Come Away To The Water (heroinebigbang part iii)
Title: Come Away To The Water
Rating: r
Word Count: 7,184 (3/4)
Summary: Come away, little lass, come away to the water. Away from the light you always knew. We are calling to you...Naevia was born, and then lived her whole life.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Notes: Oh, this has been a labor of love. And I would be remiss in not thanking quite a few people. First of all, this all began to really form after a conversation with selonbrody where we both thought that Pietros and Naevia had been brother and sister during the first few episodes of Blood And Sand, and I swear, I only meant to write a prequel. lexiesloan took a look at this and offered such wonderful encouragement. And abvj has been invaluable, with hand-holding, suggestion and support. You will notice key lines of dialogue from the show, and my own tweak on certain scenes, and it is all a respectful homage to Stephen DeKnight and his writing team. And of course, a very special thanks to kymericl, who did the lovely artwork (link in master post).
part i
part ii
There were three men, two great brutes and one smaller, whom they called Trebbius. He was in charge, and by far the cruelest. But this was something she learned later.
At the first villa, she thought that she was being sold. Would she work in the kitchens? Her hair was badly shorn and ragged, she wasn’t fit to be seen serving in the house.
The first man took her quickly. He was old and without vigor. Still when it was over, she found she could not walk, could barely breathe. One of the brutes returned, hefting her over one shoulder and deposited her back by the cart. She was given a bowl of porridge, but she could not bring herself to eat it. Trebbius shrugged and put the cart back to the road.
It was the same the next day and the day after that. Always a different man, different faces, different cruel hands. One man simply strangled her as he stroked his own cock. She passed out and woke up back in the cart, soiled in fluid, with another bowl of porridge. She tossed it out of the back of the cart and Trebbius told one of the men to turn around and beat her. And when her face was swollen, he cracked an egg, pouring the yellow yolk down her throat and forcing her to swallow.
Her empty stomach protested immediately and as she lay in the stink of her own vomit (and the Strangling Man, and all those who had come before him), rocking unsteadily in the back of the rough cart, Naevia had one thought only.
Please.
Let me die.
She slept for a time, a dreamless black sleep, and when she woke, they were at another villa and she was being pulled from the cart.
*
She lay in the kitchens of the villa as Trebbius and his men were generously offered wine and hospitality by the dominus who had just had her. The stone floor was rough and cold but better than the unsteady cart. It had all the same smells as the kitchen where she had grown up, hiding behind the flour sacks with Pietros and Diona. What has become of us?
At the slightest sound, Naevia jumped but it was a soft voice murmuring, “Apologies.”
Naevia didn’t move from the floor. No more men.
He knelt beside her and reached out. She flinched before he touched her and he had already drawn back. “I think you have not eaten in some time,” he said and his voice was very soft. She looked up at him. He had long black hair and dark skin. He laid a small piece of bread next to her on the floor, on top of a rough cloth and a cup of water.
“My dominus is sleeping with a barrel of wine in him. And the men who brought you here, the same. Tonight, you can sleep.” And then he was gone.
Naevia eyed the loaf. It was fresh, probably his own ration. She laid her hand flat in front of it. To what point, would she fill her belly?
Please. Let me die.
Naevia.
She stirred, but felt too weak and tired to lift her head from the floor.
Naevia.
Louder. She could not ignore it. He would not be ignored.
“Pietros?” She spoke out loud, holding her breath and tightening her fists until her ragged fingernails dug into her palms.
Naevia.
This time, his voice was very close, clear in her ear. Naevia thought that when she had been pulled from Crixus’s arms, she would never shed another tear, but she felt her cheeks go wet and hot and then she could even smell him, sunshine and earth and the trace of their mother that she had left on her children. Warmth encircled her, and Pietros spoke again.
“Naevia, you must stay alive.” She struggled weakly but was soothed and held tighter. “You yet live. You are my heartbeat, all that is left. You live, dear sister. Stay alive.”
Naevia thought of Crixus, the last words she had spoke to him -- we yet live. And he spoke of freedom. Two fools, why hope, why dream? You are everything.
Naevia.
She heard her brother’s voice again, who had once told her that they would never be parted. Not Crixus, who had sworn the same. She thought of them all, all who had been gone, lost, taken -- Crixus was still alive.
Stay alive.
The whisper was so soft, Naevia did not know who spoke it.
She sat up slowly, with much effort, and broke off a small piece, carefully chewed and waited. It stayed down. She took another bit, and another, even scraping the crumbs from the cloth. She drank the water. She was so tired. She laid back down on the stone floor and felt her brother’s warmth surround her once again. If this was madness, she was happy to lose herself in it.
You take me with you, Naevia, his voice grew softer. Tonight, you can sleep.
*
Naevia listened to her brother -- she stayed alive. She shut off her mind and was nothing, as she had been all of her life. She ate the watery porridge Trebbius gave her and slept dreamless dreams, her body rattling in the back of the cart. The days grew colder, and her dress was badly torn.
One day, she was brought to another house, and pulled in front of the dominus, as she had been every other time. But he sneered at her. “What manner of gift does the house of Batiatus send? She’s filthy and looks half dead.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I have no use for her.”
Naevia breathed as she was brought back out of the house, moments later and put back in the cart. It was over. She was no longer fit to be used. It was over.
They were back upon the road for an hour, maybe more when the cart stopped abruptly. Naevia looked up at the sky, the sun pale and high in the sky. They had stopped at no villa, no watering hole. They were nowhere.
Trebbius climbed into the back of the cart with her. “I’ve waited long enough now,” he said and dropped to his knees, lifting his clothing away from his hips.
No. No more men.
“No,” she said, twisting away. He pulled her back, taking a knee in each hand. “No!” She said it again, this time kicking him. He growled in pain and punched her twice. Still she kicked her legs and screamed, and did not see the flash of his knife. He slashed across her face in a jagged line and it stilled her enough for him take her. When he was done, he nodded to the two brutes. The first one did the same, holding her down with one giant hand while she cried, but the second shook his head.
“She does look fucking dead.”
*
It had been a threat she had heard Dominus shout many times in a temper. I’ll sell the lot of you to the mines! And she had never known what that meant, or what it would be like- just feared the threat, which she did not even know could be real.
Because this place could not be real. Swarming, ripe with rotten human flesh and disease, in a place where hunger and the whip were all there was. Naked men, women and children dropping dead at any moment. She was pushed further into the darkness, the filth and steaming hell of the mine.
I should have sold you off with your whore mother, and now I set you on her same path.
She tried to raise her voice, to tell herself to stay alive, to plead for Pietros, her mother, her unknown father...
Take me with you.
But no loving warmth closed around her, no soft words in her ear.
For what had she stayed alive for?
With one quivering breath, she formed the name of the only voice she had not heard.
“Crixus.”
Nothing came back to her.
She was pushed farther into the darkness.
*
Naevia, you are safe.
She tried to block out the voice, but it kept ringing in her ear. Crixus’s voice, it had been a lifetime since she’d heard him and now she heard nothing else.
She stumbled on the uneven ground, her legs not stretching out below her properly. She had been hunched over, bent in the mines for...how many days? How many days had it been since she had eaten?
Naevia, you are safe.
No, NO. She knew now what it meant when she could hear the voice and the person was not there.
Stay alive, stay alive...What for? Hope of Crixus? He lay dead by the Syrian’s hand.
She stumbled again, twisting her ankle this time and cried out as she fell, her hands coming up to cover her face before she fell into the dirt. What did it matter now.
Hands on her, strong hands lifting her against a broad chest. “Naevia, the Romans, they will be at our heels.” Spartacus had barely broken breath, hefting her against him and continuing to run.
But she could not bear these hands. “No,” she said hoarsely, and then cried it again, weakly pushing herself from his arms and tumbling to the ground. It was enough to give them all pause and he reached down for her again.
“No,” she coughed, this time catching the dirt in her throat. “No more men.”
His eyes were compassionate, but he reached for her again.
Mira stepped between them. “No more men,” she said clearly, and after a moment, he backed away.
