Victor stopped next to me in front of the public bathhouse. His glance roved over the porticos where marble naiads caught the slipping folds of their skirts at the last moment before the round butt cheeks came into full view. Their furtive glances should have stayed on the bearded tritons snaking round their feet, with fishtails, conch shells and tridents—the allegory of trouble, if I'd ever seen one! The clever sculptor, however, made the naiads look straight at the passersby.

Victor gave naiads a sour look. "Their eyes are weird."

I was used to dead, white marble eyes, but I could see how it could be disconcerting. "The bathhouse was one of the first buildings erected by the first generation. Back then, the eyes would have been painted."

He didn't ask me why we didn't paint our statues anymore, and it was for the best, since the explanation was embarrassing for us. Instead, he measured the building up and down, left and right, with his eyes. "The Fidelis had built this monstrosity to wash?"

"Yes."

"Why? Is Barea-river not good enough for your tender parts?" He pointed to where the street bent before sloping toward the riverbank.

"We call this river Tiber."

Victor side-eyed me, before returning his gaze to the marble façade. I could tell that the carvings impressed him, despite his bile. He'd probably love the mosaics in the pool once we get there. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course.

"Barea-river." Victor tilted his forehead forward, reminding me of the rams during the mating season. Did he plan to batter down the bathhouse? With a head this thick, he might have succeeded. "Why isn't the river good enough for the Fidelis?"

The gust of wind took away my frustrated sigh. "Our forefathers came here from a warmer place, called Earth. Four generations have been born on Nanciscor—"

"Heshanki Cul," he said, burrowing his gaze into me.

If Victor thought I would give in, he was a fool. Not to mention I couldn't replicate his pronunciation. But I didn't want to fight so close to our destination. "Four generations have been born here since then, but we still like it hot."

"Then why don't you just go back?" he demanded. "To your warm land?"

"We can't go back, rookie."

"Why?" His lips curled back showing wide, healthy teeth.

Why did I feel that he already knew the answer to this question? Yet, like every Fidelis, I recited this yarn so much that it burrowed under my skull and came from the depth of my mind straight up. I couldn't help but answer his question.

"Three Victor legions fought a losing battle back on Earth. When extermination was inevitable, the shimmering gate opened up. Marcus Caelius, 1st centurion of XVIII, the Fidelia, led the retreat. The gateway had closed as soon as the last legionnaire was through and had never reopened. Our ancestors were trapped here, in this unwelcoming world we call Nanciscor."

That's how we said it in grammar school, word-for-word. I never doubted it. But when suspicion flickered in Victor's blue eyes, the familiar tale sounded... iffy. So, I raised my voice to override my reservations. "The survivors settled the land and Marcus Caelius, son of Titus, had become Victorian Caesar, the first Emperor of the Fidus Empire."

The wind chilled my skin, sweaty from walking. Even my good cloak wasn't enough to stave off the cold. I shivered and walked to the door, trusting Victor to keep up. He didn't move from his spot, chuckling.

I used the door-knocker. "Did I say something funny?"

"Our stories say our ancestors fled through a portal as well, only for our people this was the warmest place we had ever known."

"Almost every gladiator I've ever trained is a barbarian. Never heard of such a tale."

"Did you ask them, Fidelis? Or just barked orders to make sure they kill each other better?"

A Fidelis slave swung the door open, saving me the necessity to grunt, 'no'. Victor was right, I didn't ask.

Our guide conveyed us to the antechamber furnished with benches and tripods. Coal smoldered in bronze bowls, filling the air with the smell of resign and keeping the room at a comfortable temperature. The warmth softened my scowl. "So... how did your people come here, rookie?"

I half-expected Victor to scoff and say, 'forget it', but he sat on the bench, lowered his face over the fasteners of his sandals and sighed.

"It wasn't the whole people or even a legion like with you. Just one family," he started and glanced up from his footwear to check if I was listening. He needn't have worried. With a voice like his, I would listen to him reading this bathhouse's towel inventory.

"They say the Man was a Hunter. He fed his wives, raised his children and everyone was happy. Their only enemies were Cold and Hunger. But once, Cold and Hunger called upon Night to join them and kill the humans. So, the night became never-ending. No matter where the Hunter ran, all he faced was dark and cold.

"The birds fell out of the sky. When they hit the ground they shattered like glass. Ice on the lakes grew too thick to drill through for fish. And the snow piled up higher than the treetops."

Flexing my shoulders in the bathhouse's warmth, I smiled lazily. The tension of the day was draining from my bones and tendons. "Sounds like our average winter here."

"Much, much worse," Victor assured me. "So bad it got, that one by one, the Hunter's children died. Then his wives died, except for the youngest, who loved him the most."

"Lucky girl!"

He ignored my exclamation. "Then she died too, but her love was so strong, her frozen corpse arose to help him pull the sleigh."

Despite Victor's singsong voice, a shiver ran down my spine. I straightened, making a sign to ward off the evil spirits. He was talking about the walking dead, Senators, and it's hard to think of anything more evil than that. "Jupiter save us!"

"My ancestor had a stronger heart than you," Victor teased. "He followed the lodestar that was the only light left in the world. At length, he made it where its rays touched the snow. And you know what he'd found under the star?"

"A shining portal?" I guessed.

