57. Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Seven

M arcus Fabius Varro

The cold spray of the Norwegian Sea stings my face as our boat cuts through the choppy waters. Because of the millennia I spent in this very sea, frozen in time, my inner turmoil reflects the rippling unrest of the water. Laura stands beside me, her face a mask of authority as she confers with the dive team leader.

“We’re approaching the coordinates now,” the captain calls out, his voice barely audible over the wind and waves.

Laura squeezes my hand, her eyes meeting mine. “You look uneasy. Don’t tell me a world traveler like yourself is seasick. You’ve spent a lot of time in the water.” She winks at me with a fond look, similar to when she’s thinking of tearing off my clothes.

I nod, swallowing hard. “The Fortuna went down in seas like this.”

“That’s why we’re wearing life jackets. And I imagine this craft is slightly more seaworthy than your old boat.”

She’s right. Besides, I’ve been in competition in the arena against three men at once. I can certainly tolerate a boat ride .

Still, my mind can’t help drifting back to that fateful trip where we were blown off course, then fought the cold for weeks until we were struck by lightning and went down.

Suddenly, I’m back in that ship as it lurches violently, sending me stumbling across the deck. Cold spray stings my face as I grab onto the railing to steady myself. The sky above is an angry mass of swirling gray clouds, punctuated by flashes of lightning.

“Hold fast, men!” Captain Zakur bellows from the helm, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. “We’ll weather this storm yet!”

A harsh laugh escapes me. We’ve been ‘weathering’ this storm for weeks, blown far off course into unfamiliar waters as the temperature continues to plummet. Zakur’s optimism rings hollow—even he must realize how dire our situation is by now.

“Quit sniveling, you dogs!” Sulla barks. “Are you men or boys?”

My body is so fatigued from the effort of keeping my balance on the rolling deck that I can barely muster any hate for the male.

Thrax appears at my side, his hulking frame providing some shelter from the relentless wind. Though not conventionally handsome, there’s a quiet strength to him that I’ve come to admire over our long journey.

“How are the others holding up?” I shout to be heard over the maelstrom.

Thrax’s normally stoic expression is grim. “Not well. Flavius took a bad fall earlier when the ship lurched and he was thrown against the hull. He might have broken his arm. And Cassius…” He trails off, shaking his head.

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.