Mira offered a hand to Naevia to help her to her feet and after a second, she took it. It was not so pleasant to touch a woman either, but tolerable. Mira lowered her voice so only Naevia could hear. “But you must keep up.”
Naevia nodded in understanding, daring to look behind her. All was quiet, but the soldiers would be there before long. The mines would not pause them forever. She started forward, her eyes on the ground, watching Mira’s swift feet and she found it was easier, if still painful, to hop heavily on the ankle she had not twisted, though she was still slower than the rest, she could keep them in sight.
Naevia, you are safe.
She fought against the voice, biting her lip against the pain, and followed Spartacus into the forest.
*
“You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
It was Mira’s voice but Crixus’s last words, mocking her. What was safe? How would she ever be safe again? When had she last been safe? When she and Pietros wrapped around each other in their mother’s womb?
One man already dead on their trail and countless others in the mines. And Crixus. And...Ashur. In the mines. Had that been real, or mad, starving visions?
Mira stroked her hair as she would a child and told her of what had happened, the fall of the House of Batiatus. “Domina?” Naevia asked, and remembered herself. “Lucretia.”
“We thought all had been left dead,” Mira answered, her voice very low and her eyes searching in the darkness for any sign of movement. “But Crixus saw her in the marketplace before we fled Capua.”
Crixus.
At his name, tears flooded Naevia’s eyes and Mira crouched over her, holding her and soothing her with soft noises. “Shh, shh.” And then she whispered, her voice more desperate. “Please Naevia, do not cry out.”
Naevia bit her lip. She could not have more death on her hands. She was nothing.
“He turned the world inside out looking for you,” Mira continued, her voice haunted. “it was all that he cared about, for you to be safe.”
Naevia wanted to laugh, bitter and ungrateful. There were no safe places in the world. And there was no light without Crixus. She, Naevia, was left all alone. Again. As always.
“And all the others...”
“Would have followed Crixus anywhere. They still held each other as brothers. They loved him.”
I loved him.
Naevia closed her eyes and thought of Crixus as she first saw him with long wild curls, and how he felt in her arms with his voice in her ear.
You are my heart.
Take me with you.
She pleaded desperately but received no answer.
*
This man was familiar, she knew that. The shape of his face and the low murmur of his voice when he said, “Just a bit more. A few steps.” He lied, but his hands and voice were kind. He had taken her under one arm when she was too weak to go on and past the point of protesting.
As he lay on the ground, his brown skin white with blood loss, she remembered. Tonight, you can sleep.
No. Not him. This one could not die. While Spartacus prepared his sword in the fire to seal the wound, Naevia brushed the long black hair from the man’s brow. “Stay alive,” she whispered.
*
The morning dawned bright and beautiful, and Naevia watched the sunrise from the crumbling wall of the temple.
She had not slept. Mira had left with Spartacus and Agron and another handful of men, promising to return Crixus to her arms. Naevia had barely breathed since they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
How dare they promise such a thing?
She recalled Spartacus pulling his wife from cart at the ludus, all of his life’s hope and love leaving his face, and...he knew her heart. Please, please stay alive. Return to my arms.
She repeated it over and over in her head as she slipped down from the wall. The old Roman man, Lucius Caelius, had told them the night before that theirs were the first faces he had seen in these woods in years. She walked, not very far, she was certain. She was still very weak, even after filling her belly the night before for the first time that she could remember in so very long.
After a time, Naevia came upon a spring and knelt by the side to take a drink of water. She gasped at what she saw reflected back at her in the ripples. Hollow cheeks, the bones under her neck prominent and sharp, her skin an unhealthy gray, the mark Trebbius left on her cheek healing crooked and angry. She does look fucking dead. She shuddered at the voice in her ear, looking to the sky.
Dipping her hands in the cool water, Naevia drank deep and splashed it on her face, her arms, through her wispy hair. It was starting to grow back in uneven lengths. The woods were quiet around her, and as she ran her hands down the crusted material of the dress she had worn since the night she had left the house of Batiatus, she could take no more. She shed the thing and stepped into the water, wading up to her shoulders.
Return to my arms.
Naevia stared up at the blue sky, sending pleading thoughts to any who would hear her. Crixus, stay alive, stay safe. You are everything. She thought of Spartacus, Mira, Agron...all those who risked life for her man. Stay alive.
A quiet rustle in the leaves of the trees abruptly broke Naevia out of her prayers, and she ducked down in the water, eying her filthy dress, much too far away to offer cover.
It was the man with brown skin and long black hair. Naevia felt her heartbeat return, but she still held breath. He was watching her.
“You,” he breathed, and Naevia could see the struggle in his words. “You saved my life. They would have left me for dead.” His face was all gratitude, keeping his eyes on hers, not straying below.
“You,” Naevia returned, thinking of that night on the stone kitchen floor. “The bread.”
His eyes narrowed in thought and then went wide in recognition. He nodded at her. “You yet live.”
Naevia couldn’t help a smile. Yes. Yes, despite all of the world fighting against it, she yet lived.
The man was standing over the scraps of her dress and he bent and picked it up, frowning in distaste. After a moment, he dropped it where it had been and drew off his own cloak, standing in his subligaria, and held the garment out to her. Naevia stayed below the water, holding her arms around herself.
“Come,” he said. “We have brought clothing from my dominus’s - I mean, from the villa where I...” He could not find the words to finish, but held the cloak out again. Naevia did not move.
He lowered his voice, gently, and she remembered that he had twice made her feel safe. “You must not fear me.”
Naevia let out a shaky breath, and eventually crept toward the shoreline, leaning forward in the water for as long as she could. The man kept his eyes on hers, and deftly wrapped the cloak around her shoulders when she was close enough, taking care not to touch her.
He sat back down at the water’s edge, leaning against a tree, and wincing with the effort. Naevia sat across from him. “I am Nasir,” he said, after a moment.
“Syrian?” She breathed.
Nasir blinked his eyes. “A lifetime ago. I was sold to bondage when I was seven years of age.”
Naevia bit her lip. “So young?”
“I was beautiful,” Nasir said, without trace of conceit or bitterness, and Naevia did not ask further question.
She looked at the ground, finally feeling her skin free of grime. “My name is Naevia.”
Nasir smiled. “I know. Crixus has spoken of you.”
Naevia closed her eyes at his name. Stay alive. It was beginning to become clear that she would, it was always her way, to stay alive at all cost while others around her fell. I am bound to you, you have my heart, you cannot leave this world.
Nasir shifted, watching her. “What do you know of Agron?”
That he risks all for Crixus. “That he is a good man.”
Nasir smiled wider at this. “Yes, this I know” His smile began to fade. “I pray there is time to learn more.”
Naevia thought back to her first night with Crixus, before he fought Theokkoles with Spartacus, how that sweet night seemed to go on and on, and give her strength in days to come. She knew very little of the German gladiator, but formed his face in her mind. Stay alive. She cleared her throat. “I remember that he had a brother, who fought on the sands beside him.”
Nasir looked over at her, the shadow of his beautiful smile. “Yes, this too I know. I also had a brother.”
Naevia smiled as she heard the words in her head, the words of a seven-year-old boy who smelled of sunshine. They will not part us, sister. I will not allow it. She pointed to herself and nodded. “A lifetime ago.”
*
If you dream, I would never have you awake.
It was no dream, and as if to prove it to himself, Crixus could not keep his hand off her. He rested it at her hip, cupped the back of her neck, clasped her hand, and did not leave her side. She would have been nowhere else. Alive. You are alive.
Lucius Caelius prepared a feast for the returning heroes, and all abandoned tasks and responsibilities to celebrate. While Spartacus and Donar regaled tales of the arena being brought down on the heads of the crowds who cried for blood (and they GOT it, Donar had shouted, to much laughter), Crixus kept Naevia close. His hands were always on her, trailing over her skin, and every time he pulled her in tighter, to brush his lips against the top of her head, or to gently pull her face to his, to look into her eyes, she felt her heartbeat quicken. He was hers, so familiar to her and yet...it had been a lifetime.
As the sun began to set on the first day Naevia had taken a deep, honest breath in so long (possibly all her life), Crixus stood, pulling her up by her hand and quietly leading her back into the temple
“You leave us so early, Crixus? There is more rejoicing to be done!”
Naevia blushed as Donar called out to them. They did not escape notice so easily.
“I require rest far more than the same story you’ve told since the road from Capua,” Crixus said dryly, meaning to inflect his words with casual indifference, but Naevia could see the urgency in his eyes and gasped when he gently squeezed her hand.
Donar raised an eyebrow. “Fine then. I leave you and your woman to the deepest slumber.” The men laughed and cheered loudly at this, and Naevia saw Crixus’s cheeks color. Mira, huddled with Spartacus in one corner, smiled at her from across the yard, and Naevia’s eyes met Nasir’s, sitting with Agron.
“Come,” Crixus whispered over her head, and pulled her along.
When they reached the inside of the temple, to the small dark cavern near where Oenomaus slept fitfully, Naevia saw how Crixus winced when he sat down. “You still have injuries,” she breathed, trembling voice betraying her fear.
He smiled softly. “Nothing that will not heal, now that you are once again in my arms.” He pulled her down to his lap, drawing his arms around her and running his hands down the bare skin on her back. She cupped her hands around his face, wet with tears, and it was she that pulled him down to her, touched her lips to his and opened to taste him.
“Naevia.” The sound of her name on his lips was a desperate groan. “I have been starved for you.” He removed her dress, running the backs of his fingers down her skin, lips following fingers, and Naevia sucked in her breath.
He was Crixus.
Not these hands.
He was hers.
She does look fucking dead.
Stay alive, stay alive - for what, all these years?
You are nothing.
He knelt between her thighs, settling his weight on her, and she cried out, in such fear that he jumped back, confusion flooding his eyes.
No more men.
*
Naevia had retreated back to the outside wall, and Crixus had not followed her. She found herself at the same spring where she had prayed for his return, sat back against a tree and cried, biting her lip to muffle sound and holding her arms around herself.
It was over. All that she had fought for, to get back to Crixus, to have him returned to her -- she could not bear his touch. She could not bear his eyes on her, hurt and confused...had it been pity?
Naevia shuddered. Was she ever to truly be free?
Naevia.
She gasped, all hair standing on end. It had been so long.
Naevia.
“Diona?” She called out, her voice alone in the darkness.
Gannicus had returned with them from the arena, carrying Oenomaus upon a litter with Donar. And he carried Diona with him still, Naevia knew this now, that her sweet friend’s presence had watched over her Celt. What had she seen of the world?
Naevia, you live. So be free.
But she did not know how. She had always been nothing, and stayed alive.
*
There were familiar faces from the house of Batiatus. Melania from the kitchens watched over the sick and cheerfully called out instruction to the women to keep the grounds running, and keep all supplies stocked, every mouth fed. She had taken to freedom like a fish to water.
“Naevia, bring water to the men in the yard.” The command rolled off, and the natural inclination to hop to obey pushed her to move, but Melania’s eyes softened. “Please, my dear.”
She eyed Crixus in the yard, splitting tree branches to make spears and arrows. She remembered watching him from the balcony in the villa, behind Lucretia, how his muscles would catch the sun, how she would love to watch him move, love to feel him move with her, they had been so connected...It could not all be lost. He swung the axe again, the sound of the blade swinging through the air.
Naevia touched her hand to her cheek, the scar not yet healed.
*
Naevia.
She paused, her fingers running along the sharp edge of Crixus’s blade, alone in the flickering candlelight.
It was madness. After all this time, her only comfort and company was to be ghosts.
Naevia, you live. You are all that is left. You must fight.
*
“Naevia!”
She was struggling in the clasp of strong hands, arms wrapped around her, and she did not place the voice that called her name, just screaming no, over and over, and then the world came back to her. Crixus around her, others stirring in their sleep, but no one paid any mind. She stopped struggling, lowering her voice to look at her man. He was terrified.
“You shivered in your sleep and it is so much colder here in the mountains...” Crixus mumbled, holding his hands to himself, balled into fists, so careful to not touch her. They had fallen asleep next to each other, palms pressed against each other, after he had vowed to teach her how to wield the sword at day’s break, how to fight. He pulled back. “I will not sleep beside you if you do not wish it.”
“Crixus,” he stilled at her voice. “Please. It is so much colder...without you near.”
He settled back and she crawled into his lap, resting her scarred cheek against his chest and listening to his heartbeat.
“Naevia, you are safe,” he murmured.
*
Her first morning with the sword, she could hardly lift it, much less swing it at a target. Her shoulders ached and her fingers were numb from holding it so tightly, sweat and blood dripping down her palms by the time they stopped training in the mid-day sun to eat and rest. Even so, Crixus smiled proudly at her, taking both of their swords in one of his large hands, and Mira and Nasir, partnered together for practice, nodded at her in encouragement. Naevia was too tired to smile or nod back. When she laid beside Crixus that night, she was too tired for nightmares.
The next morning was better, if only just slightly. Gannicus left them, but Naevia could still feel Diona with her, even hear her laughter at times, or so she thought. That was a sweet sound, too long from this world. And eventually, Oenomaus rejoined them as well. “Do not be afraid to use your shield, little flower,” he called to her, not yet ready to take his place with sword. “As small as you are, it should be easy to miss you!”
Agron and Spartacus returned with the German refugees, and though most were glad to see ranks swell, Naevia knew that many of the Capua people (including Crixus) were not quick to trust strangers. Naevia stayed close to her man.
“Naevia, allow me to demonstrate something that might give you help,” Mira said to her one morning, a mischievous glint in her eye. Curious, Naevia followed her to where Agron had been resting, after a long hunt with his kin. Agron had been lighter since being reunited with men from his homelands, and being able to speak his native tongue. He smiled kindly at the women when Mira asked for his help, standing relaxed, and waiting for instruction.
“See Agron here, a foot taller than you and twice your weight?” Mira whispered in her ear. Naevia nodded, biting her lip, and eying his large hands, his tightly muscled chest, and doing her best to not give into fear. She had not sparred with any of the men other than Crixus, and had not allowed anyone but he and Nasir to touch her. Mira smiled conspiratorially. “Well Naevia, all men have a weakness. Do you know what it is?” And she whispered it in her ear.
Moments later, when Agron rolled on the ground, groaning in pain and clutching his groin, he swore at Mira. “You little traitor -- why would you teach her something like that?” All of the men nearby had all seemed to collectively gasp in sympathy pain when Naevia had delivered a swift knee to his ballsack.
“You see?” But Mira looked quite pleased with herself. “Even a giant can be felled, with the right blow.” Naevia’s eyes were wide, and she felt very guilty with Agron in such pain. She offered him a hand up, and he took a deep breath, still wincing.
“It was a sound hit,” he muttered with some respect. “But lesson is learned. Please, look to others for your target practice next.”
Naevia laughed, and turned back to Mira to continue practicing.
*
I fuck the other side of your pretty little face.
No, NO, she could not have this voice haunting her, not with all the others. Naevia traced the scar on her left cheek, recalling her first night with Crixus, the first time he touched his hand to her face, murmuring, so beautiful...
“Naevia?”
Crixus stirred beside her, and pulled her closer, kissing away her tears. “Naevia, you are safe,” he murmured, his voice drowsy with sleep.
Crixus propped himself up on one elbow, blinking himself out of sleep. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the scar on her face. “Do you remember when I slept in fevered dreams after battling Theokkoles?” Naevia nodded. She would never forget the fear of watching him hover between life and death. “What I remember of that time is your face when I could manage to open my eyes. But I always heard your voice. Do you know what you said to me?” She shook her head.
“You told me to stay alive. Stay alive, stay alive. The very opposite of what a gladiator is taught to yearn for. You were my first hope, the very first purpose I had for living. Please, do not lose your hope now, after all that we have crossed.” And he took her face in his hands and kissed her as he had not since he first returned from the arena. And, just like that first kiss a lifetime ago, in the ludus, Naevia began to want more than to simply stay alive.
It was time to live.
