Be brave.
And he had been, in the end. The boy had lifted his chin, straightened his back, and met his death with what courage he could.
Xanthus’s mouth tasted like blood, a thousand times worse than the dust of the arena. He realized he’d bitten his tongue when he plunged his sword into the boy’s chest.
The others left him without a word.
Alone, Xanthus braced his arms against the stone table, trying not to shake or move or breathe. But his hands curled themselves around the closest thing at hand—a helmet that Castor had left behind. He grabbed it and hurled it at the wall with a feral scream.
The swords on his back followed, iron chipping and sparking as it glanced off the stone.
Then an ancient urn filled with sand.
A heavy, jagged rock on the ground.
Anything he could grab. Anything he could throw. Anything he could break.
And when there was nothing left but his own bloody hands, he fell to his knees before the table. Familiar, painful words crawled past his lips as he tried to make his penance.
Just like before.
Just like always.
“Forgive me. Oh gods, please forgive me.”
A few minutes later, he heard the sound of shuffling feet. Timeus had come. Xanthus knew he would. He hardened his features but kept his back turned.
“A fine match,” Timeus said, his voice low.
“He was just a boy.”
“You were just a boy when you became a champion.”
“It’s not the same.”
“What do you want me to say? I didn’t tell Sisera to use someone so young. The man is a fool. You know that.”
“I know that he is a man easily fooled.” Xanthus practically spit the words over his shoulder.
Timeus bristled. “You are a gladiator,” he said, stepping closer. “You are my gladiator, and when the Princeps of Rome tells you to kill, you do not hesitate.”
Xanthus rose to his feet. “I thought it would make for a better show—”
“Don’t!” Timeus shouted, a thick purple vein pulsing on his forehead. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, Xanthus. What did you think would happen if you disobeyed? If you let the boy live? Do you think Titus Flavius is so willingly offended? I know you, Xanthus. Much better than you think. Even if you don’t care about yourself, you’ll die—you’ll kill—for the others. If you had spared that boy, many more would have suffered, and your new pet would probably have borne most of it. Why do you think I allowed her to come? Why do you think I bought her? To keep you in line!”
Gods, Xanthus wanted to kill him in that moment. He’d known since childhood that Timeus was as coldhearted and cruel as they come, whatever indulgences he granted him. But he knew the man was right. If he’d spared the boy, then Attia would have been punished. And Albinus. And Gallus. And Iduma and Castor and Lebuin.
All of them. Anyone he’d ever cared for. Just as Timeus said.
Xanthus closed his eyes, and Timeus put a hand on his shoulder.
“You are a gladiator,” he said again. But softly this time. Almost a whisper. “Remember that, and remember who depends on you now.”
Xanthus nodded his head slowly, because really—how could he ever forget?
CHAPTER 10
Xanthus looked down at the cold, muddy water filling the courtyard and tickling his calves. The clouds were wringing themselves out, and rain had been pouring for more than seven days. The waterline climbed steadily while slaves hammered at the outer wall to make an opening. Gaping, uneven chunks of stone fell with heavy splashes.
Some months earlier, when Timeus began his renovations to the estate, the architect had warned him to include a drainage system. The stone walls were too tight, he said. When the rainy season came, they would end up with their own private lake right in the middle of the estate, he said. And of course Timeus, brilliant ass that he was, disagreed. He hadn’t wanted to jeopardize the perfect design of his wall.
“Damn bloody shit!” Timeus shouted from the protective arch of the house.
Behind him, Ennius sighed heavily and gave Xanthus an exasperated look. Xanthus shrugged.
“Don’t say it! Don’t either of you say it!” Timeus warned with an outstretched finger wagging at each of them in turn.
Xanthus chewed on the inner part of his cheek to hold back a comment that was sure to make Timeus even angrier.
“It’ll take weeks, months to fix the damages!” Timeus fumed.
“Yes, Dominus,” Xanthus said.
“All that damned money! Wasted!”
“Yes, Dominus,” Xanthus said again.
“Oh, I can just see Tycho Flavius rolling with amusement at the news of this!”
Xanthus scratched the light stubble on his chin. It was probably time for him to shave again. He wondered idly if the Thracian preferred clean-shaven or bearded men. Did the Maedi grow beards? He’d have to ask her.
Timeus gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t either of you have anything to say?”
Ennius glanced calmly up at the sky. “It’s raining,” he said.
Timeus glared at him. “Prepare the household,” he said. “We leave for Pompeii.”
Xanthus smiled. He looked forward to leaving the city for the duration of the rainy season. But the weather also reminded him of Britannia and its damp, green valleys. Coming on the heels of the dark night of Samhain, the heavy rains almost managed to wash away the shadow and the dust and the blood that always seemed to stain his hands.
Xanthus closed his eyes and turned his face to the sky.
He always did love the rain.
*
Attia carefully pulled the cap onto Rory’s head, stuffing the girl’s unruly curls beneath the fabric.
“Is that too tight?” Attia asked.
Rory, standing with her little arms outstretched, shook her head. “No, but it itches.” She fidgeted and squirmed as Attia began to wrap layers and layers of fabric around her body. Eventually, only Rory’s pale, heart-shaped face was left exposed.
Valeria stood at the window, arms folded across her chest while her eyes focused on some spot outside. Lucius hovered just behind Rory and winked when she looked back at him.
“Do I still need to cover my face if it’s raining?” Rory asked. “There’s hardly any sun, and I can’t breathe with the mask on.”
“Don’t argue, Aurora. You will do as you are told,” Valeria said without turning.
Lucius knelt in front of his sister. “I know it’s difficult, Rory, but it won’t be for very long. Once you’re in the cart, you can take it off.”
Attia watched as Lucius lifted a mask to Rory’s face and carefully fit it on. It was a single piece of thin white ceramic with gold edging. Precious stones bordered the eye holes, and blue, green, and purple paint swirled together in whimsical patterns around the temples and forehead. Lucius drew the bright gold ribbons around Rory’s head and tied it in a simple bow. Sitting back on his heels, he took his sister’s hands. “It will be another grand adventure.”