The trainer barked commands—left, right, thrust—and Felix obeyed, his mind straying behind, weighted with regret.Forgive me, Lord, for not forgiving him sooner.
The gladius flung from his grip on the next blow, winging across the quadrant and clattering against a pyramid of weights.
“That’s enough for now,” the magister said, eyeing him. “Go get a drink.”
Felix didn’t need to be told twice. He moved toward the stone fountain, recently vacated by a huddle of gladiatrices. His arms and shoulders ached. Muscles quivered. He leaned an elbow on the lip of the fountain and scooped cool water to his mouth.
“How the mighty have fallen.”
He’d recognize that sneering voice anywhere.
Felix looked up. “What do you want, Sergius?”
The elder medicus shrugged and smirked. “I have everything I want. Thanks to your stupidity.”
Felix scooped another drink to his lips, trying, and mostly succeeding, to let the man’s words roll over him like water. He straightened. “Congratulations to you, then. I hope you can cover your drunken disappearances and botched procedures long enough to enjoy it.” He bowed and turned away, stooping to grab up the gladius on his way back to the palus. He struck the stupid pole until he was nearly senseless with fatigue, and the call to the triclinium came as a welcome rest.
He dropped into an empty seat, only to have a knee rammed into his side.
“Move. That’s my spot.”
Felix pushed back to his feet and surveyed the room. Searching for an empty space.
An arm nudged him. “This way, medicus.” Gaiseric edged in front of him and beckoned him to follow. They crossed the room to a table of secutors and hoplomachi, and Gaiseric pointed to a space beside him and dropped into his own place. Felix sat and in moments had a mug of cloudy water and a bowl of steaming mash shoved beneath his nose. He took a drink of the water and nearly spit it out until he saw the others downing the whole mug. He swallowed with effort, his mouth tasting of ash.
“What are you doing here?” Gaiseric asked, and Felix dared to take a bite before answering. The barley gruel was nutty and slightly sour, the grains sold to the ludus from the city beer brewers—not as popular a beverage as wine, but the availability had grown in recent years as legionaries sent to the north had returned home with a penchant for the brew. Felix didn’t care for it. But he cared less for a growling stomach.
He looked up to see all eyes around the table trained on him. “I...” Would their indifference change if they knew what he was doing? Or, rather, what hehaddone? Would the knowledge make them hostile, or friends? There was little time to debate and less to answer.
He bent over his bowl. “Does it matter?”
“It might.” Gaiseric’s tone was tight.
Strange how two sharp syllables could carry such weighted question and threat.
“Jovan is angry with me.” Felix swiped a bite of gruel onto the bread, neither of which improved the other.
“So angry that he sells his own kin to the ludus?” Gaiseric lifted a pale brow. “What did you do? Steal from him?”
He couldn’t be closer to the truth.
Felix forced down a sip of the ash-water, pressing his fist against his mouth to keep it down before responding. “He bet against the Amazon. Crippled her chance of succeeding. So I warned her. He lost a... a lot of money. Blandus Albus too. I am not their favorite person just now.”
The gladiator ran his tongue over his teeth as he regarded Felix. “Why would you do that?”
Nothing about his voice or expression gave away how Gaiseric would feel no matter how Felix answered the question. He hesitated. It was a question he might have wanted an answer to as well if he were in their shoes. But he had to act with caution now. Telling the wrong gladiator at the wrong time could end in death for them all. He would need to speak with Adel, ask who could be trusted.
“For the money and fame, of course.”
Snorts and muttered curses from around the table answered this remark. Heads bowed over bowls. Gaiseric’s eye twitched before he scooped up another bite and hunched over his bowl. He lowered his voice. “I know you’re not here for coin.”
“Medicus.”
Felix jerked his head up as a guard he’d never seen before gestured him away from the table with a quick tip of his bald head. He took one last bite of gruel and downed the mug as he stood and followed. The guard said nothing as they stepped into the covered portico outside the dining hall. Felix crossed his arms as the cold air hit his bare chest. His whole life he’d seen gladiators dressed in nothing but loincloths, but he hadn’t considered how cold they must be when they weren’t training.
“What are you doing?” the guard questioned.
“Eating.”