Naevia, you live. Do not fade. You must fight...
From her other side, Naevia could smell lemons and hear Diona’s voice, and between the two of them, she fell asleep, feeling her fear fade away.
*
The next morning, when Naevia went back into the yard to begin training, she feared looking any of the Germans in the eye. But Agron stood on one side of her, calling out a warning in his tongue, and Nasir took her hand to partner against him. “We still have much to learn,” her new friend said quietly as he brought his sword up between them. “But you and I learned strategy a long time ago, did we not?” She smiled at him. Yes, there was much they knew in the ways of fighting with words and secrets. “That must give for some assistance.”
Nasir grinned as Naevia crashed her sword down on his, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Crixus off to the forests to hunt with Spartacus and Agron. He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, a god in the sun.
Yes, life.
*
Naevia slept easier. She ate more. She laughed with Mira and Nasir, and reached for Crixus without being afraid of touch. The sword got lighter in her hands, though it was still a large and cumbersome thing. “Learn to wield the knife,” Mira had suggested, with Oenomaus nodding in agreement. “It will be easier to carry and run with.”
Gannicus returned, with the Senator’s daughter who had once laid her hand on Crixus, though she seemed to no longer give any thoughts towards Naevia’s man. Mira and Spartacus were troubled, and Naevia stood by Mira’s side, asking if she could help, if she could listen. “I have no troubles,” she had replied, without any conviction, but Naevia did not press.
Oenomaus and Gannicus had no warm words for each other, and to this, Naevia was more than surprised. Their brotherhood had been as close as she’d had with Melitta and Diona, and she wondered why they would not embrace such old, trusted friends.
Oenomaus sighed. “There is more to it, little flower.”
Naevia sat next to him, laying her tiny hand in his large, callused one. She was starting to develop calluses too. “There are so few of us left,” she said softly. “Who remember her as she was, beautiful and brave.”
“Remember...her...” Oenomaus sucked in a breath and he looked away from her. “How many years have you now?”
It was a question that she had to ponder for a moment. She had not having thought about it in some time. “Twenty, in the start of the summer.”
He smiled and he looked defeated as she had never seen him, much older than she had ever thought of him before. “Already past her entire life.”
Naevia let him the privacy of his tears but she continued on. “I would not see her memory fade from this world by turning away another who held her in high honor and love.”
When he turned back to her, tears wet upon his cheek, he said nothing, but nodded. They sat quietly.
There were so few of them left.
*
Naevia ran from him.
“You will not escape me!”
She ducked behind a tree, breath held, counting beats with her heart, and when she heard footsteps approach, she silently stepped to the side (as Crixus had taught her) and hurled the contents of the water jug.
Nasir’s laugh rang out in the forest. “You sneaky little rabbit! We will have to go all the way back to the spring now.” Naevia laughed at him shaking the water out of his hair. He had begun this war though, the first time they had gone to the spring. It was a warm day, and with the contests being held at the temple, water had already run low.
Back at the spring where she had first spoken to him, Naevia leaned over the edge, taking notice of her reflection. Such a marked difference from that lost wraith she had seen that day. Her hair hung wispy in her face, and she was yet thinner than she had ever been in the ludus, but there was a color in her cheeks that had not been there before and a light in her eyes that had never been present. She looked younger than her years, so ever much younger than what she had seen.
“Naevia, do you return with me?”
Nasir called out to her, and she ran to catch up.
The contests and the wine were still flowing freely, all fights ending with good natures and laughter and embraces from both sides. Mira fought along side Saxa, the German woman who was always muttering to herself and laughing at her own jokes, but today she seemed like she laughed with them. And Naevia and Nasir were amused when Agron and Crixus spent an hour after their contest drinking and laughing, singing songs at each other in each of their native tongues. Gannicus and Oenomaus seemed to be deep in conversation, Naevia saw from a distance.
Happiness. After all this time, after all they had been through.
Throwing down her cup (her second, she had never been allowed more than a very rare sip at the ludus and it went right to her head in the heat), Naevia called out to Spartacus, who was getting ready to arrange the next match. “And who am I to face?”
Spartacus laughed gently and patted her on the head as if she were a child. “None have any quarrel with you, little flower.” And he turned back to the yard. Naevia could see Mira roll her eyes, and Crixus watching her, getting up from his seat and joining the crowd. As Spartacus stepped down, calling out for two more men, Naevia stuck her dainty foot out in front of the once champion of Capua and tripped him, feet over head, landing on his ass.
At this, all were lost to laughter, the Germans calling out unintelligibles. Naevia could see Crixus’s eyes wide with disbelief, and even Oenomaus lifted the corners of his mouth in amusement. “Perhaps I wish to make my own challenge,” Naevia returned, looking down at Spartacus on the sand, mirth in his eyes.
“Well then,” he hopped to his feet and assumed his stance.
Naevia felt no fear overtaking her, but she knew she must act quickly. She listened to Oenomaus’s instruction about using her small size to her advantage and was able to avoid his moves, and managed to trip him on his back again, to the roaring approval of their crowd. Before he managed to leap up again, she poised, her foot in position to overtake man’s biggest weakness (as so helpfully taught by Mira and Agron). “I yield!” he cried, throwing up two fingers in missio.
The Germans thumped their chests in respect, those with sword and shield in hand banging them together loudly. Naevia extended a hand to her opponent, and he graciously accepted it, pulling himself to his feet. “Today’s final contest, I believe,” he called out, sheepishly accepting his defeat. “To today’s final winner, is there any prize you would claim?”
Naevia’s eyes met Crixus’s, shining with pride on the temple steps, and she ran across the yard, launching herself at him, and he caught her mid-air. She kissed him deeply, holding his face secure to hers, gripping his hair, and he held her tight, groaning against her mouth. “Naevia,” he breathed, leaning back and looking her in the eye. His arms tightened around her, and she felt the beginnings of something she had thought long since dead, and even more exciting than her renewed hope.
She wanted him, to be her man in all the ways he had been, and all the ways he could be. “Take me away,” she whispered.
Scooping her knees up in one arm, they retreated into the temple, the cheers of the crowd already retreating as their people resumed drink and celebration.
*
Death was not as it had been, all the times before. Those who had lost their lives did so under the conviction of their own will, warriors in the night. And they were mourned as free men and women. Nemetes, whose father had been a holy man in their village, took the fallen German and laid them to rest in their custom. And all others had someone to speak for them, their ways and wishes.
Naevia stood with Gannicus over Oenomaus, whom they would lay in the ground, as they did with Melitta. “They are together now,” he said quietly.
“Yes, they are,” she replied, and he nodded solemnly.
“It is as it should be. It is only that...” But he did not finish. Naevia knew.
“So many lost,” she said, looking down at the giant of a man she had once thought invincible as a child. “So few of us left. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.” Gannicus whispered the last with her, a habit long forgotten and then looked at her curiously.
“Where did you learn my words?”
Naevia smiled at him sideways. “You do not remember Esyilt and Diona?”
“Diona,” he said the name and a soft breeze blew across them, faintly smelling of lemons. “The little Celt girl with the-”
“-pretty cheeks,” Naevia smiled wider then, knowing how much Diona treasured such words from his lips. “She thought herself in love with you.”
Gannicus raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips “She was just a child when she was taken from this world.”
Naevia remembered her sweet gentle friend’s shy smile, remembered her shimmying through the gates to visit her mother’s resting place. And she remembered Diona being passed around Lucretia’s party like a meal to devour for the entertainment of the Romans.
“We were never children.”
Gannicus shook his head. “No, you were not.”
Naevia joined in the pilgrimage to bring Mira down from the mountain, with Crixus, Spartacus, Agron and Nasir. On the path, Naevia came across the mangled, headless body, grotesque and rotting. “Naevia,” Crixus was standing beside her, his hand on her back.
“Leave him for the crows,” she said. Squinting, she could still see his shrewd face above the neck, evil and soulless. She could hear his words in his head. My death will not heal your scars. No, it would not.
