Page 18 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

“What manner of tool is this?”

“This is like your dental sticks.”

He nods in understanding.

“We use this,” I hold up a tube of toothpaste, “instead of…” I let my sentence trail off. The ancient Romans used human or animal urine and ashes. “This tastes better.” Not that I ever tried the ancient Roman method. “Here, let me show you.”

I grab my toothbrush and demonstrate the proper technique as Varro watches intently. When he tries it himself, his face scrunches up at the minty taste of the toothpaste.

“This is most strange,” he mutters around the toothbrush.

Really? He’d prefer the urine mixture?

Welcome to the future,I think. How am I going to explain all of this to him?

For now, I focus on the small victory of a clean, minty-fresh Roman as I try to ignore the lingering warmth in my chest and the questions swirling in my mind.

For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence stretching between us like a living thing. Then Varro clears his throat, breaking the spell.

“Perhaps… perhaps you could tell me more about this strange place, how I came to be here, and how I got to be your slave.”

Chapter Sixteen

Laura

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know and will answer all your questions, but let’s start with this.” I make sure he’s looking straight at me when I put on my most serious expression. “You are not a slave.” Since I assume he’s been a slave for all or part of his life, I pause, letting that thought sink in.

The room turns quiet as his face turns to stone, then he shakes his head and scoffs.

“You play with me.” It’s an accusation, but barely carries any anger, as though this man is so used to having his mind messed with that he’s inured to it.

“Perhaps you’ll understand better in a moment. But for now, I’ll simply repeat. You are not a slave and will never be a slave again.”

He shakes his head, the slightest smirk on his face as if to say, “You’re a liar.”

Sadly, I think this will be the highlight of my explanation because the rest of what I have to say will be even more upsetting.

“So, Varro.” I try to keep my voice casual, although I feel like an attorney asking a witness a trick question that will tighten thenoose around his neck the moment he answers it. “What year is it?”

He gives me a quizzical look, cocking his head. The action reminds me of how handsome this man is.

“The year 835Ab Urbe Condita.”

Yep. That was the Roman method of counting time which means it was 82AD, just as my research indicated.

“Varro.” I reach to touch his hand, then snatch my hand back, realizing I’ve overstepped. “I have something difficult to tell you.”

He pierces me with a bitter look and asks, “More difficult than watching my family die when I was age twelve? More difficult than becoming a slave? More difficult than being forced into aludusto train as a gladiator?” His handsome face doesn’t look so handsome with that irritating sneer on his features, but I try to maintain my compassion.

“Maybe.” I spear him with a serious gaze and wait for that to sink in. When he realizes what I have to tell him might be worse than those horrible things, his expression sobers.

“Where I come from…” I almost saidwhenI come from, “835Ab Urbe Conditais considered the year 82.” He shrugs, with a what-does-that-have-to-do-with-me expression. “So you think it’s the year 82, but…” When I tell him the actual date, he glowers.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Laura, but I don’t find it amusing.”

“You were on a ship, theFortuna, which went down in what we consider the year 82. I’ve been searching for it for years, as have others. It was rumored to be laden with gold.”

He tries to keep his face schooled, but I’m watching closely enough to see an almost imperceptiblelip twitch.

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