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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,