“I am not nothing,” she said out loud.
part iv
<<<333
Rating: r
Word Count: 7,184 (3/4)
Summary: Come away, little lass, come away to the water. Away from the light you always knew. We are calling to you...Naevia was born, and then lived her whole life.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Notes: Oh, this has been a labor of love. And I would be remiss in not thanking quite a few people. First of all, this all began to really form after a conversation with selonbrody where we both thought that Pietros and Naevia had been brother and sister during the first few episodes of Blood And Sand, and I swear, I only meant to write a prequel. lexiesloan took a look at this and offered such wonderful encouragement. And abvj has been invaluable, with hand-holding, suggestion and support. You will notice key lines of dialogue from the show, and my own tweak on certain scenes, and it is all a respectful homage to Stephen DeKnight and his writing team. And of course, a very special thanks to kymericl, who did the lovely artwork (link in master post).
part i
part ii
There were three men, two great brutes and one smaller, whom they called Trebbius. He was in charge, and by far the cruelest. But this was something she learned later.
At the first villa, she thought that she was being sold. Would she work in the kitchens? Her hair was badly shorn and ragged, she wasn’t fit to be seen serving in the house.
The first man took her quickly. He was old and without vigor. Still when it was over, she found she could not walk, could barely breathe. One of the brutes returned, hefting her over one shoulder and deposited her back by the cart. She was given a bowl of porridge, but she could not bring herself to eat it. Trebbius shrugged and put the cart back to the road.
It was the same the next day and the day after that. Always a different man, different faces, different cruel hands. One man simply strangled her as he stroked his own cock. She passed out and woke up back in the cart, soiled in fluid, with another bowl of porridge. She tossed it out of the back of the cart and Trebbius told one of the men to turn around and beat her. And when her face was swollen, he cracked an egg, pouring the yellow yolk down her throat and forcing her to swallow.
Her empty stomach protested immediately and as she lay in the stink of her own vomit (and the Strangling Man, and all those who had come before him), rocking unsteadily in the back of the rough cart, Naevia had one thought only.
Please.
Let me die.
She slept for a time, a dreamless black sleep, and when she woke, they were at another villa and she was being pulled from the cart.
*
She lay in the kitchens of the villa as Trebbius and his men were generously offered wine and hospitality by the dominus who had just had her. The stone floor was rough and cold but better than the unsteady cart. It had all the same smells as the kitchen where she had grown up, hiding behind the flour sacks with Pietros and Diona. What has become of us?
At the slightest sound, Naevia jumped but it was a soft voice murmuring, “Apologies.”
Naevia didn’t move from the floor. No more men.
He knelt beside her and reached out. She flinched before he touched her and he had already drawn back. “I think you have not eaten in some time,” he said and his voice was very soft. She looked up at him. He had long black hair and dark skin. He laid a small piece of bread next to her on the floor, on top of a rough cloth and a cup of water.
“My dominus is sleeping with a barrel of wine in him. And the men who brought you here, the same. Tonight, you can sleep.” And then he was gone.
Naevia eyed the loaf. It was fresh, probably his own ration. She laid her hand flat in front of it. To what point, would she fill her belly?
Please. Let me die.
Naevia.
She stirred, but felt too weak and tired to lift her head from the floor.
Naevia.
Louder. She could not ignore it. He would not be ignored.
“Pietros?” She spoke out loud, holding her breath and tightening her fists until her ragged fingernails dug into her palms.
Naevia.
This time, his voice was very close, clear in her ear. Naevia thought that when she had been pulled from Crixus’s arms, she would never shed another tear, but she felt her cheeks go wet and hot and then she could even smell him, sunshine and earth and the trace of their mother that she had left on her children. Warmth encircled her, and Pietros spoke again.
“Naevia, you must stay alive.” She struggled weakly but was soothed and held tighter. “You yet live. You are my heartbeat, all that is left. You live, dear sister. Stay alive.”
Naevia thought of Crixus, the last words she had spoke to him -- we yet live. And he spoke of freedom. Two fools, why hope, why dream? You are everything.
Naevia.
She heard her brother’s voice again, who had once told her that they would never be parted. Not Crixus, who had sworn the same. She thought of them all, all who had been gone, lost, taken -- Crixus was still alive.
Stay alive.
The whisper was so soft, Naevia did not know who spoke it.
She sat up slowly, with much effort, and broke off a small piece, carefully chewed and waited. It stayed down. She took another bit, and another, even scraping the crumbs from the cloth. She drank the water. She was so tired. She laid back down on the stone floor and felt her brother’s warmth surround her once again. If this was madness, she was happy to lose herself in it.
You take me with you, Naevia, his voice grew softer. Tonight, you can sleep.
*
Naevia listened to her brother -- she stayed alive. She shut off her mind and was nothing, as she had been all of her life. She ate the watery porridge Trebbius gave her and slept dreamless dreams, her body rattling in the back of the cart. The days grew colder, and her dress was badly torn.
One day, she was brought to another house, and pulled in front of the dominus, as she had been every other time. But he sneered at her. “What manner of gift does the house of Batiatus send? She’s filthy and looks half dead.” He waved his hand in dismissal. “I have no use for her.”
Naevia breathed as she was brought back out of the house, moments later and put back in the cart. It was over. She was no longer fit to be used. It was over.
They were back upon the road for an hour, maybe more when the cart stopped abruptly. Naevia looked up at the sky, the sun pale and high in the sky. They had stopped at no villa, no watering hole. They were nowhere.
Trebbius climbed into the back of the cart with her. “I’ve waited long enough now,” he said and dropped to his knees, lifting his clothing away from his hips.
No. No more men.
“No,” she said, twisting away. He pulled her back, taking a knee in each hand. “No!” She said it again, this time kicking him. He growled in pain and punched her twice. Still she kicked her legs and screamed, and did not see the flash of his knife. He slashed across her face in a jagged line and it stilled her enough for him take her. When he was done, he nodded to the two brutes. The first one did the same, holding her down with one giant hand while she cried, but the second shook his head.
“She does look fucking dead.”
*
It had been a threat she had heard Dominus shout many times in a temper. I’ll sell the lot of you to the mines! And she had never known what that meant, or what it would be like- just feared the threat, which she did not even know could be real.
Because this place could not be real. Swarming, ripe with rotten human flesh and disease, in a place where hunger and the whip were all there was. Naked men, women and children dropping dead at any moment. She was pushed further into the darkness, the filth and steaming hell of the mine.
I should have sold you off with your whore mother, and now I set you on her same path.
She tried to raise her voice, to tell herself to stay alive, to plead for Pietros, her mother, her unknown father...
Take me with you.
But no loving warmth closed around her, no soft words in her ear.
For what had she stayed alive for?
With one quivering breath, she formed the name of the only voice she had not heard.
“Crixus.”
Nothing came back to her.
She was pushed farther into the darkness.
*
Naevia, you are safe.
She tried to block out the voice, but it kept ringing in her ear. Crixus’s voice, it had been a lifetime since she’d heard him and now she heard nothing else.
She stumbled on the uneven ground, her legs not stretching out below her properly. She had been hunched over, bent in the mines for...how many days? How many days had it been since she had eaten?
Naevia, you are safe.
No, NO. She knew now what it meant when she could hear the voice and the person was not there.
Stay alive, stay alive...What for? Hope of Crixus? He lay dead by the Syrian’s hand.
She stumbled again, twisting her ankle this time and cried out as she fell, her hands coming up to cover her face before she fell into the dirt. What did it matter now.
Hands on her, strong hands lifting her against a broad chest. “Naevia, the Romans, they will be at our heels.” Spartacus had barely broken breath, hefting her against him and continuing to run.
But she could not bear these hands. “No,” she said hoarsely, and then cried it again, weakly pushing herself from his arms and tumbling to the ground. It was enough to give them all pause and he reached down for her again.
“No,” she coughed, this time catching the dirt in her throat. “No more men.”
His eyes were compassionate, but he reached for her again.
Mira stepped between them. “No more men,” she said clearly, and after a moment, he backed away.
Mira offered a hand to Naevia to help her to her feet and after a second, she took it. It was not so pleasant to touch a woman either, but tolerable. Mira lowered her voice so only Naevia could hear. “But you must keep up.”
