by Ben Kane
Another respectful silence; again no response.
Trusting this meant that Dionysus was in a generous mood, Ariadne picked up the amphora for the second time. ‘I bring you some of the finest vintage wine. Accept this as a token of my commitment to you.’
She closed her eyes, and waited for a sign. Anything that would help her decide what to do. Should she go to Sicily with Spartacus? As if that plan will ever work, she thought bitterly. She had been wary of the idea of recruiting pirates from the beginning, but as time dragged on without any sign of a ship, Ariadne’s doubts had solidified. To leave this place, they would have to break through Crassus’ fortifications. And what then? Again she saw the road lined with crucifixes. Was that the end that awaited Spartacus? She prayed that it was not, but the haunting image would not leave her. Would it not be better to leave now, she wondered, before the same or worse happened to her and Maron? There would be no Roman mercy for Spartacus’ woman or child. Yet to run would be to betray her husband. Guilt racked her.
Too late she heard the rush of movement behind her; too late she tried to rise.
A heavy blow across the back of her head sent Ariadne sprawling forward. She landed hard, knocking her forehead off a stone at the altar’s base. Stars burst across her vision, and she struggled to draw in a breath. Someone grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her upright. Even as she opened her mouth to cry for help, a hand was clamped across her mouth.
‘Try to scream, bitch, and I’ll toss you over the edge,’ hissed a voice. ‘Do you understand?’
Terrified, furious, Ariadne nodded. Who in Hades is it?
‘No one would hear anyway. Your guard is a dead man.’ The hand was removed, and she was pulled over to lie on her back. She stared up at Castus’ leering face with utter revulsion. ‘Seeking the help of your god is all very well, but doing it on your own? I thought you’d know better than that by now.’ He reached down and squeezed her breasts. ‘Nice. They’re bigger than they were.’
Ariadne’s guts roiled with fear. He’s going to rape me and then throw me off the cliff anyway.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here.’ He cuffed her across the head. ‘Answer me, whore!’
‘I was seeking guidance from my god. W-what brought you to this place?’ she mumbled, playing for time.
‘I wanted to placate Scylla. If we’re to sail across that stretch of open water’ – he waved a hand at the straits – ‘we’ll need all the help we can get.’
He was terrified, Ariadne realised. It wasn’t that surprising. Like most of the army, Castus would never have set foot in a boat. ‘Did you receive an answer?’
A curt laugh. ‘Of course not.’ He shrugged off the baldric that suspended his sword and laid it to one side. Using both hands, he ripped her dress to the waist. ‘But who cares? Even if I drown, I’ll go down to Neptune knowing that I fucked Spartacus’ woman.’
Ariadne tried to push him off. He laughed and slapped her hands away. She kicked frantically, but Castus was more than twice her weight. She watched in horror as he bent to nuzzle her breasts with his mouth. Savage memories of what her father’s abuse, of what Phortis the Capuan had done to her, came rushing back. Now it was about to happen again. Think! Think! Her head twisted. On one side, all she could see was the outline of Sicily, which she would never reach. On the other, the offerings left before the altar. Nothing she could reach would stop Castus. His sword was several steps away.
He reached down and his hand groped for her groin. She could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh. Waves of nausea mixed with the pain from her head. Ariadne wanted to die. She wished he had just tossed her over the edge.
‘Spartacus’ wife?’ he panted. ‘Who’d have thought I’d get to screw her, eh?’
It was if a lightning bolt had hit her. Spartacus’ wife. That is who I am. I cannot run away from that. The thought gave Ariadne new energy to live. To survive.
Castus paused to lick at her breasts again. He looked up at her, his face full of lust. His fetid breath washed over her. Ariadne wanted to vomit, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. Anything to delay what was about to happen. ‘You’ve wanted me for a long time?’
‘Gods, yes! What man wouldn’t?’ he panted, tugging down his trousers. ‘Ready for a decent-sized cock, not the sausage you’ve been used to? You’ve probably wanted me all along.’ He shoved forward with his hips, trying to enter her.
