The autumn sunlight was blinding, reflecting off the pale sand as two of the gladiators paired off.
When Ennius had first begun teaching them, they’d paused often for instruction or correction. Now, they sparred until someone fell to the ground, and sometimes even beyond that. Only the two men in the circle were allowed to speak. The others watched in silence and kept their comments to themselves. Not even the guards patrolling the walls and gates said a single word. On pain of death, they never interfered with the gladiators’ training—an order that had begun with Timeus’s father, Quintus.
Xanthus glanced at Albinus, who stood to his left. The bright sunlight made Albinus’s scars more pronounced than ever, and Xanthus’s expression turned grim as he looked at his brother.
Thin, deep hash marks covered Albinus’s entire body, even his face. Some were layered over others, most of them no more than a few inches long. The worst stretched in a jagged line from his temple to his chin. But they weren’t Timeus’s doing. Albinus had actually arrived like that, bought at the same auction as Xanthus when he too was only a boy. Only once did Albinus tell Xanthus how he’d gotten those scars. They’d never spoken of it again.
The sunlight wasn’t doing Iduma’s appearance any favors either. The gladiator already looked like he was made of fire with his red hair, red face, and red skin. His whole body was drenched in the color, not to mention the stench of sweat. He pushed away from Lebuin, and the two began circling each other again while the others watched.
Iduma turned his mischievous blue eyes to Lebuin and winked. Thirty seconds later, he was flat on his back, and Lebuin hovered over him with a blunt sword at his throat.
“You almost had me,” Lebuin said with a smirk.
“Who says I wasn’t aiming for exactly this position?” Iduma said, twisting his feet between Lebuin’s legs and pulling him to the ground. They wrestled in the dirt while the others laughed.
Castor and Gallus paired up next, though the match ended quickly when Castor suddenly rammed his bald head forward and struck a solid blow into Gallus’s gut. Xanthus nearly groaned in sympathy, and even a few of the guards winced. It was a running joke that Castor’s head was probably made of iron.
Gallus fell to his knees, his own head bent down to touch the dirt. He took a gasping breath, in and out, dust and all. No one offered to help him up, though. He had to stand on his own or not stand at all. It took a few minutes, but finally, he raised his head, planted one foot on the ground, then the other. Only when he was standing again did he shake Castor’s hand. “Good hit,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll have your ass next time.”
Castor grinned, silent as ever.
Xanthus wanted to enjoy his brothers’ banter. Their familiar playfulness was typically a balm after a match in the arena. But his thoughts were dark and torn. He knew that Attia hadn’t slept much in his room the night before, even after he’d promised not to touch her. Could he blame her? A part of him had truly wanted her to simply slice his throat and be done with it. But then he thought of Decimus and the match at the Festival of Lupa. Ever since Timeus had told him about it, Xanthus had wondered whose death he wished for more—Decimus’s or his own.
The gladiators quieted as they looked at him. They knew of Decimus, and they knew what the fight meant.
“Come on, Xanthus,” Lebuin said, all trace of laughter gone from his voice. “Your turn.”
But it was Albinus who joined Xanthus in the circle. The brothers touched swords before taking their stances. When Albinus raised his weapon and struck, he didn’t hold back a single inch. If Decimus was even half as ruthless as the rumors said, Xanthus could very well be facing his strongest opponent yet. He couldn’t afford to train lightly anymore.
The other gladiators gave the two a wider and wider berth as the sparring continued. They traded blows, one right after the other, each one so strong that the quivering metal of the practice swords resonated with every impact. Albinus struck and stabbed, forcing Xanthus to slide away or be run through. Even though the training swords were blunted and bent from use, they could still cleave a limb with enough force. And Albinus was putting his body weight’s worth of force behind each hit.
“You’re not trying,” Albinus growled as they circled each other. They’d been sparring for nearly half an hour, and their bodies glistened with sweat and dirt.
“The hell I’m not,” Xanthus said.
“Well, not hard enough,” Albinus shot back. He ran at Xanthus with his sword, and Xanthus deflected it with ease. “See? You’re just defending.”
Xanthus spit into the sand. Sweat stung his eyes, but he was far from tired. He knew that he and Albinus could keep doing this for hours if they had to. “I’m taking my time.”
Before he could finish his last word, Albinus attacked again. This time, he had a wild look in his eye, and his entire stance had changed. Xanthus adjusted his footing, swung his sword, and knocked Albinus’s weapon out of his hands. That should have been the end of it, but Albinus dove at him, his head and shoulders colliding with Xanthus’s torso.
Pain radiated from Xanthus’s cracked rib, and he wondered for a moment if it was actually broken now, but he didn’t have time to keep thinking about it. Albinus tackled him to the ground and rained heavy blows down on Xanthus’s face and shoulders. Xanthus raised his arms in defense as he twisted his body around, knocking Albinus over onto the sand.
Xanthus had the obvious advantage now. He was taller and a fraction stronger. He could grip Albinus’s neck with one hand and his dominant arm with the other. Enough force and energy surged through him that it would be easy to keep him down or even render him unconscious. But he simply released Albinus and leapt lightly to his feet.
“Good match—”
“What the hell are you doing?” Albinus interrupted with a shout, scrambling up from the ground. “Why did you stop?”
Xanthus glanced at the others, who were watching with almost hurt expressions. He frowned in confusion. “What, would you have preferred I killed you?” he shot back.
“I’d prefer it if you took this seriously, Xanthus. The Taurus didn’t hold back. None of your opponents have ever held back. Do you think Decimus will?”
“You’re not Decimus.”
“That’s not the point! This isn’t going to be like every other match, Xanthus, and you know that. You are so used to taking your time, waiting, letting those bastards in the arena practically kill themselves on your sword. But you know what Decimus is capable of. You know more than anyone.”