His brothers didn’t ask any other questions. They’d fought side by side for nearly a decade. All that mattered to them was that he’d survived.
Another figure appeared in the doorway, and they all turned to see Ennius.
His dark eyes darted around the room. When he realized that only the gladiators were inside, his face relaxed into a relieved smile. “Tired?” he quipped.
Xanthus and his brothers laughed.
They walked together down the long avenue toward the sea. Guards accompanied them—some at the front, some at the back—though none of the gladiators were bound.
“It’s like having an honor guard,” Gallus said. “Makes me feel a little special.”
“Shut up, Gallus. Do you always have to be such a simple idiot?” Albinus said. He spat on the ground to his right, barely missing the boot of one of the guards. Xanthus smiled to see Albinus being his usual, personable self.
“I wonder at your definition of honor,” Lebuin said.
Iduma snorted. “Lebuin is right. First Timeus forces us to sit on our asses while Xanthus fights alone in that damn arena, and then he makes us spend half a day rubbing down those damn horses as though we wouldn’t be more useful elsewhere. What next? Perhaps he’ll cover us in bells and silks and make us dance. Damn ass.”
Castor hit him hard in the side before nudging his head toward the nearest guard.
Iduma promptly turned to the young guard beside him. “Do you dance?” he asked, plastering a leering smile on his face.
The man palmed the hilt of his sword but averted his eyes.
“I’m actually looking forward to a bath,” Gallus mused as though he hadn’t heard a word the others had said.
“Are you a man or a woman?” Iduma asked. “Only women enjoy baths.”
Gallus snickered. “Not yours.” He opened his mouth to make another joke, but then raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Look.”
Iduma stuck his head between Gallus and Albinus to see. “The younger Master Lucius,” he said with mock formality.
Lucius was standing on the beach some twenty yards away, eyes trained on the horizon. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before. His hair was sticking up as though he’d been running his hands through it, and even from a distance, Xanthus could see that his face was a patchwork of color—pale skin, purple and blue shadows around his eyes. He almost looked worse than Xanthus. After a minute, Lucius turned and started walking slowly in the opposite direction.
“Why does he always look so sad?” Iduma asked. “Like a puppy that someone’s just kicked.”
Albinus pushed Iduma back. “I know you think I’m pretty, Iduma, but try not to breathe down my neck so much.”
Iduma closed his eyes, puckered his lips, and made a loud, wet kissing sound.
“What is he even doing over there?” Lebuin asked.
Gallus shrugged. “Walking. I think.”
“Brooding, more like,” Albinus said.
Castor shook his head.
“He fought well the other night, at the camp,” Lebuin said quietly. “He has plenty left to learn, but still.”
Even Albinus couldn’t argue with that.
They finally reached the water. As his feet hit the salty surf, Xanthus sighed. “Gods, I need a bath.”
“So do Iduma’s women,” Gallus said.
His brothers were still laughing as Iduma lifted Gallus up and tossed him into the cold water.
CHAPTER 15
Sleep eluded her.
It seemed like she and Xanthus had spent a lifetime in that arena. She hadn’t felt so alive in so long, nor as comfortable as she was with a sword in her hand.
Now all she wanted to do was stop—stop seeing, stop hearing, stop thinking, stop remembering. She was exhausted. Her muscles burned. Her joints were sore. Even her bones felt tender. But every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was the broken image of Lucretia.
It was noon before Attia finally conceded the inevitable. She wouldn’t sleep. Maybe the next day. After a moment of hesitation, she went to sit beside Lucretia in front of the fire while Sabina played with Rory. Lucretia said nothing as Attia settled beside her.
“I wish there was something more I could—”
“I don’t need a savior, Thracian.”
“What do you need?”
“Nothing. I need nothing.”
“I thought you’d be a better liar than that,” Attia said.
A smile teetered on the edge of Lucretia’s cut lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” The firelight reflected sparks of orange and red in her dark eyes. The hint of a smile faded. “Don’t start thinking we’re friends, by the way. I don’t have friends.”
“I never said I wanted to be your friend. I don’t even know if I like you. You’re moody and proud.”
“You’re arrogant and entitled.”
“You’re bossy.”
Lucretia scoffed. “You’re stubborn.”
“You’re too tall.”
“You’re too short.”
Attia shrugged her shoulder. “We can’t all be perfect.”
Lucretia smiled despite herself but sobered quickly.
“He’ll answer for his cruelty,” Attia said.
“I wish I could believe that.”
Attia hesitated only a moment before taking out the little knife that she’d kept for so long. It was a good knife, solid, reliable. She closed Lucretia’s fingers around the hilt.
Attia didn’t tell her what it was for, and Lucretia didn’t ask. But after a few long moments, Lucretia tucked the knife into a fold of her dress.
There were no spaces between them now.
*
They finally left Ardea on the third day. Fido had given them two nights to resupply and rest, but Attia still hadn’t slept.
The caravan gained twelve horses, fifty pounds of silver, and enough food and necessities to see them to Pompeii. Fido and his Ardeans were undoubtedly bitter over their losses, but that didn’t come close to how furious Timeus was over his.
Lucius had recounted Spartacus’s feats in the arena with gusto. It was the first time he’d taken any interest in Timeus’s business, and now they couldn’t find the man anywhere. Timeus insisted that everyone be questioned, but no one could say where Spartacus had gone—not the guards or members of the household, not the slaves or the soldiers who’d been forced to camp outside of the city walls. Even the Ardeans were unable to say whether or not Spartacus was one of them. The only thing everyone could agree on was that the Shadow of Death had vanished with the dawn, and Timeus felt as though he’d been cheated out of a great prize. His anger made him colder than usual, and his blue eyes glared at everyone and no one. He snapped and shouted every order.
The gladiators were able to avoid him by clustering together near the back of the caravan. Lucius avoided him by riding alongside Rory’s cart. Right by Attia.