Naevia nodded in understanding, daring to look behind her. All was quiet, but the soldiers would be there before long. The mines would not pause them forever. She started forward, her eyes on the ground, watching Mira’s swift feet and she found it was easier, if still painful, to hop heavily on the ankle she had not twisted, though she was still slower than the rest, she could keep them in sight.
Naevia, you are safe.
She fought against the voice, biting her lip against the pain, and followed Spartacus into the forest.
*
“You’re safe now. You’re safe.”
It was Mira’s voice but Crixus’s last words, mocking her. What was safe? How would she ever be safe again? When had she last been safe? When she and Pietros wrapped around each other in their mother’s womb?
One man already dead on their trail and countless others in the mines. And Crixus. And...Ashur. In the mines. Had that been real, or mad, starving visions?
Mira stroked her hair as she would a child and told her of what had happened, the fall of the House of Batiatus. “Domina?” Naevia asked, and remembered herself. “Lucretia.”
“We thought all had been left dead,” Mira answered, her voice very low and her eyes searching in the darkness for any sign of movement. “But Crixus saw her in the marketplace before we fled Capua.”
Crixus.
At his name, tears flooded Naevia’s eyes and Mira crouched over her, holding her and soothing her with soft noises. “Shh, shh.” And then she whispered, her voice more desperate. “Please Naevia, do not cry out.”
Naevia bit her lip. She could not have more death on her hands. She was nothing.
“He turned the world inside out looking for you,” Mira continued, her voice haunted. “it was all that he cared about, for you to be safe.”
Naevia wanted to laugh, bitter and ungrateful. There were no safe places in the world. And there was no light without Crixus. She, Naevia, was left all alone. Again. As always.
“And all the others...”
“Would have followed Crixus anywhere. They still held each other as brothers. They loved him.”
I loved him.
Naevia closed her eyes and thought of Crixus as she first saw him with long wild curls, and how he felt in her arms with his voice in her ear.
You are my heart.
Take me with you.
She pleaded desperately but received no answer.
*
This man was familiar, she knew that. The shape of his face and the low murmur of his voice when he said, “Just a bit more. A few steps.” He lied, but his hands and voice were kind. He had taken her under one arm when she was too weak to go on and past the point of protesting.
As he lay on the ground, his brown skin white with blood loss, she remembered. Tonight, you can sleep.
No. Not him. This one could not die. While Spartacus prepared his sword in the fire to seal the wound, Naevia brushed the long black hair from the man’s brow. “Stay alive,” she whispered.
*
The morning dawned bright and beautiful, and Naevia watched the sunrise from the crumbling wall of the temple.
She had not slept. Mira had left with Spartacus and Agron and another handful of men, promising to return Crixus to her arms. Naevia had barely breathed since they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
How dare they promise such a thing?
She recalled Spartacus pulling his wife from cart at the ludus, all of his life’s hope and love leaving his face, and...he knew her heart. Please, please stay alive. Return to my arms.
She repeated it over and over in her head as she slipped down from the wall. The old Roman man, Lucius Caelius, had told them the night before that theirs were the first faces he had seen in these woods in years. She walked, not very far, she was certain. She was still very weak, even after filling her belly the night before for the first time that she could remember in so very long.
After a time, Naevia came upon a spring and knelt by the side to take a drink of water. She gasped at what she saw reflected back at her in the ripples. Hollow cheeks, the bones under her neck prominent and sharp, her skin an unhealthy gray, the mark Trebbius left on her cheek healing crooked and angry. She does look fucking dead. She shuddered at the voice in her ear, looking to the sky.
Dipping her hands in the cool water, Naevia drank deep and splashed it on her face, her arms, through her wispy hair. It was starting to grow back in uneven lengths. The woods were quiet around her, and as she ran her hands down the crusted material of the dress she had worn since the night she had left the house of Batiatus, she could take no more. She shed the thing and stepped into the water, wading up to her shoulders.
Return to my arms.
Naevia stared up at the blue sky, sending pleading thoughts to any who would hear her. Crixus, stay alive, stay safe. You are everything. She thought of Spartacus, Mira, Agron...all those who risked life for her man. Stay alive.
A quiet rustle in the leaves of the trees abruptly broke Naevia out of her prayers, and she ducked down in the water, eying her filthy dress, much too far away to offer cover.
It was the man with brown skin and long black hair. Naevia felt her heartbeat return, but she still held breath. He was watching her.
“You,” he breathed, and Naevia could see the struggle in his words. “You saved my life. They would have left me for dead.” His face was all gratitude, keeping his eyes on hers, not straying below.
“You,” Naevia returned, thinking of that night on the stone kitchen floor. “The bread.”
His eyes narrowed in thought and then went wide in recognition. He nodded at her. “You yet live.”
Naevia couldn’t help a smile. Yes. Yes, despite all of the world fighting against it, she yet lived.
The man was standing over the scraps of her dress and he bent and picked it up, frowning in distaste. After a moment, he dropped it where it had been and drew off his own cloak, standing in his subligaria, and held the garment out to her. Naevia stayed below the water, holding her arms around herself.
“Come,” he said. “We have brought clothing from my dominus’s - I mean, from the villa where I...” He could not find the words to finish, but held the cloak out again. Naevia did not move.
He lowered his voice, gently, and she remembered that he had twice made her feel safe. “You must not fear me.”
Naevia let out a shaky breath, and eventually crept toward the shoreline, leaning forward in the water for as long as she could. The man kept his eyes on hers, and deftly wrapped the cloak around her shoulders when she was close enough, taking care not to touch her.
He sat back down at the water’s edge, leaning against a tree, and wincing with the effort. Naevia sat across from him. “I am Nasir,” he said, after a moment.
“Syrian?” She breathed.
Nasir blinked his eyes. “A lifetime ago. I was sold to bondage when I was seven years of age.”
Naevia bit her lip. “So young?”
“I was beautiful,” Nasir said, without trace of conceit or bitterness, and Naevia did not ask further question.
She looked at the ground, finally feeling her skin free of grime. “My name is Naevia.”
Nasir smiled. “I know. Crixus has spoken of you.”
Naevia closed her eyes at his name. Stay alive. It was beginning to become clear that she would, it was always her way, to stay alive at all cost while others around her fell. I am bound to you, you have my heart, you cannot leave this world.
Nasir shifted, watching her. “What do you know of Agron?”
That he risks all for Crixus. “That he is a good man.”
Nasir smiled wider at this. “Yes, this I know” His smile began to fade. “I pray there is time to learn more.”
Naevia thought back to her first night with Crixus, before he fought Theokkoles with Spartacus, how that sweet night seemed to go on and on, and give her strength in days to come. She knew very little of the German gladiator, but formed his face in her mind. Stay alive. She cleared her throat. “I remember that he had a brother, who fought on the sands beside him.”
Nasir looked over at her, the shadow of his beautiful smile. “Yes, this too I know. I also had a brother.”
Naevia smiled as she heard the words in her head, the words of a seven-year-old boy who smelled of sunshine. They will not part us, sister. I will not allow it. She pointed to herself and nodded. “A lifetime ago.”
*
If you dream, I would never have you awake.
It was no dream, and as if to prove it to himself, Crixus could not keep his hand off her. He rested it at her hip, cupped the back of her neck, clasped her hand, and did not leave her side. She would have been nowhere else. Alive. You are alive.
Lucius Caelius prepared a feast for the returning heroes, and all abandoned tasks and responsibilities to celebrate. While Spartacus and Donar regaled tales of the arena being brought down on the heads of the crowds who cried for blood (and they GOT it, Donar had shouted, to much laughter), Crixus kept Naevia close. His hands were always on her, trailing over her skin, and every time he pulled her in tighter, to brush his lips against the top of her head, or to gently pull her face to his, to look into her eyes, she felt her heartbeat quicken. He was hers, so familiar to her and yet...it had been a lifetime.
