Page 32 of Brother at Arms

“The referees didn’t have time,” Regulus said. “It happened so fast I wasn’t sure I’d seen right myself. Perseus moved, and all of a sudden, Xerxes had a sword sticking out of him. He collapsed almost instantly, and Perseus was declared the winner. The crowd wasn’t happy with Perseus—he had to run from rocks and cups and whatever else people pelted at him.” His eyes narrowed. “Where were you all that time? Why didn’t you see?”

“Marcianus was sewing up a cut in my arm.” My old anger rose. “The cut was nothing. I should have been there.”

“And done what? Rushed in to deflect the fatal blow? You wouldn’t have reached him in time, and Aemil would have beaten you bloody for interfering. You’d have stood there with me in the archway, watching your friend be killed.”

I tasted rage, but I knew he was right. If Xerxes hadn’t been able to block Perseus’s thrust, there was no way I could have raced across the arena to save him. I’d have watched Xerxes fall, instead of seeing him dragged past me for Marcianus to receive.

I threw down my sword and let my shield follow. They landed on soft earth, through which new grass was trying to sprout.

“The gods cursed me that day,” I said. They’d seen I’d gained too much, and they took it from me.

“What are you talking about?” Regulus demanded. “Xerxes’s death made you a better fighter. After he joined his ancestors, you were unstoppable. Even I couldn’t best you.”

Truth again. I’d dealt with my grief by honing my skills, telling myself I fought for Xerxes, avenging his death on every gladiator in my path.

I hadn’t awakened from this haze until a small man called Hesiodos had pointed to Cassia and told me I had the keeping of her.

“You were too fond of Xerxes,” Regulus was saying. “I’ve never worried so much about the death of another gladiator as you did over him. You were cuddling with him at night, were you?”

Xerxes and I had never been lovers, but I didn’t correct him. Aemil didn’t let his gladiators pair up, in any case, while they were still under his control.

I was done here. I picked up the sword and shield, knowing Aemil would bark invective if they were left on the damp ground, and walked with them back toward the cell where they were kept.

“Thank you,” I said stiffly to Regulus when I passed him.

Cassia had taught me that I should always be polite.

The vision of Xerxes’s last bout filled me as I strode from the ludus. In my mind, I heard the crowd chanting for him, mocking Perseus, booing as Xerxes froze and allowed Perseus to get under his reach.

I heard the sudden shocked silence when Xerxes tumbled to the ground, and then the roar of rage when the crowd realized their favorite had been felled.

I remembered Xerxes’s body being dragged past me, the smear of blood in his wake.

I’d almost throttled Marcianus when the man had said he couldn’t save him. Aemil had pulled me off him, and Marcianus had regarded me in sorrow and understanding.

I stepped off the Pons Aemilius and started for the Aventine but halted in front of the temple to Portunus, the god who protected warehouses and ports. The Forum Bovarium rose on its manmade hill behind it, light from the setting sun flooding the scene. Men and women pushed around me, a new pillar in the road.

If I went to Marcianus in my black mood, I might try to throttle him again. Marcia, who’d become very protective of Marcianus, would likely hit me with one of the heavy bowls in which she ground medicines.

I needed a cooler head to listen while I poured out all I’d learned. I walked on, to the relief of those trying to get past me, turning my steps to the Oppian Hill.

The door guard at Livius’s home readily opened its portal for me, and I marched into the vast atrium. Livius’s majordomo hurried out from an inner room, arms spread, whether to welcome me or herd me out, I could not say.

“Where is Cassia?” I demanded of him.

Chapter 10

The majordomo, a small, thin man called Menekrates, lowered his arms and eyed me in disdain. “The master is dining,” he said coldly. “He bade me send you in to join the meal if you arrived in time.”

Menekrates’s expression told me he’d have sent me right back outside if it had been up to him. He didn’t bother to answer me about Cassia.

“Then take me to Livius,” I commanded.

Menekrates turned away in obvious annoyance but gestured for me to follow.

We walked through the vast, quiet house, passing a large triclinium which would host formal supper parties. Wall paintings in that room portrayed a lush garden from a climate hotter than the one we lived in, and the mosaic-tiled floor depicted fallen baskets of fruit, spent bones, and dogs ready to clean up the mess.

Menekrates continued to a smaller room in the very back of the house, whose wall painting showed a garden that looked more like the one outside Livius’s domus.