Victor nodded. "Yes, he found a portal. Only for him, the land on the other side felt warm, so he called it Heshanki Cahl, 'giving mother'."

"Hesa... Heshak..." I muttered. "Cul?"

He only rolled his eyes, so I decided to let it be. "What happened to your Hunter?"

"The Hunter ran into the sunshine, divesting his furs, threw himself on the grass, drank water from a running river and sang. In his joy, he forgot that his only loyal wife was a frozen corpse. When he turned around to celebrate their deliverance, the portal had vanished. Where it stood, now was only a bundle of furs and a puddle of melted water."

"Crows' liver!"

"However, the furs stirred. Inside was an infant, their daughter. He lifted the child up to the sun and cried, 'Woe is me, for I have no wife to suckle the child while I hunt!'

"The sun heard him and dropped a single star—sun's daughter—into the river. He ran there with the babe in his arms. A beautiful woman was coming out of the water that boiled around her. She was beautiful, and her breasts leaked milk. She took the child from the Hunter and put her to suckle. Thus, the star became his first wife.

"The next day a snake came from under a rock—and became his second wife. And the next—a turtle swam out of the pond to become his third wife. On the fourth day, a doe ran out of a thicket..."

"To become his fourth wife?"

"You are catching on. His fifth, and final wife was a pine tree that shook its needles off and started walking. With each wife, the Hunter had many children."

"Good for him."

"And so, at the dawn of time, when all rivers ran different courses and the mountains stood where there are now hills, when the forests rippled over what is now covered by sea and ice, our tribes sprung from the Hunter's marriages to this hospitable land."

Silence fell between us, disturbed only by the sound of Victor's sandals thumping to the floor. Even his toes were long, elegant... and he wiggled them at me expectantly, waiting for me to offer a retort. Or... something.

"Your Hunter reminds me of our God Jupiter," I said at last. "The same all-conquering sexual appetite and unstoppable virility."

"Jupiter? That old man with a lightning rod?" Victor winked at me. "I gather Mithras is more to your liking, since he sticks to his one bull?"

"Don't smirk like you know something about me," I warned him. "You know nothing."

His gaze locked on mine with defiance that made me despair of ever wearing him down. "Then don't keep me in the dark, Fidelis. Tell me why your parents sold you to be a slave in the arena."

There was something else to the twist of his lips. A sulk too personal to make sense given our positions in the social order. I felt like I had committed a mortal offense and didn't notice. Fighting discomfort of this realization, I didn't ask him which foremother he traced his lineage to, though I had my suspicions. Instead, I touched a clothing peg on the wall.

"Hang your clothes here and let's see if you really won our bet."

"You don't take me at my word?" Victor wrenched out of his vest, tunic and breeches, shoved them on the hook and came to stand before me. "There! Not a scratch."

His shoulders arched back and his chin lifted so high, I could study the content of his nostrils if I wanted to. But it was his body below the chin that interested me. There wasn't a single fresh bruise or scratch. I knew there wouldn't be any, and I took my time studying him inch by inch, anyway. It was a pleasure, despite his breath hissing above my head.

"You won, no doubt about it."

I straightened from running my hands down his body to check for any internal injuries. There were no fresh ones and the old ones healed. Where the slave-traders' ropes had broken his skin, now was elastic new flesh. Swelling around his P.U.F. brand also went away.

His muscles, on the opposite, looked fully pumped, and the gauntness of privation smoothed away. It was an amazing recovery after a single week of rest, eating and drinking properly. Only someone who experienced hardship for a really short time could bounce back this fast.

My rookie was used to soft living.

There was something else I looked upon closely, but more out of curiosity than necessity. The old scars I spotted on the first day slipped past Victor's right clavicle to cross his chest. They were so deep, the chest hair receded an inch away from the shiny furrows of healed flesh. Luckily for him, the marks didn't reach his abdomen. If whatever made these groves had caught him under the rib cage, it would have opened him to the groin. There would have been no healing for that.

"What beast tore you up?" I asked.

"A mountain tiger."

He was a Hunter, like the forefather of his people. Nice! I didn't know how my compliment would land, so I just said, "Come with me," and led the way to the steam room.

It stood almost deserted, because the Colosseum crowd was still watching today's games. A group of three men spread on the benches, lifting their heads when we walked in. They seemed to be a family group, two older men and a younger one, a son or a nephew, maybe. The oldest scanned us and shook his head in disapproval. "The Senate ought to pass a law against bringing barbarians to public places, particularly bathhouses."

Despite the humid air in the bath, my throat felt dry. "Go take a dip in the pool, old man. You don't have the head for this heat." After making this suggestion, I leaned against the wall next to the door, but not blocking it. Victor took the other side, scowling at me.

The son or whatever slid his butt along the bench and whispered urgently into his elder's ear. I caught my name and smiled a little. The man who insulted me might look impressive when draped in a toga, but in the nude his potbelly rolled out, while his arms and legs were skinny and soft. His older companion was built similarly, and the young guy was the same, minus the gut. The sooner he realized he had no business picking a fight with any gladiator, let alone me, the better.

"I don't care who he is," the quarrelsome guy exclaimed. "It's simply unhygienic!"

He glared at me from the bench, and I crossed my arms on my chest. