There were two ways out of the Ludus Gallicus. As a free man, or as a corpse. The Gaul left the ludus as both.
It was long after dark by the time Felix ducked into an alcove and knocked at the closed door. He’d parted ways with the undertakers at the ludus gate and made sure to take his usual turn at the eatery before doubling back to a nondescript building.
The door opened immediately at his knock, and he was rushed into a dark passage.
“Salve. Is all well?” a voice whispered.
Felix nodded, then added aloud, “Yes.”
“Good, good. Come quickly then. He will wake soon.”
Felix released a breath of relief at the news. He followed the shadowy figure by the sound of his footsteps until they went through another door and he found himself in a courtyard awash with the slant of cold moonlight.
“Just through here.” The brown-robed figure gestured to a door opposite a shadowed garden and courtyard cistern and turned aside to let Felix go ahead of him.
Illuminated with warm lamplight, the room Felix entered was sparsely furnished and featured only a small table and a low sleeping couch where the hulking form of a man known as the Gaul slumbered and twitched. Felix approached and slipped two fingers under his jaw, relieved to feel the steady thrum of his pulse.
The man’s eyes slid open and blinked.
“Welcome to life,” Felix said. “The Gaul is dead. So who are you now?”
Not the Gaulturned his head, taking in the sparse room, the open door and closed window, and the copper flakes of lamplight flickering on the walls. He raised a hand, wide and scarred, turning his fingers in the light as if to catch it.
“Nael,” he whispered. “My name is Nael.”
Felix gave a nod. “It is a good name.”
“It is”—Nael swallowed—“all I have.”
“You have friends.”
Nael bobbed his head and tried to push himself up on his elbow.
Felix laid a firm hand on his shoulder, stilling him. “Rest, friend. You have a long recovery ahead of you. But you will be well looked after.”
Nael swallowed again, his lips twitching as they tried to form words. “Thank...”
The helpless expression of gratefulness broke something in Felix and rebound it in firm determination. This would not be his last rescue.
XVIII
HE WAS HERE.It was done.
Telemachus hurried down the passage, his sandals scuffing the worn floor tiles, echoing off the bare stone walls. Felix had really done it. He shouldn’t have doubted, hadn’t meant to. He’d never have asked if he hadn’t known that the medicus would agree. And yet somehow, knowing Felix had come through, that their plan had worked, sent an elated energy through his veins.
Possibility. Hope. They could do this.
Those emotions were chased just as quickly by the reality that there were hundreds, thousands across the empire imprisoned in ludi, forced to fight, to die, for the entertainment of others. So what was the life of one man?
Precious, and worthy of saving.
He’d not always believed such merciful things. But now was not the time to dwell on the past and its monsters.
Telemachus twisted into the doorway, to find the medicus bent over the bed, resolve tightening his mouth.
“Thank you.” Somehow knowing the plan had worked and seeing the proof before him sent emotion to his throat.
Felix gave a nod.
