Spartacus: The Gladiator Read Online Free PDF Page A

killing his first man at sixteen. Kneeling in the sacred grove at the top of a nearby mountain, praying to the rider god for guidance. The hours of his life he’d spent wishing that his mother had not died birthing his sister, a babe that had lingered less than a month in this world. The day he’d heard the news that Rome had invaded Thrace. Riding to war against its legions with his father Sitalkes, brother Maron and the rest of the tribe. Their first glorious victory, and the bitter defeats that followed. The agonising death of Maron, a week after being thrust through the belly by a Roman sword, a gladius . The subsequent vain attempts to overcome the Roman war machine. Ambushes from the hills. Night attacks. Poisoning the rivers. Unions with other tribes that were undone by treachery or greed, or both.
    ‘We Thracians never change, eh?’ he asked the stallion. ‘Never mind what might be best for Thrace. We fight everyone, even our own. Especially our own. Unite to fight a common enemy, such as Rome? Not a chance!’ His barking laugh was short, and angry. The first part of the task his father had set him – serving with the Roman legions – had been completed. He had anticipated a period of relatively normal life before attempting the second part, that of trying to unify the tribes. It was not to be. The dark cloud of war with its bloody lining had found him yet again. Yet he did not try to ignore the adrenalin rush. Instead he welcomed it. Kotys killed my father. The treacherous bastard. He must die, and soon .
    Used to both his soliloquies and his silences, the horse plodded on behind him.
    Two sentries armed with shields and javelins stood by the walled settlement’s large gates. They peered at him through jaundiced eyes, muttering to each other as he approached. Few travellers arrived at this late hour, in such bad weather. Even fewer possessed a mail shirt or tinned helmet. Although the newcomer’s stallion was lame, it was of fine quality. It was also white – the colour prized by kings.
    ‘Halt!’
    He came to a stop, raising his left hand in a peaceful gesture. Just let me in without too many questions . ‘It’s an evil evening,’ he said mildly. ‘After paying respects to the rider god, it’s one to spend by the fire with a cup of wine.’
    ‘You speak our tongue?’ asked the older guard in surprise.
    ‘Of course.’ He laughed. ‘I’m Maedi, like you.’
    ‘Is that so? I wouldn’t recognise you from a dog turd,’ snarled the second sentry.
    ‘Me neither,’ his comrade added in a slightly more civil tone.
    ‘Maybe so, but I was born and raised in this village.’ He frowned at their scowls. ‘Is this the best welcome I can expect after nearly a decade away?’ He was about to say that his name was Peiros, but the first guard spoke first.
    ‘Who are you?’ He peered at the newcomer’s arms, noticing for the first time the spatters of blood, and then back at his face. ‘Wait a moment. I know you! Spartacus?’
    Shit! ‘That’s right,’ he replied curtly, caressing the hilt of his sword.
    An incredulous grin split the older man’s face. ‘By all the gods, why didn’t you say? I’m Lycurgus. Sitalkes and I rode together.’ He threw a warning look at the other guard.
    ‘I remember you,’ said Spartacus with an amiable nod. The stare he gave the second sentry was far less friendly. Mortified, the warrior took a sudden interest in the dirt between his feet.
    ‘Things have changed since you left home,’ said Lycurgus unhappily. ‘Your father—’
    ‘I know,’ Spartacus cut in harshly. ‘He’s dead.’
    ‘Yes.’
    He couldn’t help himself. ‘Died in suspicious circumstances, I hear.’
    Lycurgus glanced at his companion. ‘Neither of us had anything to do with it. Polles is the one you want to talk to.’
    ‘Polles?’
    ‘The king’s chief bodyguard.’ The distaste in Lycurgus’ voice was clear.
    ‘What about Getas, Seuthes and Medokos? Are they still alive?’ he