They stayed tangled up in each other, so close that Xanthus wondered if she was truly a part of him now—a piece of his very soul. He entwined his fingers through hers and whispered in her ear. He knew she didn’t understand the words, but in a way, he thought she probably understood them more clearly than anything he’d ever said. He held her close in the dark as their breathing finally slowed.
Outside, a heavy gray cloud of smoke bubbled up from the crest of Vesuvius. White flakes drifted down from the summit to scatter at the base of the mountain. The waves crashed to the east, insistent as a heartbeat.
“Are you asleep?” Attia whispered.
He nuzzled her neck in response. “Are you all right? Did I hurt you?” The possibility pained him.
She laughed. “I’m fine. I just didn’t expect it to be like this.”
Xanthus smiled. He knew exactly what she meant.
After a while, she said, “Ennius told me about the freemen. The search.”
“Mercenaries,” Xanthus said. “I don’t want to go, but maybe it’s a good thing. I can keep you safe this way. I can convince them that Spartacus is lost, or at least paint a particularly unhelpful picture. Ennius said something about a giant man with seven sons.”
Attia giggled. “An apt description. I’ve always considered myself taller than average,” she said. She turned in his arms to face him. “There was something else that Ennius said.”
Xanthus held his breath.
“He told me that you’re going to fight a gladiator named Decimus at the Festival of Lupa.” Attia ran her fingers down his cheek. “But he said to ask you about it. Is there something I should know?”
Xanthus turned his head to kiss her hand. He wasn’t sure where to start or how much to say. But he realized that his earlier words were still true—Attia deserved honesty. Complete honesty. When he finally found his voice, it was little more than a whisper.
“Decimus was a legionary of low rank, and ten years ago, he showed the Romans a route into the deep hills of Britannia.”
Britannia. With that one word, he saw understanding dawn for her.
“You have to understand. Vespasian wanted that island desperately. He wanted to be the first Princeps to venture so far north. So he sent his kinsman, Crassus Flavius.”
Attia’s hand tightened around his.
“It was a massacre. The old were burned alive. Children were drowned in the lake. And the women…” Xanthus shook his head. “I learned later that only a tenth of the people in my village were allowed to live. It’s a common practice. The Romans call it decimatio. Those of us who survived became slaves.”
“Is that why they call him Decimus?”
Xanthus nodded once. “I’m sorry I kept this from you, Attia. I didn’t want those memories to taint whatever it was we had. And then I just didn’t know how to say the words. But if there’s anyone I hate in this world, it’s Decimus. I’ve waited ten years to face him.”
“For vengeance?”
“For justice.”
“I understand,” she said.
Xanthus put a finger under her chin and held her gaze. “After this,” he said. “After I convince the mercenaries that Spartacus can’t be found. After I meet Decimus in the arena. After I finish this, we’ll run.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ll escape with me?”
“Yes. It won’t be easy. I told you—Timeus will hunt us across the known world.”
“Let him try. We’ll die somehow, but not as slaves.”
Xanthus caressed the side of her face. “I just need a little more time, Attia. I know I have no right to ask it of you, and if you say no, I’ll understand. But I just need to finish this.”
Instead of answering, she kissed him again.
Xanthus lifted the silver pendant from his neck and looped it around hers. The twisted leather was dark against her golden skin. When she looked up again, her eyes were bright with promise. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her forehead to his. So close, and yet not close enough.
“I’ll come back for you,” he said.
“I’ll wait.”
CHAPTER 18
Leaving was harder than he thought possible. But it was the best way to protect her, and Xanthus forced himself not to look back. Especially with the mercenary riding beside him. Especially with Timeus watching from the gate.
Just before Xanthus mounted his horse, the old man had grabbed his arm. “Find him, Xanthus,” he said. “Whatever it takes. Find Spartacus and bring him to me.”
“And if he won’t come?” Xanthus asked.
Timeus had narrowed his eyes. The chill in them reflected the dead blue of the winter sky. “Just find him.”
Kanut whistled after they passed the bend in the road. “That dominus of yours is one uptight ass, you know that? I’ve never had a patron try to tell me how to do my job,” he said with a laugh.
“You’re lucky he didn’t come himself,” Xanthus said.
“I understand why he sent you, gladiator, but I must say that I’m surprised he did.”
“And why is that?”
“Champion or no, you’re still a slave.” He said it so easily, reaching over to tap the brand on Xanthus’s arm. “How old is it?”
Xanthus didn’t answer.
“I’d guess nine, maybe ten years. Am I right? Of course I’m right.” Kanut extended his own arm, pulling the sleeve up to show Xanthus the full extent of his burns. They reached from his palm all the way up past his elbow. Xanthus thought they probably stretched over his shoulder and back but couldn’t be sure. “These are much newer,” Kanut said with a ghoulish wink.
“How did you get them?”
“Drowning,” Kanut said sardonically. Xanthus rolled his eyes, and that made Kanut laugh harder. “Men came and tried to burn my home to the ground with me in it.”
“How did you get out?”
“Maybe the gods favor me,” Kanut said. “Then again, I hear you’re the son of a god, and you’re a slave. So. To hell with what the gods think, eh?”
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you that you shouldn’t believe everything you hear?”
“Oh, but I hear such interesting things, gladiator. For instance, I hear that Spartacus was something of a little demon—covered in black from head to toe, leaping about the arena like a shadow.” Kanut grinned, watching Xanthus out of the corner of his eye. “Just tell me one thing—was Spartacus as good as they say?”
For the first time since he’d left Attia’s side, Xanthus allowed himself a brief smile. “Better.”
*
Attia didn’t watch Xanthus leave. She couldn’t. Instead, she stood at the window in his room, listening to the clatter of hooves disappear down the road and looking out at the heavy gray clouds that blocked the morning sun. Her fingers caressed the pendant that hung from her neck. Below, the townspeople kept the night-lamps burning on their poles in an effort to cast out the shadows. Xanthus’s own short candles—ringed with hemp and feathers—burned steadily by the window.
After a little while, she entered the villa and headed for Rory’s room. But before she could get far, she ran into Ennius.
He greeted her with a quirked brow. “What are you doing?”
“Walking.”
“Walking?”
“Yes. Placing one foot in front of the other and moving forward. Why, do you need me for something? Will it take long or can it wait?”
“You know, whenever we talk, I have the strangest feeling that you’re just a breath away from giving me orders,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes that told her he wasn’t actually offended.