Timeus spoke quietly with the rider for several minutes before the man nodded and tugged on the reins of his horse. He and the other horsemen disappeared down the avenue that led back to the city.
As the guards closed the gate again, Timeus looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing directly on Xanthus. He didn’t seem angry, just weary. He inclined his head for him to approach. When Xanthus was close enough, Timeus said, “Tycho Flavius is coming.”
“When?”
“In a month, more or less. He wants to…” Timeus glanced down at the scroll in his hands and read, “‘… protect those interests that are dear to the House of Flavius.’” He crumpled the letter in his hand and shook his head. “Bloated ass.”
Xanthus frowned. “So what does he really want?”
Timeus’s blue eyes narrowed, caught between a scowl and an amused smile. “You know, Xanthus, sometimes you’re too smart for your own good, and one day, that just might be what kills you.”
Xanthus waited.
“He wants to meet Spartacus,” Timeus said.
“How did he even hear about the match?”
“The House of Flavius has eyes everywhere,” Timeus said. “A better question would be how in the gods’ names am I supposed to say that Spartacus isn’t here? How am I supposed to tell Tycho Flavius that my champion and my idiot nephew lost Spartacus in Ardea?” He threw the crumpled scroll to the ground. “Good thing I’ve already hired men to track Spartacus down.”
“Track him?” Xanthus asked, trying to keep his voice even.
“Lucius told me how the man fought,” Timeus said, “and I have no intention of losing someone like that to another ludus. As soon as we left Ardea, I sent out word to hire trackers—mercenaries. They’ll be here at sunrise.”
Xanthus felt his chest tighten. “How will you find him?”
“The mercenaries’ leader, Kanut, claims he has experience with this kind of thing. He sounds confident, and he’d better be. I’m paying a small fortune for this. Then again, I’m not the only one looking for Spartacus. Fido has sent out his own men.”
Xanthus’s vision reeled. People were looking for Spartacus. For Attia. Gods, what had they done?
“What if no one finds him?” Xanthus asked. “What if you can’t track him down?”
Timeus stayed quiet for a long minute. His eyes focused on a distant point on the road before drifting upward. The moon washed his face in yellow-tinted light. “I am a patient man,” he said.
Xanthus glared at him. You’ll have to be.
*
As promised, the mercenary arrived at sunrise.
Xanthus, Lucius, Ennius, and Timeus all wore deep scowls as they waited for him in the study.
“Is this really the best course of action, Uncle?” Lucius asked quietly. “You can’t trust a hired sword.”
“Spartacus disappeared under your watch, Lucius. Does that mean I can’t trust you?”
Lucius flushed and said nothing more.
Someone knocked on the door to the study, and two guards escorted the mercenary inside.
Xanthus knew immediately that the man was no Roman. His dark hair was pulled into a tight knot at the nape of his neck, smoothed back from a tanned face and heavy beard. The wrinkles around his eyes and mouth gave away his age—he was old enough to be Xanthus’s father, though his wide shoulders and barreled chest still exuded strength. The way he shifted his weight told Xanthus that the man was a trained fighter, even if he looked more like a random plebeian from the street. He wore no cloak or armor. No insignia or family crest. His plain clothing was the color of sand. Really, he could be anyone. Or no one. A mercenary indeed.
For his part, the man looked at each of them in turn. His dark eyes appraised them in moments and dismissed them just as quickly. He smiled to himself as he stepped more fully into the study. With a flick of his wrist, he produced a small sharp dagger and started cleaning his fingernails.
The guards nearly jumped forward before Timeus called them off.
“I thought you searched him,” he said with a glare in the guards’ direction.
“We did, Dominus.”
The mercenary grinned. “Don’t blame your men. They did their best.” He turned his gaze to Xanthus. “So, you are the Champion of Rome.” He had to crane his neck back to meet Xanthus’s eyes. “You know, I thought you’d be bigger.”
Lucius, standing by Timeus’s desk, raised an eyebrow. “You’re the man my uncle hired?”
“The name is Kanut, and I am here to find Spartacus.”
“He’s come all the way from Sicily,” Timeus said.
Kanut chuckled. “Farther.”
Now that he was standing so close, Xanthus could see fairly new burns layered around Kanut’s wrist. Unlike the razor-sharp lines of Albinus’s scars, these were blotchy, uneven, and lumpy. A patch near the man’s palm was still red. The burns couldn’t have been more than four or five months old.
Kanut noticed him staring, sheathed his dagger, and held his hands up to Xanthus’s face. “Beauty marks,” he said with a grin.
Lucius turned his face away with a disgusted sigh.
“When can you be ready?” Timeus asked.
“Everything is already prepared,” Kanut said. “My men wait for me at the borders of the city. We can leave right now, if you wish.”
“What, today?” Lucius said, frowning with skepticism.
“Why not? We’ll need to move quickly. If the rumors are true, Spartacus could be halfway to the underworld by now.” Kanut palmed the air in front of his face as though he saw a mirage. “Spartacus, the Shadow of Death!” he said dramatically. He chuckled. “Your man sounds like a demon, Timeus. But if anyone can find him, I can.”
We’ll see about that, Xanthus thought.
“If you’re as good as you say you are, one more evening can’t hurt. You’ll leave tomorrow morning,” Timeus said. “And of course, to keep you honest, you’ll also take some of my men with you. Men I can trust.”
Kanut laughed again. “I work for money, Timeus, and per our deal, I don’t get most of it until I return with your prize. That should be all the trust you need.”
“It’s not,” Timeus said.
“I’ll go,” Lucius said. Skeptical as he was, he sounded eager. Too eager, maybe. Xanthus wondered when Lucius had taken such a keen interest in his uncle’s business.
Timeus seemed to be wondering the same thing. He cocked his head. “Really?”
“I saw Spartacus. I asked him questions. I can help identify him,” Lucius said.
“There cannot be any … mistakes this time,” Timeus said, the warning in his voice clear.
“I can do it, Uncle.”
“How old are you, boy?” Kanut asked.
Lucius crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Eighteen.”
“And do you have experience with a sword?”
“Of course.”
“Ever been in a fight?”
“Of course.”
“Have you ever had your life threatened? Believed you might not see the next day?”
Lucius narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Have you ever killed a man?”
A muscle in Lucius’s jaw twitched, but he answered clearly. “Yes.”
Kanut stepped right up to Lucius, their faces just inches away from each other. An unsettling smile crossed the mercenary’s lips. “Have you ever wanted to die?”