Page 73 of Thawed Gladiator: Varro

My heart sinks. Cassius has never quite recovered from his injury on the docks when Sulla hit him over the head and he lost his senses. He’s been quiet and confused since he awoke. Unlike his sullen disobedience on the docks, he’s been cooperative on the trip. But it’s as though he lost his spirit when he was hurt, perhaps he’s even lost his will to live.

“I’ll check on them,” I say, clapping Thrax on the shoulder. He gives a short nod in response.

Making my way through the small opening to get below deck is treacherous, the ship pitching wildly with each massive wave. The stench of unwashed bodies, vomit, and fear is overwhelming in the cramped space. My fellow gladiators huddle in miserable clusters, many retching into buckets or simply lying prone and groaning with each violent lurch. We’ve been on half rations for weeks; now they’re too weak to move.

Cassius is curled into a tight ball in the corner, his thin frame wracked with shivers. Kneeling beside him, I lay a hand on his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

He lifts his head, his expression demoralized. “You tell me I was a gladiator, but I remember none of it. I wonder if I was brave then, because now, after months at sea, I’m ready for the long sleep.”

My throat tightens. “You just need to hold on a little longer. It won’t be this way forever.”

That’s not a lie. The ship can’t hold together for much longer in these gale force winds.

A sudden crack of thunder shakes the entire ship, causing several men to cry out in alarm. Cassius groans.

Looking around at the battered, broken men surrounding me, I’m struck by how much has changed since we first set sail. We began this journey as rivals—slaves pitted against each other for the amusement of our Roman masters. Now, in the face of nature’s fury, those artificial divisions have melted away. We’re brothers now, united in our struggle to survive.

Quintus, a grizzled veteran of countless arena battles, catches my eye from across the hold. There’s a silent understanding that passes between us. If—when—we make it through this, things will be different. How can we weather this and then go back to the way things were before, doing our masters’ bidding, willing to fight and die in arenas for sport?

A deafening crack splits the air, followed by the stomach-dropping sensation of freefall. For a moment, time seems to stand still. Then chaos erupts.

“We’ve been struck!” someone shouts. “We’re taking on water!”

Cold fear grips my heart, but my survival instinct takes over. “Everyone topside, now!” I roar, pulling Cassius to his feet and pushing him forward. “Move!”

We pour onto the deck, into driving rain and howling wind. Lightning illuminates the scene in stark flashes—splintered wood where our mast once stood, Captain Zakur frantically trying to regain control of the helm, the cold, dark sea churning all around us.

Thrax is already organizing men to bail water, his deep voice cutting through the uproar. I join him, shouting orders and encouragement. If we’re going down, it won’t be without a fight.

For hours we battle against the relentless sea, muscles straining as we bail water and attempt makeshift repairs. But it’s a losing battle. The ship lists dangerously to one side, waves now regularly crashing over the railings.

“It’s no use!” Flavius shouts, his weathered face etched with despair. “We’re done for! The Goddess Fortuna has abandoned us.”

But I refuse to accept that. Looking around at the men I’ve come to call brothers, I make a decision. “There’s still a chance! We need to stick together, no matter what happens. When the ship goes down, group up and hang onto each other. We’re stronger together!”

Sulla sneers from his position by the helm. “Sentimental fool! It’s every man for himself now.”

I ignore him, focusing on rallying the others. As the ship gives a final, sickening lurch, I lock eyes with Thrax. A silent message passes between us—whatever comes next, we face it as one.

The freezing water hits like a physical blow, driving the air from my lungs. Men’s screams are cut short as they’re dragged under. Through the chaos, I manage to grab onto Cassius and Quintus. Thrax appears beside us, pulling a floundering Flavius with him.

“Hold on!” I gasp, fighting to keep my head above water. “Don’t let go, no matter what!”

The storm rages on, tossing us about like ragdolls. Men slip away into the darkness, their cries fading into the roar of the wind. My limbs grow numb, thoughts growing sluggish. Just as consciousness begins to fade, a strange calm settles over me.

This is it, then. The end of the road for Marcus Fabius Varro. But I’m not alone. My brothers are with me. And somehow, that makes it bearable.

As the icy depths claim me, my last thought is one of defiance. We may die here, but we die free men.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Marcus Fabius Varro

I return from my memory with the taste of bile in my throat and tears threatening behind my eyes as the captain calls out, “Sonar’s picking something up. The drone footage was correct. That definitely looks like the shape of a helicopter.”

Laura’s breath catches, and I pull her close. This is it. What she’s been searching for. The expressions flickering on her face tell me she’s a ball of emotions inside, though she’s not saying a word.

The boat slows to a stop, and the dive team springs into action. They ready their equipment with practiced efficiency, checking and double-checking everything. It’s fascinating to watch. And helps bring me back to the present, leaving my memories in the gloomy past where they belong.

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