Ben Kane - The Gladiator

Ariadne was also pleased to see no lurking shapes near her house. Polles and his men were still in the alleyway or, more likely, had returned with their cheated comrades to the king. Filling a bucket of water from the nearby well, she left him settling the horse in the lean-to. She hurried inside, noticing as she lit an oil lamp that her hands were shaking. Trying to regain her composure, she sat down on the three-legged stool. Had her situation improved in any way? In reality, she had just exchanged one set of dangers for another. He might be a fearsome warrior, but he couldn’t fight all of Kotys’ men and expect to win. Despite her pessimism, Ariadne could not deny the spark of pleasure that glowed in her heart. He had been under no obligation to step in. Most sane men would have turned the other way when they’d seen the king’s bodyguards. Instead, at the risk of his own life, he had saved her. Weirdly, Ariadne felt a trace of hope. He had to know the odds that they faced, yet he remained calm, even unperturbed. That meant he must have a plan.

She smiled as he entered, barring the door behind him. ‘Is your horse fed and watered?’

‘He is,’ he replied, looking satisfied.

‘You care for him greatly.’

‘I do. He’s been under me, or by my side, through more than five years of constant war.’

‘That’s a long time to be fighting.’

‘It is. That’s why I came home. To hang up my sword and settle down for a while. Instead, I’ve done the complete opposite.’ His lips twisted wryly. ‘To be honest, I’m not that surprised. The Rider has a habit of doing this to me. And he knows best.’

‘Nonetheless, I’m sorry,’ said Ariadne, feeling even worse.

‘We’ve covered this ground already,’ he said in a reproving voice. ‘It was my decision to intervene.’ My decision to enter the village, even when I was recognised.

‘It was,’ she acknowledged. Then, ‘I don’t even know your name.’

‘Nor I yours,’ he replied, smiling.

‘Ariadne.’ She couldn’t stop her cheeks from burning as she spoke.

‘It’s an honour to meet you. I am Spartacus.’

She frowned. The name rang a bell in her head, but she didn’t know why. ‘How long have you been away exactly?’

‘Eight years, give or take. You’ve not been here that long.’

‘No. Six months.’

‘When did Kotys start bothering you?’

‘Practically from the first moment I got here. I’ve managed to fend him off thus far, but today, for whatever reason, he had had enough. Ostensibly, I was to dine with him, but it was just a facade. For him to-’

‘I can imagine,’ he interjected. ‘I knew that the whoreson was a murderer, but a rapist too? The world will be a better place when he’s gone.’ And if the Rider wills it, my blade will end his stinking life.

‘So the rumours are true then?’

‘Oh yes,’ he replied bitterly. ‘When Rhesus, the last king died, Kotys had his son and heir slain. Sitalkes, my father, must have tried to intervene, because he was killed too.’

‘Your father, murdered?’ Ariadne’s heart went out to him. ‘How did you find this out?’

‘I met a boy tending stock not half a mile from the front gate. It was easy enough to persuade him to talk. I wasn’t sure whether to believe it all, but one of the guards was an old comrade of my father’s. He confirmed the story. So did the friends I spoke to briefly.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She reached out to touch his arm, but suddenly self-conscious, stopped herself.

His scowl deepened. ‘Not half as sorry as Kotys and Polles, whoever the fuck he is, will be soon.’

Ariadne’s breath caught in her chest. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m told that Kotys is very unpopular. That the majority of warriors hate his guts and only his bodyguards are truly loyal. There are what, a hundred of them or so?’

Still not believing what she was hearing, Ariadne nodded.

‘If I can persuade sixty or seventy men to follow me, we’ll take them.’

She saw the self-belief in his grey eyes, and her heart filled. Thank you, Dionysus! ‘This is what I’ve been praying for.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You’ve also been plotting to overthrow a king?’

‘What of it?’ she retorted. ‘He’s nothing but a tyrant.’

‘Feisty, aren’t you?’ He gave her an approving look, and her stomach fluttered. ‘So you will help?’

‘In whatever way I can. I will consult the god, but I have no doubt that he would wish Kotys removed from power.’

‘Good. With your permission, I’ll tell the warriors exactly that.’

She started up in alarm. ‘You’re going?’

‘Not yet. I’ll stay until midnight or so. If Polles and his men haven’t appeared by then, they’re not going to before the morning. I’ll rest until then. It’s been a long day.’

Ariadne caught him looking at the cupboard where she kept her provisions. ‘I’m sorry. You must be hungry after your journey.’

‘I could eat.’

‘Let me fetch you something.’ Conscious of his eyes on her the whole time, Ariadne prepared a plate of bread and goats’ cheese. She added a spoonful of cold barley porridge from a blackened iron pot. ‘Apart from water, that’s all I have.’

‘It’s plenty,’ he said, reaching out with eager hands.

Ariadne crept to the door while he demolished the food. Placing her ear against the timbers in a number of places, she listened. Nothing, apart from the usual chorus of dogs barking. It was some relief. Not knowing what else to do, she found a spare blanket and tossed it to him. She saw his eyes move to her bed. ‘Don’t go getting any ideas. You can rest on the floor.’

‘Of course.’ He looked amused. ‘I expected no less.’

Discomfited by his confidence — was it smugness? — she lay down on her bed without undressing and pulled up the covers.

‘Sleep well.’ He moved around the room, blowing out all but one of the oil lamps. Laying the mantle by the door, he drew his sword and placed it alongside. Then, sitting with his back against the wall, he pulled his cloak tightly around himself and closed his eyes.

Almost at once, Ariadne found herself staring at him. The flickering of the lamp’s flame threw Spartacus’ regular features half into shadow, giving him a mysterious appearance. His hair was cut close to the scalp in the Roman military fashion. A faint scar ran off his straight nose on to his left cheek. A heavy growth of stubble covered his square, determined jaw. It was an attractive face, as she had noticed before. Hard, too, she thought, but she could see no cruelty there, no similarity to the likes of Polles or Kotys.

Was it possible that he had been sent by Dionysus? she wondered. It was tempting to think so. If he hadn’t appeared, she would currently be dying of exposure, or of injuries sustained from falling off one of the precipices that lined the road away from the village. She offered a prayer of thanks to her god. That done, Ariadne relaxed on to her bed. It was time to get what rest she could. Tomorrow was another day.

Ten steps away, Spartacus was silently communing with his own favourite deity, the Thracian rider god. He who shall not be named. I ask you to keep your shield and sword over us both. Let the warriors listen to me as I go among them. It was a heartfelt plea. For years, Spartacus’ life had been about nothing more than fighting, killing and learning Roman battle tactics. In the last two hours, things had changed more than he could have thought possible. His hopes of a warm homecoming had vanished. He was now seeking vengeance for his father’s murder. He was a potential regicide. Spartacus let out a long breath. Such was the way of the gods. Over the years, he’d learned to take the knocks that life delivered him, but this one was harder than most. As always, I bow to your will, Great Rider. He took a surreptitious look at Ariadne, and his fierce expression softened. Not everything that had happened since his return was to be regretted.