As the sun began to set on the first day Naevia had taken a deep, honest breath in so long (possibly all her life), Crixus stood, pulling her up by her hand and quietly leading her back into the temple
“You leave us so early, Crixus? There is more rejoicing to be done!”
Naevia blushed as Donar called out to them. They did not escape notice so easily.
“I require rest far more than the same story you’ve told since the road from Capua,” Crixus said dryly, meaning to inflect his words with casual indifference, but Naevia could see the urgency in his eyes and gasped when he gently squeezed her hand.
Donar raised an eyebrow. “Fine then. I leave you and your woman to the deepest slumber.” The men laughed and cheered loudly at this, and Naevia saw Crixus’s cheeks color. Mira, huddled with Spartacus in one corner, smiled at her from across the yard, and Naevia’s eyes met Nasir’s, sitting with Agron.
“Come,” Crixus whispered over her head, and pulled her along.
When they reached the inside of the temple, to the small dark cavern near where Oenomaus slept fitfully, Naevia saw how Crixus winced when he sat down. “You still have injuries,” she breathed, trembling voice betraying her fear.
He smiled softly. “Nothing that will not heal, now that you are once again in my arms.” He pulled her down to his lap, drawing his arms around her and running his hands down the bare skin on her back. She cupped her hands around his face, wet with tears, and it was she that pulled him down to her, touched her lips to his and opened to taste him.
“Naevia.” The sound of her name on his lips was a desperate groan. “I have been starved for you.” He removed her dress, running the backs of his fingers down her skin, lips following fingers, and Naevia sucked in her breath.
He was Crixus.
Not these hands.
He was hers.
She does look fucking dead.
Stay alive, stay alive - for what, all these years?
You are nothing.
He knelt between her thighs, settling his weight on her, and she cried out, in such fear that he jumped back, confusion flooding his eyes.
No more men.
*
Naevia had retreated back to the outside wall, and Crixus had not followed her. She found herself at the same spring where she had prayed for his return, sat back against a tree and cried, biting her lip to muffle sound and holding her arms around herself.
It was over. All that she had fought for, to get back to Crixus, to have him returned to her -- she could not bear his touch. She could not bear his eyes on her, hurt and confused...had it been pity?
Naevia shuddered. Was she ever to truly be free?
Naevia.
She gasped, all hair standing on end. It had been so long.
Naevia.
“Diona?” She called out, her voice alone in the darkness.
Gannicus had returned with them from the arena, carrying Oenomaus upon a litter with Donar. And he carried Diona with him still, Naevia knew this now, that her sweet friend’s presence had watched over her Celt. What had she seen of the world?
Naevia, you live. So be free.
But she did not know how. She had always been nothing, and stayed alive.
*
There were familiar faces from the house of Batiatus. Melania from the kitchens watched over the sick and cheerfully called out instruction to the women to keep the grounds running, and keep all supplies stocked, every mouth fed. She had taken to freedom like a fish to water.
“Naevia, bring water to the men in the yard.” The command rolled off, and the natural inclination to hop to obey pushed her to move, but Melania’s eyes softened. “Please, my dear.”
She eyed Crixus in the yard, splitting tree branches to make spears and arrows. She remembered watching him from the balcony in the villa, behind Lucretia, how his muscles would catch the sun, how she would love to watch him move, love to feel him move with her, they had been so connected...It could not all be lost. He swung the axe again, the sound of the blade swinging through the air.
Naevia touched her hand to her cheek, the scar not yet healed.
*
Naevia.
She paused, her fingers running along the sharp edge of Crixus’s blade, alone in the flickering candlelight.
It was madness. After all this time, her only comfort and company was to be ghosts.
Naevia, you live. You are all that is left. You must fight.
*
“Naevia!”
She was struggling in the clasp of strong hands, arms wrapped around her, and she did not place the voice that called her name, just screaming no, over and over, and then the world came back to her. Crixus around her, others stirring in their sleep, but no one paid any mind. She stopped struggling, lowering her voice to look at her man. He was terrified.
“You shivered in your sleep and it is so much colder here in the mountains...” Crixus mumbled, holding his hands to himself, balled into fists, so careful to not touch her. They had fallen asleep next to each other, palms pressed against each other, after he had vowed to teach her how to wield the sword at day’s break, how to fight. He pulled back. “I will not sleep beside you if you do not wish it.”
“Crixus,” he stilled at her voice. “Please. It is so much colder...without you near.”
He settled back and she crawled into his lap, resting her scarred cheek against his chest and listening to his heartbeat.
“Naevia, you are safe,” he murmured.
*
Her first morning with the sword, she could hardly lift it, much less swing it at a target. Her shoulders ached and her fingers were numb from holding it so tightly, sweat and blood dripping down her palms by the time they stopped training in the mid-day sun to eat and rest. Even so, Crixus smiled proudly at her, taking both of their swords in one of his large hands, and Mira and Nasir, partnered together for practice, nodded at her in encouragement. Naevia was too tired to smile or nod back. When she laid beside Crixus that night, she was too tired for nightmares.
The next morning was better, if only just slightly. Gannicus left them, but Naevia could still feel Diona with her, even hear her laughter at times, or so she thought. That was a sweet sound, too long from this world. And eventually, Oenomaus rejoined them as well. “Do not be afraid to use your shield, little flower,” he called to her, not yet ready to take his place with sword. “As small as you are, it should be easy to miss you!”
Agron and Spartacus returned with the German refugees, and though most were glad to see ranks swell, Naevia knew that many of the Capua people (including Crixus) were not quick to trust strangers. Naevia stayed close to her man.
“Naevia, allow me to demonstrate something that might give you help,” Mira said to her one morning, a mischievous glint in her eye. Curious, Naevia followed her to where Agron had been resting, after a long hunt with his kin. Agron had been lighter since being reunited with men from his homelands, and being able to speak his native tongue. He smiled kindly at the women when Mira asked for his help, standing relaxed, and waiting for instruction.
“See Agron here, a foot taller than you and twice your weight?” Mira whispered in her ear. Naevia nodded, biting her lip, and eying his large hands, his tightly muscled chest, and doing her best to not give into fear. She had not sparred with any of the men other than Crixus, and had not allowed anyone but he and Nasir to touch her. Mira smiled conspiratorially. “Well Naevia, all men have a weakness. Do you know what it is?” And she whispered it in her ear.
Moments later, when Agron rolled on the ground, groaning in pain and clutching his groin, he swore at Mira. “You little traitor -- why would you teach her something like that?” All of the men nearby had all seemed to collectively gasp in sympathy pain when Naevia had delivered a swift knee to his ballsack.
“You see?” But Mira looked quite pleased with herself. “Even a giant can be felled, with the right blow.” Naevia’s eyes were wide, and she felt very guilty with Agron in such pain. She offered him a hand up, and he took a deep breath, still wincing.
“It was a sound hit,” he muttered with some respect. “But lesson is learned. Please, look to others for your target practice next.”
Naevia laughed, and turned back to Mira to continue practicing.
*
I fuck the other side of your pretty little face.
No, NO, she could not have this voice haunting her, not with all the others. Naevia traced the scar on her left cheek, recalling her first night with Crixus, the first time he touched his hand to her face, murmuring, so beautiful...
“Naevia?”
Crixus stirred beside her, and pulled her closer, kissing away her tears. “Naevia, you are safe,” he murmured, his voice drowsy with sleep.
Crixus propped himself up on one elbow, blinking himself out of sleep. He leaned down, pressing his lips to the scar on her face. “Do you remember when I slept in fevered dreams after battling Theokkoles?” Naevia nodded. She would never forget the fear of watching him hover between life and death. “What I remember of that time is your face when I could manage to open my eyes. But I always heard your voice. Do you know what you said to me?” She shook her head.
“You told me to stay alive. Stay alive, stay alive. The very opposite of what a gladiator is taught to yearn for. You were my first hope, the very first purpose I had for living. Please, do not lose your hope now, after all that we have crossed.” And he took her face in his hands and kissed her as he had not since he first returned from the arena. And, just like that first kiss a lifetime ago, in the ludus, Naevia began to want more than to simply stay alive.
It was time to live.