Ariadne couldn’t look at him any longer. She rolled her head to the left. Gods, let it be over quickly. A flicker of movement caught her eye. Her heart almost stopped. Her snake! It had got out of the basket, and had slithered on to a large stone at the altar’s foot. If only she could reach it!
Fortune intervened. Grunting with irritation, Castus released her left arm. He spat on his fingers and moved them down to rub at her crotch. ‘You’ll be as wet as a whore during Saturnalia when I’m finished with you,’ he growled, nudging forward once more.
Ariadne moved her freed hand out towards the snake. Never had she wanted it to do as she wished so much. Never had she needed it more.
Its head moved; its forked tongue flickered out towards her outstretched fingers.
Castus’ prick touched her labia, and she flinched. He laughed.
With a few twists of its body, the snake slid forward on to her palm. Yes! There was a risk of it biting her if she moved fast, but Ariadne was beyond caring. Her arm flashed up; alarmed, the serpent arched its neck and opened its mouth in threat. Ariadne aimed it at Castus’ neck.
The Gaul reacted with preternatural speed. It was the speed born of desperation, of years spent fighting as a gladiator, and it saved him from being bitten. He reared away from Ariadne, his mouth open in an ‘O’ of horror. As he fell to the ground, she rolled away and scrambled up. A muttered word to her snake, and it calmed a fraction. Spinning around, she found Castus already on his feet. Grim satisfaction filled her. The cliff edge was only a couple of steps behind him.
Holding the snake out before her, she advanced. ‘Ready to die, you filth?’
Castus’ face twisted with fear. He had nowhere to go. ‘That thing might bite me, but I’ll take you with me, you whore! We’ll both dine with Neptune tonight!’ He made a grab at her arm, but she swept the snake at his face and he had to dodge back out of the way. One of his sandals skidded; his foot shot out into nothingness and it took all of his effort not to fall backwards.
Ariadne was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘How do you like it, you bastard? Which way would you rather die – from poison or by tumbling on to the rocks?’ She rammed the snake at him again. Angry now, it tried to sink its teeth into his arm. By some miracle, he moved out of its way. Ariadne didn’t mind. There was no way he could get out of this. ‘You choose!’
Castus didn’t answer. He just prepared himself for her next attack.
Ariadne would never say it, but he was a brave man. It was time to end it, though. ‘Do this for Dionysus,’ she whispered to the snake. Unsettled, it writhed within her grasp. ‘Patience. Your prey is ready.’ She looked up, expecting to see a trace of fear in Castus’ face. What she saw was very different; he was trying to hide it, but there was triumph in his gaze. His eyes flickered; Ariadne sensed movement behind her. Instinct made her dodge to her right, towards the altar. As she struggled not to lose her balance, there was a muffled curse and Ariadne saw a thickset man carrying a sword – one of Castus’ followers – hurtle into the space where she’d been. With a despairing cry, he shot over the cliff edge and disappeared from sight.
By the time she had righted herself, Castus had darted past her to safety. He swept up his weapon. Panic filled Ariadne, and she prepared to take him on with only the snake. To her surprise, however, he backed away. ‘You’re a crazy bitch!’
Taking a step towards him, she let out a cracked laugh. ‘That’s right, you piece of shit, I am mad! I am also one of Dionysus’ chosen ones!’ Right on cue, the snake opened its mouth, revealing its lethal fangs.
C
astus’ face went grey. Muttering a prayer, he shuffled backwards on to the path. Then he turned and was gone.
With a thumping heart, Ariadne waited, but he did not reappear. She calmed the snake, placed it back in the basket and fastened the lid. With her torn dress rearranged as best she could, she poured the rest of the wine on the ground, thanking her god with even greater fervency than before. Long moments passed, but nothing came to her. No vision, no words of wisdom. Ariadne felt no anger, just an overwhelming gratitude to be alive. More than anything, she wanted to see Spartacus.
His name triggered a memory. Castus had called her ‘Spartacus’ wife’. Ariadne smiled.
Dionysus had sent her a message after all. Two messages, in fact.
