Page 14 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

“Like I was saying,” Rurik continues, “Sulla offered the cup to Cassius. He almost refused, but he took a swig and seemed to swallow without tasting it. He took a second gulp, then spit it in Sulla’s face.”

Thrax finishes the story. “Sulla grabbed the priestess’s heavy clay jar and crashed it on Cassius’s head. He crumpled to the ground. Out cold for a day. Woke up on the ship with no memory. We had to tell him his own name.”

Heavy silence falls over the table. I look at Cassius, seeing him differently. The Cassius I know speaks softly and follows instructions without question. Hard to picture him hurling insults at anyone, much less someone holding a whip.

My eyes dart around the table, searching for Sulla—though maybe he died two thousand years ago. “Is Sulla here?” I ask quietly.

The men trade looks, some uncomfortable, others angry. Thrax nods slightly and tips his chin toward the far end of the long table. A lean, hard-faced man sits alone, stabbing at his food as though it’s his enemy.

“That’s him,” Thrax says, his voice low. “Still an asshole.”

I study him from here. Even at this distance, something about him feels cold. There’s a hardness in his eyes that makes meshiver. He doesn’t seem to notice our conversation. He’s focused on shoveling his food so fast he can’t be tasting it.

“He doesn’t eat with you?” I whisper.

Quintus snorts. “Would you want to eat with the man who ordered you around at the end of a lash?”

The thought hits like a punch to the gut. Knowing these men were slaves is one thing, but seeing their former abuser sitting in the same room… I look at Cassius again, wondering how he’d act if he remembered everything.

The conversation dies as an uncomfortable silence settles over our end of the table. I pick at my food, no longer hungry, as terrible thoughts swirl through my head. Was Cassius a convict, forced into gladiator fights as punishment? If he gets his memory back, will we discover he’s a heartless killer? For a moment, fear knots my stomach.

Then I remind myself I have no idea what happened before he was dragged to the docks at Ostia to sail to another country so he could fight and die in an arena for the amusement of strangers. I try not to judge, but I can’t help wondering who Cassius really is.

Before I can say anything, Laura and Varro burst through the door, their faces etched with worry. The room’s atmosphere switches from rowdy to tense in a heartbeat.

“What’s wrong?” Thrax asks what everyone’s thinking.

Laura takes a deep breath, scanning the room. “We’ve got a situation,” she says gravely. “You all need to hear this.”

As she speaks, I notice how Cassius seems to shrink into himself, again the outsider in a group bound by shared memories he can’t access. My heart aches for him, even as anxiety builds over whatever news Laura and Varro are about to deliver.

Chapter Twelve

Cassius

The story of my injury hangs in the air, heavy, almost suffocating. I struggle to picture the man they describe—cocky, defiant, foolhardy—with who I am now, this soft-spoken, cautious person I’ve become. The difference is jarring, like trying to fit together two pieces of a puzzle that don’t match.

Diana’s gaze flicks to me, filled with curiosity and… is that fear? I want to say I’m not that man anymore, but how can I reassure her when I don’t know who that man was—or who I am now?

Before I can dwell on it, Laura and Varro enter, their faces so deeply lined with worry that the noisy atmosphere instantly shifts to one of quiet tension.

“What’s wrong?” Thrax asks.

Laura takes a deep breath, her eyes scanning the room. “We’ve got a situation,” she says gravely. “You all need to hear this.”

With his arm around his woman, Varro steps forward, his usually calm manner replaced by worry. “We just had a visit from the mayor and some local politicians. They expressed… concerns about our presence here.”

“Concerns?” Rurik growls. “What kind of concerns?”

Laura sighs. “Some of the locals are afraid. They don’t understand what’s going on here, and in humans, as in many animals, fear often leads to hostility.”

“They also mentioned some minor statute violations,” Varro adds. “Nothing major, but…”

“But I assume they’re looking for reasons to force us out,” Quintus finishes, his voice bitter.

The room erupts in angry mutters. I remain silent, watching, thinking. This is the first real threat we’ve faced since arriving here. It’s one thing to battle our own demons and wake up in a different time. It’s another to face rejection from the very world we’re trying to fit into.

“Can’t we ask Dara Hobson for help?” Skye’s voice cuts through the noise. “I’m still on her payroll, though all I’m doing is upgrading our translation software on a daily basis. She has money and influence. Maybe she could make some calls?”

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