Naevia, you live. Do not fade. You must fight...
From her other side, Naevia could smell lemons and hear Diona’s voice, and between the two of them, she fell asleep, feeling her fear fade away.
*
The next morning, when Naevia went back into the yard to begin training, she feared looking any of the Germans in the eye. But Agron stood on one side of her, calling out a warning in his tongue, and Nasir took her hand to partner against him. “We still have much to learn,” her new friend said quietly as he brought his sword up between them. “But you and I learned strategy a long time ago, did we not?” She smiled at him. Yes, there was much they knew in the ways of fighting with words and secrets. “That must give for some assistance.”
Nasir grinned as Naevia crashed her sword down on his, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Crixus off to the forests to hunt with Spartacus and Agron. He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled, a god in the sun.
Yes, life.
*
Naevia slept easier. She ate more. She laughed with Mira and Nasir, and reached for Crixus without being afraid of touch. The sword got lighter in her hands, though it was still a large and cumbersome thing. “Learn to wield the knife,” Mira had suggested, with Oenomaus nodding in agreement. “It will be easier to carry and run with.”
Gannicus returned, with the Senator’s daughter who had once laid her hand on Crixus, though she seemed to no longer give any thoughts towards Naevia’s man. Mira and Spartacus were troubled, and Naevia stood by Mira’s side, asking if she could help, if she could listen. “I have no troubles,” she had replied, without any conviction, but Naevia did not press.
Oenomaus and Gannicus had no warm words for each other, and to this, Naevia was more than surprised. Their brotherhood had been as close as she’d had with Melitta and Diona, and she wondered why they would not embrace such old, trusted friends.
Oenomaus sighed. “There is more to it, little flower.”
Naevia sat next to him, laying her tiny hand in his large, callused one. She was starting to develop calluses too. “There are so few of us left,” she said softly. “Who remember her as she was, beautiful and brave.”
“Remember...her...” Oenomaus sucked in a breath and he looked away from her. “How many years have you now?”
It was a question that she had to ponder for a moment. She had not having thought about it in some time. “Twenty, in the start of the summer.”
He smiled and he looked defeated as she had never seen him, much older than she had ever thought of him before. “Already past her entire life.”
Naevia let him the privacy of his tears but she continued on. “I would not see her memory fade from this world by turning away another who held her in high honor and love.”
When he turned back to her, tears wet upon his cheek, he said nothing, but nodded. They sat quietly.
There were so few of them left.
*
Naevia ran from him.
“You will not escape me!”
She ducked behind a tree, breath held, counting beats with her heart, and when she heard footsteps approach, she silently stepped to the side (as Crixus had taught her) and hurled the contents of the water jug.
Nasir’s laugh rang out in the forest. “You sneaky little rabbit! We will have to go all the way back to the spring now.” Naevia laughed at him shaking the water out of his hair. He had begun this war though, the first time they had gone to the spring. It was a warm day, and with the contests being held at the temple, water had already run low.
Back at the spring where she had first spoken to him, Naevia leaned over the edge, taking notice of her reflection. Such a marked difference from that lost wraith she had seen that day. Her hair hung wispy in her face, and she was yet thinner than she had ever been in the ludus, but there was a color in her cheeks that had not been there before and a light in her eyes that had never been present. She looked younger than her years, so ever much younger than what she had seen.
“Naevia, do you return with me?”
Nasir called out to her, and she ran to catch up.
The contests and the wine were still flowing freely, all fights ending with good natures and laughter and embraces from both sides. Mira fought along side Saxa, the German woman who was always muttering to herself and laughing at her own jokes, but today she seemed like she laughed with them. And Naevia and Nasir were amused when Agron and Crixus spent an hour after their contest drinking and laughing, singing songs at each other in each of their native tongues. Gannicus and Oenomaus seemed to be deep in conversation, Naevia saw from a distance.
Happiness. After all this time, after all they had been through.
Throwing down her cup (her second, she had never been allowed more than a very rare sip at the ludus and it went right to her head in the heat), Naevia called out to Spartacus, who was getting ready to arrange the next match. “And who am I to face?”
Spartacus laughed gently and patted her on the head as if she were a child. “None have any quarrel with you, little flower.” And he turned back to the yard. Naevia could see Mira roll her eyes, and Crixus watching her, getting up from his seat and joining the crowd. As Spartacus stepped down, calling out for two more men, Naevia stuck her dainty foot out in front of the once champion of Capua and tripped him, feet over head, landing on his ass.
At this, all were lost to laughter, the Germans calling out unintelligibles. Naevia could see Crixus’s eyes wide with disbelief, and even Oenomaus lifted the corners of his mouth in amusement. “Perhaps I wish to make my own challenge,” Naevia returned, looking down at Spartacus on the sand, mirth in his eyes.
“Well then,” he hopped to his feet and assumed his stance.
Naevia felt no fear overtaking her, but she knew she must act quickly. She listened to Oenomaus’s instruction about using her small size to her advantage and was able to avoid his moves, and managed to trip him on his back again, to the roaring approval of their crowd. Before he managed to leap up again, she poised, her foot in position to overtake man’s biggest weakness (as so helpfully taught by Mira and Agron). “I yield!” he cried, throwing up two fingers in missio.
The Germans thumped their chests in respect, those with sword and shield in hand banging them together loudly. Naevia extended a hand to her opponent, and he graciously accepted it, pulling himself to his feet. “Today’s final contest, I believe,” he called out, sheepishly accepting his defeat. “To today’s final winner, is there any prize you would claim?”
Naevia’s eyes met Crixus’s, shining with pride on the temple steps, and she ran across the yard, launching herself at him, and he caught her mid-air. She kissed him deeply, holding his face secure to hers, gripping his hair, and he held her tight, groaning against her mouth. “Naevia,” he breathed, leaning back and looking her in the eye. His arms tightened around her, and she felt the beginnings of something she had thought long since dead, and even more exciting than her renewed hope.
She wanted him, to be her man in all the ways he had been, and all the ways he could be. “Take me away,” she whispered.
Scooping her knees up in one arm, they retreated into the temple, the cheers of the crowd already retreating as their people resumed drink and celebration.
*
Death was not as it had been, all the times before. Those who had lost their lives did so under the conviction of their own will, warriors in the night. And they were mourned as free men and women. Nemetes, whose father had been a holy man in their village, took the fallen German and laid them to rest in their custom. And all others had someone to speak for them, their ways and wishes.
Naevia stood with Gannicus over Oenomaus, whom they would lay in the ground, as they did with Melitta. “They are together now,” he said quietly.
“Yes, they are,” she replied, and he nodded solemnly.
“It is as it should be. It is only that...” But he did not finish. Naevia knew.
“So many lost,” she said, looking down at the giant of a man she had once thought invincible as a child. “So few of us left. Ar dheis Dé go raibh a anam.” Gannicus whispered the last with her, a habit long forgotten and then looked at her curiously.
“Where did you learn my words?”
Naevia smiled at him sideways. “You do not remember Esyilt and Diona?”
“Diona,” he said the name and a soft breeze blew across them, faintly smelling of lemons. “The little Celt girl with the-”
“-pretty cheeks,” Naevia smiled wider then, knowing how much Diona treasured such words from his lips. “She thought herself in love with you.”
Gannicus raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile on his lips “She was just a child when she was taken from this world.”
Naevia remembered her sweet gentle friend’s shy smile, remembered her shimmying through the gates to visit her mother’s resting place. And she remembered Diona being passed around Lucretia’s party like a meal to devour for the entertainment of the Romans.
“We were never children.”
Gannicus shook his head. “No, you were not.”
Naevia joined in the pilgrimage to bring Mira down from the mountain, with Crixus, Spartacus, Agron and Nasir. On the path, Naevia came across the mangled, headless body, grotesque and rotting. “Naevia,” Crixus was standing beside her, his hand on her back.
“Leave him for the crows,” she said. Squinting, she could still see his shrewd face above the neck, evil and soulless. She could hear his words in his head. My death will not heal your scars. No, it would not.
“I am not nothing,” she said out loud.
part iv
<<<333