First, she was going nowhere. Standing by Spartacus was what counted – whatever the consequences. Second, Castus was not to be harmed. By rights, he should have just died. The fact that he had not told her that the gods still favoured him. It was not for her, or Spartacus, to intervene further.
To Ariadne’s relief, the soldier who had followed her was not dead, as Castus had said. He’d been knocked half-senseless by a blow from behind, but he came to when she ministered to him. Having decided that Spartacus was to be kept in the dark, she swore the man to secrecy. His injury was to have come from a fall. He was only too glad to agree to her demand. His leader’s fearsome temper was well known; the soldier who failed in his duty to guard Ariadne could not expect to live long.
The guards at the bottom were mightily relieved when the pair returned. They showed no sign of having seen Castus, who must have skulked down the far side of the headland. Ariadne ignored the sidelong looks aimed at her torn dress and dust-covered hair. They probably assumed that she had been taken by ritual mania, the trance-like state beloved of Dionysus’ female adherents.
Reaching her tent, she found Maron asleep in his cot, with the old midwife dozing alongside. Ariadne quietly changed her clothes and combed out her hair. She washed her face and applied a little ground chalk to her face. It would conceal the swelling bruise on her forehead. After the horror of what had happened, it felt odd being back in normality. She drank a little wine to steady her nerves. No one could know about Castus, especially Spartacus.
Soon after, she was startled to see her husband appear in the entrance. ‘They’ve arrived!’ he cried.
Maron stirred, and Ariadne’s instincts took over. ‘Shhhh.’
‘Sorry.’ He reached her side, grinning. Happy that Maron was still asleep, she met his gaze. He wouldn’t notice anything. He was visibly delighted.
‘You’re not talking about the Romans?’ she whispered.
He gave her a surprised look. ‘No! I’ve talked with the pirate captain whom Carbo met. He’ll be back in a couple of days with two, if not three other ships. A dozen journeys will see the men on the other side. If all goes well, we could have the grain ships here inside a week.’
Ariadne gaped at him. This – a way out of their situation – she hadn’t expected. ‘A week,’ she said slowly.
‘It’s wonderful, eh? Crassus hasn’t got any ships. The prune-faced whoreson won’t have a clue what’s going on until we’ve gone! By the time he reacts, we’ll have control of Sicily.’ He kissed her on the lips. ‘The first thing I’ll do on the island is to set up a system of watchtowers along the coastline. The Romans won’t be able to land without us being there to throw them back into the sea.’
Ariadne’s worries dissolved before the burning belief in his eyes. This too had to be a message from the gods, she thought. From Dionysus, whose snake had saved her life. The pirates would return. They would escape to Sicily. Her heart leaped with joy, and she pulled his face down to hers. ‘I always knew you could do it,’ she said.
A day later . . .
Hearing raised voices, Crassus raised his head. A frown creased his brow. He’d given his guards specific orders that he was not to be disturbed. By all the gods, could the fools understand nothing? he wondered angrily.
‘I don’t give a damn! I have to talk to Crassus!’ boomed a familiar voice. ‘Get out of my way, you fool, or I’ll have you digging trenches for the rest of your miserable life!’
‘Is that you, Caepio?’ Crassus put down the scroll on military tactics that he’d been composing and stood up. He found the whole process of writing a terrible bore, but this campaign was a golden opportunity for him to record his thoughts. They would be publicised and aggrandised afterwards, he could make sure of that. It wouldn’t be long before every man in Italy knew of the expert methods with which he had defeated Spartacus.
The flap to his private quarters was drawn back and the veteran centurion stepped into the richly decorated room. He came to attention and saluted, meeting Crassus’ icy stare stolidly, which angered but didn’t surprise Crassus. ‘This had better be good.’
‘I think it is, sir,’ came the measured reply.
‘Let me guess. You’ve captured Spartacus.’
Caepio’s lined face cracked into a semblance of a smile. ‘It’s not that good, sir.’
‘How long are you going to keep me waiting? Spit it out!’
