Page 8 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius

Buddy’s large, liquid eyes regard me calmly. I reach out, mimicking Diana’s movements. The horse’s coat is softer than I expected, warm and alive under my palm.

“That’s it,” Diana encourages. “Nice and easy. Horses can sense our emotions, so it’s important to stay calm and confident.”

I nod, trying to ignore the way my heart races. Is it the horse making me nervous, or is it because this woman is standing so close?

For the next hour, Diana guides me through basic grooming techniques. She shows me how to use different brushes, explaining the use of each one.

“Why does one animal need…” I lean closer to count the items in the wooden box, “six brushes?”

She points as she lists them off. “Currycomb, which is called a comb but is basically a brush; body brush; dandy brush; face brush; massage pad; water brush and… there’s more, but I didn’t want to strain the budget.”

Her hand grazes mine as she corrects my grip, and the touch sends a jolt through my system.

Why is this woman having such an effect on me? I take care of myself every night. I’m not a youngster with his first erection.

“You’re doing great.” Her voice is full of warmth. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” I lie, not wanting to admit how taxing even this simple activity is. My head has started to throb, and I’m fighting to keep my balance as I work on Atlas’s flank with the currycomb.

Diana’s eyes narrow, and I get the impression she sees right through me. “It’s okay to take breaks, you know. This is all new for your body and your mind.”

Gratefully, I step back from the horse. Diana releases Atlas into the paddock, then leads me to a bench just outside the barn where we’ve been working. She joins me and we sit in the shade just watching the two horses who are head to ass as they swish flies off each other’s faces.

“So,” she says finally. “What do you think of the horses?”

I consider the question. “They’re… impressive. Powerful. But also gentle in a way I didn’t expect.”

Diana nods, her eyes lighting up. “That’s exactly it. They’re these huge, strong creatures, but they choose to work with us. It’s all about trust and mutual respect.”

As she talks about horses, her passion is evident. I’m drawn in, not just by her words, but by how her face comes alive. When she gestures passionately, I notice the strength in her arms, the calluses on her hands. This is a woman who’s not afraid of hard work.

Her gaze narrows on me, concern etched on her face. “You look…”

I shake my head. Her last word didn’t translate.

“You look tuckered. It means tired. Tuckered out.”

I want to lie, to say I’m fine, but my body gets ahead of my mind and I nod. “Yes. Tuckered in.”

She laughs, her blonde tail of hair bobbing with her happiness.

“You did great! The doctors told me to let you decide when to end each session, but I think from now on, I’ll call time out when I think you’ve had enough. What should I have expected from a big, strong gladiator like you? I should have known you’d keep working until your legs gave out from under you.”

We’ve only been together a few hours, but I get the feeling that no matter what I do, she’ll tell me I’m doing the exact right thing. I think my equine therapy is going to rise above dinner as my favorite time of day. Though lately, I find myself growing irritated with the coarse way my fellow gladiators speak Latin. Their pronunciation grates on my newly recovered memories of more refined company. When Quintus mangles a particularly elegant phrase, I have to bite my tongue to keep from correcting him.

“Same time tomorrow?” Diana asks as I rise with effort from the bench. “There’s a saying, ‘eat the frog first’.”

Perhaps she sees the shock on my face. This must be one of the many things about modern culture that I find surprisingly barbaric.

Laughing, she explains, “It means do the hard thing first, then everything is a downhill slide from there.”

She waits for me to understand her, then adds, “The first thing we’ll do, now that you’ve agreed to work with me, is go over a treatment plan. It sounds boring, I know, but it’s the way we do things. So that’s the frog. Then we’ll have fun with Atlas and Buddy. Okay?”

I nod, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Ok. Tomorrow we eat frogs.”

“Yum.” She smiles, and for a moment, I let myself imagine she’s as reluctant to part ways as I am. But then I remember who I am—or rather, who I’m not. I’m a man with no past, no memories, and absolutely nothing to offer.

“Get some rest,” she says, her voice gentle. “You deserve it. You worked your ass off.”

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