Page 23 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

I control my urge to escort him there and simply say, “Yes.” Me and my big mouth and thoughtless comments.

Poor guy. Big and proud and he’s been through so much. I took a good look at him today in the men’s tent. There’s a roadmap of scars crisscrossing his beautiful body. And it’s not just physical pain he’s endured. I’ll never ask a follow-up question about his statements that he lost his family, was sold into slavery, and was forced into a gladiatorludus. But no one could survive that and have their sanity fully intact.

And now this. Something no human has ever endured and all he has to help navigate this isme.

The thought slams into me and just to make sure I got the message, it reverberates in my head as though I was hit on the skull with a shovel.

All Varro has is me. Period. No family. No friends. Not one familiar thing. Even our clothes are different; that struck me when he pulled on those sweatpants as though he’d rarely stepped into a pair of pants before. Of course he hadn’t. Romans wore togas or loincloths.

The look on his face when I cut up a sheet to make loincloths was sheer relief.

Okay, Laura. You’re going to forgive that poor man for trying to strangle you the other night. Who knows what twilight fugue state he was in at the time? He’s struggling and you’re going to do everything in your power on this forsaken little island to help him through this. We may die of starvation soon, but until then, you’re going to give this guy the best weeks of his life.

Starting now.

Chapter Twenty-One

Marcus Fabius Varro

Why was hearing that no one had used my language in conversation for fifteen hundred years more upsetting than hearing that I slept in the depths of the ocean for two thousand years? I don’t know, but this hit me hard.

I pull off thesebracaeand slide under the blanket. For the briefest moment, I curse the Gods—every one of the cruel bastards who had a hand in my fate: Jupiter, Nona, Decuma, Morta, Ares, Themis, Poseidon.

I chant all their names bitterly. They’ve certainly cursed me enough times in my life. But no matter what they’ve thrown at me, I’ve always kept going. I climbed onto the centurion’s horse and was gifted a ride across the Pyrenees. I killed Gracchus’s guards and was ready to go to the underworld when he offered me a life as a gladiator. And now, I’ve been snatched from the jaws of death again.

Instead of shaking my fist at the Gods, I should be thanking them.

My mind drifts back to my arrival at Caius Marcellus Publius’sludus. Gracchus not only spared my life that day in hispalatiumwhen he gave me his blessing and a chance at a new life, buthe spared me the usual torture of a young man’s arrival into a gladiator’s barracks.

It was no secret that I had taken the lives of two soldiers prior to my arrival. Instead of the teasing and ruthless hazing other new arrivals were subjected to, I was greeted with admiration and pats on the back.

Decimus was a huge Gaul who the Romans took from his tribe as a boy. He, the best gladiator in theludus, took me under his wing. He made sure I got a full portion of food, unappetizing as it was, at every meal. After sparring was done for the day, he practiced with me at night to teach me the finer points that ourludus master, hadn’t mentioned.

I soon found out why this male took such an interest in me. On my third night there, I heard him describing me to his friends as “lovely.” It was the same tone Gracchus used when he had me disrobe for him at our first meeting.

Before Decimus approached me, I debated my options. Never once did the term “whore” cross my mind as I weighed the pros and cons of my choice. The life I would face if I refused loomed before me: meager rations and the “accidental” abuses suffered from older males during sparring, which could result in pain, dismemberment, or even death.

At thirteen, I was tall for my age, but my lean muscles and a recent growth spurt had left me as graceful as a newborn foal. The seasoned gladiators would consider me easy prey.

Or I could reluctantly say yes. Decimus was a decent male. He would be gentle, coaxing. Nothing like Gracchus. If this kept my head from being separated from my shoulders, I could endure it.

As the gladiator in theluduswith the most wins, he had the best room, private. On our first night together, he was… tender, his words kind. He didn’t take me rough, against my will, like Gracchus. In fact, he liked to be on the bottom, which allowed me to close my eyes and imagine a woman, one who was pretty and willing. Things could have been far, far worse.

Being his bedmate provided us both with something. For him, I wasn’t just a convenient fuck, I was a symbol of status in theludus. He was a champion. Having me by his side showed the other gladiators that he could take what he wanted and had someone at his beck and call—a slave for a slave.

He had women too, when he had enough coin to pay the skin trader, but they charged extra for bringing prostitutes into theludus. On those nights, when he had earned a good amount of coin from the games and had requested a woman, I would sit outside his cell, watching the stars, listening to the practiced sighs and moans of the whore, trying to picture what it would be like to lie with someone willingly.

Decimus protected me until five years later, when he died in a match at the Paduan arena during the festival of Saturnalia. I mourned him. After that, other men approached me, but I didn’t want what they were offering, and I was at the top of my form—I no longer needed protection.

I try to soothe myself by reminding myself this happened long ago. The memories should have disappeared by now. Too bad they haven’t.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Laura

The poor guy’s been sleeping for hours. I know he needs his rest, but he also needs nourishment. I always hated the hard sciences and know little medical information, but his body has been through so much that I’m sure he needs food more than he needs to sleep.

As I’m heating the chili MRE, I reach for some protein bars. If I have to force food down his throat, I will, but I’ll give him a choice—protein bars or chili.

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