‘One of our patrols happened upon a pirate ship anchored off a cove some miles to the north, sir. The crew were on the beach, replenishing its provisions, water and the like. The centurion in charge ordered an attack. Our men captured not just the pirates onshore, but the vessel as well.’
‘That’s very good, Caepio,’ grated Crassus from between clenched teeth. ‘Pirates are the scourge of the Mediterranean. The loss in merchant shipping each year is bleeding Rome white. But why would I care about that right now? We have bigger fish to fry than one leaky ship full of louse-ridden scum!’
‘A search of the vessel revealed bags of coin, sir,’ said Caepio with great patience. ‘In total, it was more than ten thousand denarii. The centurion asked the captain where he’d come by such an amount. The whoreson wasn’t forthcoming, so the centurion had his lads build a nice fire. When his feet were shoved into it, the pirate sang like a canary.’ He paused, eyeing Crassus for any signs of interest.
Damn him, thought Crassus, his curiosity aroused. He adopted his most offhand look. ‘Didn’t the spy mention something of this?’
‘He did, sir.’ Caepio was far too shrewd to mention how at the time his general had dismissed the man’s story as fantasy.
‘Go on,’ ordered Crassus brusquely.
‘He was approached some time ago by one of Spartacus’ men. A young Roman, he said. Made me think of the traitor at the munus whom I told you about. The one who was with Spartacus when he attacked you in Rome, sir.’
‘I remember.’ Crassus’ interest was growing by the moment. ‘Go on.’
‘The pirate was offered more than a million denarii to carry two thousand of Spartacus’ troops over to Sicily. He had to gather as many large ships together as he could, and sail them to meet the slaves.’
This time, Crassus couldn’t conceal his shock. His spy hadn’t been lying after all. ‘By Jupiter, are you serious?’
‘Yes, sir. There aren’t too many men who can lie when the flesh is melting from their bones.’
‘I don’t suppose there are,’ admitted Crassus. Sicily – that’s clever. He must know about the slave rebellions there. ‘Why so few soldiers, though? There are two legions on the island. What in hell’s name was he planning?’
‘I wondered if he had the idea of seizing some vessels, sir. Spartacus is a daring bastard; we know that. If he’s heard what disarray the place is in over there, he might have thought it possible.’
Crassus pursed his lips in concentration. Gaius Verres, the governor of Sicily, was notoriously corrupt. ‘Even if Spartacus doesn’t know, he’d still try something that crazy. What’s he got to lose? So what was the sewer rat of a pirate doing in the cove?’
‘Waiting for two captains whom he knew, sir. Another day, and they would have arrived. Sailed off, and we’d have been none the wiser. Now, it will never happen. The other pira
tes won’t understand why their friend never turned up, nor will they know about Spartacus’ offer.’
‘Excellent work, Caepio, excellent!’ Crassus bestowed a dazzling smile upon the centurion. His day had just got much better. ‘And the captain? I take it that he died under interrogation?’
‘Indeed, sir. The centurion had his men crucify his entire crew, burn the ship and seize the prisoners as slaves. The money has been brought back to be put at your disposal. I hope that is satisfactory.’
‘Most satisfactory,’ Crassus purred. ‘See to it that the centurion and his soldiers are each given a suitable cash reward.’
Caepio gave an approving nod. ‘Very good, sir. Once again, I apologise for disturbing you.’
His bad mood forgotten, Crassus waved a forgiving hand.
‘Was there anything else, sir?’
‘Yes. Do we have any idea how much food the slaves have?’
‘Last I heard from our man in their camp’ – here Caepio winked – ‘was that they had about a month’s worth of grain left. That was about two weeks ago.’
‘Damn his eyes, I told him to report more often than that!’
‘It’s very dangerous now, sir. Everywhere that we’ve built fortifications, Spartacus’ men are like fleas on a dog. They’re on watch day and night.’
Crassus bridled, but he knew Caepio was right. ‘If the fool was correct, the slaves have fourteen days’ provisions remaining. That’s more good news. Even if they comb through every farm building, they won’t find enough to last much longer.’
