Page 64 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

Chapter Fifty-Two

Cassius

The December sun filters through tree limbs naked of their leaves as Thrax and I carry another table from the dining hall to the corral. The weather gods have blessed us with what Laura calls “a perfect Indian summer day,” warm enough for the celebration to spill outdoors.

As we set the table down, I spot Varro walking toward us, his expression thoughtful.

“Laura and I just got off a call with Dara,” he says. By his pinched expression, I not only know what the call was about but the outcome of it.

“Still no word on Victor?”

He shakes his head. “It’s like smoke. Interpol, the FBI, or our private investigators find a clue, then just as quickly, it turns out to be nothing. I have hope, though. Everything indicates our comrade is still alive.”

“Today’s celebration will be hollow without him,” Thrax says. “We won’t stop until we find him. He belongs here, with us.”

Varro nods, his expression lightening slightly as he surveys the growing celebration. “At least we’ve managed to build something good here. Something Victor will be proud to join once we find him.”

“Think we need one more table?” Thrax asks, surveying the scene. The tables we’ve set up are groaning under the weight of food—both our own feast-worthy spread and the dishes townspeople keep arriving with to celebrate the winter holidays with us. The scent of roasted meat mingles with unfamiliar but enticing aromas from countless covered dishes.

“Did you try the thing they call ‘mac and cheese’?” Rurik calls out as we pass, his mouth full. “It’s better thangarum!”

“Blasphemy,” I tease, though I’ve already got my eye on the swiftly dwindling dish of cheesy pasta.

The crowd grows steadily, townspeople mingling easily with our residents. Alex leads a group of children on a tour of the stables, their voice confident as they explain proper horse safety. I catch Diana watching them with pride, and my heart swells at the way she beams.

Bailey and Jason are handing out translators, answering questions and giving directions. Their ease in talking with adults and children is a huge testament to the benefit they’ve reaped from the equine program.

“Those biceps weren’t built in a day,” I hear a woman say to her friend, both of them openly admiring Flavius as he demonstrates proper lifting technique to a group of teenage boys. “You guys should offer fitness classes. I’d pay good money to train with a real gladiator.”

Her friend nods enthusiastically. “Forget CrossFit. This could be the next big thing.”

The mayor’s arrival creates a brief stir, but what strikes me most is how natural it feels—no fanfare, no formal speeches. He simply joins a group where Jason is explaining our newer training methods to some interested parents.

“The horses taught me about patience,” Jason tells them, his old anger nowhere in sight. “And about earning trust instead of demanding it.”

“Look at you,” Diana murmurs, appearing at my side with two plates piled high with food. Yes! A generous helping of mac and cheese. “Standing here smiling instead of working. I hardly recognize you.”

After accepting the plate gratefully, I say, “I’ve learned there’s value in simply observing joy.”

She bumps my side playfully. “That’s awfully philosophical for a man openly ogling Mrs. Johnson’s peach cobbler.”

“I contain multitudes,” I say in English, enjoying her surprised laugh. My accent is still heavy, but I’m improving daily.

“Did you steal that from Social Media or Walt Whitman’s poem?” Before I can answer, she shrugs, butter-laden biscuit halfway to her mouth, and adds, “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.”

The afternoon flows like wine at a Roman feast. Children race between the tables while their parents chat with gladiators about everything from horse care to ancient history. I spot several people taking notes as Quintus explains ourgarumrecipe, though Laura keeps reminding him that’s still under development, “And will be super-secret when we perfect it. That stuff will be liquid gold. We’re betting on it.”

“You boys need a proper gift shop,” Mrs. Bonney declares after examining one of Thrax’s wooden carvings. “Authentic Roman crafts? These would sell like hotcakes at the summer fair.”

“And cooking classes!” another woman chimes in. “My book club would love to learn authentic Roman recipes.”

The suggestions come faster now—language lessons, historical tours, summer camps for kids. Each idea plants a seed of possibility in my mind, but I push them aside for now. Today isn’t about future plans; it’s about celebrating how far we’ve come.

All my memories have returned to me. The good and the bad. I’ve shared them with Diana, who in turn told me more of her past. Knowing each other’s history helps us through the rough spots. We know when to silently support each other and when to offer advice.

My gaze finds her across the gathering. She’s deep in conversation with the mayor’s wife, her hands moving animatedly as she explains something about our program. The sight of her so confident, so in her element, makes my chest tight with pride and love. When I met her, she was as uncertain in her role as I was in this new world. Now we both stand tall, knowing better who we are and what we can offer.

“We’ve built something remarkable here,” Quintus says, appearing at my side with a plate laden with food. “Though I’m willing to fight to the death because I still say the garum recipe needs more mackerel.”

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