacus forgot his sorrow for a moment. At least he’d never have to listen to the damn bird again.
Chapter X
Marcus Licinius Crassus exited the great bronze doors that framed the entrance to the Curia, the building where the Senate met, and where he had just spent the morning listening to debates. Scores upon scores of toga-clad senators were also leaving. When they saw Crassus, the vast majority were careful to move deferentially out of his way. Many smiled; most murmured a respectful greeting as well. Keeping his expression genial, Crassus returned every salutation, no matter how lowly the politician who had made it. A friendly word of recognition today can become a new friend tomorrow. As always, his efforts bore rich fruit. In the time it took Crassus to reach the Curia’s front steps, he’d received the promise of two votes in his favour in the upcoming bill on slave ownership, been offered first refusal on the purchase of a newly discovered silver mine in Iberia and had a grovelling request for more time from someone whose debt to him was due the following week. Catching sight of Pompey Magnus nearby, accompanied only by his immediate coterie of followers, Crassus permitted himself a tiny, internal gloat. You might have come back to Rome on a flying visit to bask in the Senate’s adulation over your so-called victories in Iberia, but you’re still an arrogant young pup. Watch and learn, Pompey. This is how political success is achieved.