Page 39 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

Laura raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what form of payment did you have in mind?”

Her tone is wary. Is she teasing or re-establishing her boundary?

“How about…” I pretend to think deeply, “you teach me more of those strange dances from your time?”

She laughs, the sound bright and genuine. “Deal. But fair warning, I might just make you learn to break dance.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Never mind. Knowing you, you’d be a natural.”

As I demonstrate how to bind the stalks tightly together to make a broom, Laura stands close, her eyes fixed on my hands.

“You know,” she says softly, “I never thought I’d be so fascinated by Ancient Roman cleaning techniques.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Just wait until I tell you how we did laundry. It involves a lot of stomping while wearing very little clothing.”

Laura’s cheeks flush. “Oh? Do tell.”

I launch into an explanation of Roman laundry practices, watching her expression shift from curiosity to humor as I describe the use of urine in cleaning clothes.

“You’re joking.” She slaps my biceps as if I just made a hilarious joke.

I shake my head, grinning. “Not at all. Urine was collected in public pots on street corners. It was excellent for removing stains and odors.”

Laura looks both fascinated and disgusted. “That’s… actually kind of genius. Gross, but genius.”

As we continue unpacking, I’m struck by how different our worlds are. Yet somehow, we’ve found a way to bridge that gap, to work together and even enjoy each other’s company. I’m lucky she knows Latin so well, though her pronunciation is odd, and I learn more English every day—the songs help teach me new words.

By the time the sun’s edge touches the horizon, we’re both exhausted. Laura collapses onto her bed, which is set on the opposite side of the room from mine. I try not to dwell on the distance between us.

“Well.” She props herself up on her elbows. “I’d say this was a successful moving day. What do you think, roomie?”

I look around our small, cozy space. It’s certainly not as grand as the patricianpalatiumsI used to visit, nor as humble as a gladiator barracks. It reminds me of where I grew up in Hispania and feels more like home than anywhere I’ve been in a long time.

“I think,” I meet Laura’s gaze, “that we make a pretty good team.”

She smiles, and for a moment, I forget about the centuries that separate us, the challenges of my past, the uncertain future ahead. In this moment, there’s just us, two people carving out a life together in this strange new world.

As night falls and we settle in for our first night in our new home, I can’t help but wonder: if I had the chance to return to my old life, would I take it? The thought surprises me. When I awakened from the ice, I prayed to the Gods to send me back to my old life. But now, looking at Laura’s sleeping form across the room, I’m not so sure I’d make that choice if given the chance.

This isn’t the life I ever imagined for myself, but lying here, a free man, surrounded by the warmth of our makeshift home and the company of this remarkable woman, I find myself filled with a sense of possibility I didn’t have in my old life. And that, I realize, is worth more than all the gold in the Emperor’s vaults.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Laura

I’m yanked from a deep sleep by Varro’s excited shout. “Laura! Wake up! Look what I found!”

Groggily, I sit up in my sleeping bag, rubbing my eyes. “Let me guess… the keys to a yacht that’ll take us home?”

Varro’s grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, holding up several tins of anchovies. “Even better! We can make garum!”

I blink, trying to process this information. “Garum?” I’ve studied ancient Rome for over a decade. I know two things about the fermented fish sauce: the Romans put it on everything—kind of like ketchup—and it reeks.

“Garum makes everything taste better!” He’s practically bouncing with excitement. “I found an old pottery container outside. It’s perfect for fermentation.”

As Varro explains the garum-making process, I struggle to match his enthusiasm. We’ve been in the cottage for weeks now and it wasn’t an accident those anchovies took him a while to find. Just the picture on the tin makes me want to hurl. I hid the containers in the bottom of the food bin for a reason.

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