Lucius took an involuntary step back. His arms dropped to his sides. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has to do with everything,” Kanut said. “The best fighters don’t just have courage. They have skill, confidence, aggression, pride. And they fight for a reason, be it money or fame or loyalty. Or survival. But from what you say, this Spartacus had something more than that. He appeared out of nowhere, jumped into that arena, and killed more men in one night than you’ve probably fought in your entire life. Do you understand what it takes to do that, boy—to throw yourself willingly into the pit? To look death in the face and smile?”
Lucius had gone pale.
“It takes someone who doesn’t care if he lives or if he dies. And if you’ve never felt that,” Kanut said, almost gently, “how do you think you could ever recognize it in another?”
Lucius’s expression lost its tough edge. His eyes were shiny and uncertain.
“I’ll take one of your men, Timeus. For your peace of mind. But only one,” Kanut said.
Xanthus lowered his head. He felt as though the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders, because he knew what was coming next.
“Xanthus will go with you,” Timeus said.
Kanut nodded. “I know.”
*
Xanthus stood at the gate and watched the mercenary ride away.
“What are you going to tell her?” Ennius asked.
“The truth.”
“Are you sure about that? If she finds out that Timeus is sending you away for this, she might burn the city down.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Xanthus’s mouth. “And wouldn’t that be a blessing?”
Once Kanut disappeared around a bend in the road, Xanthus turned to Ennius.
“She deserves the truth now. Besides, I know what I have to do.”
Ennius sighed. “Killing the freemen seems harsh, but if you have to…” He chuckled when Xanthus gave him a hard look. “Well, that’s what I would do.”
“No, it’s not. You would tell Timeus’s hired thugs exactly what you saw in Ardea—that Spartacus was a giant, bigger and taller than me. That he had black eyes and a scar across his cheek.”
“That he spoke of his home in the far east,” Ennius added. “A wife, and six—no, seven sons.”
“And that he planned to journey to … Egypt, perhaps? Maybe old Persia. I haven’t decided yet. Or rather, my memory is only just coming back to me.”
Ennius nodded. “Almost as good as my plan. Anyway, it’s probably more dangerous to lie to Attia than it is to lie to the freemen.”
“Mercenaries,” Xanthus corrected. He turned in time to see Lucius walking out of the villa. He’d changed his clothing and was headed straight for the training yard.
“He’s not happy,” Ennius said. “Do you want me to talk to him?”
“I will.”
Xanthus had to move quickly to catch up with Lucius before he reached the other gladiators. Even then, Lucius could barely look at him.
“My uncle has always said that softness has no place in the arena.”
“Lives are gambled, Master Lucius.”
“Yes. And my uncle only gambles on the best. Like you.”
“He’s not sending me because I’m better. He’s sending me because I’m expendable.”
Lucius scoffed. “Horseshit.”
“You and I both know that the chances of finding Spartacus with such little information are phenomenally low. Do you really think your uncle would risk his only heir on what will probably amount to a fool’s errand? Chasing ghosts through the Republic?”
“My uncle will do whatever it takes to win.”
“There’s another reason he wants you to stay,” Xanthus said.
Lucius narrowed his eyes, waiting.
“Tycho Flavius is coming. He wants to meet Spartacus. Your uncle needs you here, at his side, when Flavius comes.”
At the mention of the name, Lucius’s careful mask slipped back into place. Neutral. Empty. As though he’d been two completely different people in just the last few seconds.
Xanthus wasn’t particularly surprised by the reaction. Tycho Flavius had a less than flattering reputation in Timeus’s household. Valeria and Lucius took pains to avoid him whenever possible, and like most of the world, he’d never even seen Rory. All Xanthus knew or cared about was that Tycho owned Decimus. Nothing else really mattered to him.
“Master Lucius?” Xanthus said.
“Let’s train,” Lucius said, and stalked away before Xanthus could say another word.
Xanthus’s brothers were training with wooden swords this time. As soon as they saw Lucius, they changed their pairings. Iduma and Albinus were never willing to partner with Lucius, and Castor kept his distance from everyone but his brothers. It was Lebuin who took position in front of Lucius with a brief nod.
Xanthus hesitated. The last time he’d seen Lucius so upset was at the clearing right after the attack, right after he’d been forced to execute a man in front of the household. He wondered if the coldness in Lucius’s eyes had anything to do with Spartacus anymore. The uncertainty made him nervous. But he couldn’t stand still forever. He gave the command for the others to begin. Five gladiators and one young Roman slave master moved in unison.
The exercise was intentionally coordinated, meant to enforce muscle memory through repetition. It had been Ennius’s way of instilling their bodies with new reflexes, and they used it still. Each man followed the same sequence, blocking and thrusting as one unit. That didn’t stop any of them from hitting as hard as they could.
Wood splintered with each impact, cascading down to the ground in chunks. The sand of the courtyard swept up and around, coating their feet in dust. Over and over. Strike, spin, attack, block.
Lucius was just a little bit slower on the last turn, and Xanthus could see exhaustion beginning to eat away at him. Soon, he was nearly a full second behind the others. His breath was coming fast, and Xanthus noticed a thin trickle of blood running down his wrist. He was gripping his practice sword too tightly, and the wood was cutting into his skin.
Xanthus was about to call an end to the exercise when Lucius raised his sword and slashed.
Lebuin wasn’t expecting it—that move wasn’t part of the sequence—but his training kicked in, as it was meant to. He blocked easily, moving out of the way as Lucius charged forward again.
The other gladiators immediately cleared out, positioning themselves around Xanthus. They weren’t at all interested in getting involved. In fact, Iduma had a wicked grin on his face. He was probably hoping to see Lucius drop to the ground in the next few seconds.
But Lebuin had always had more patience than the rest. He simply continued to block and roll. He never attacked. He just let Lucius push him around and back in wide circles.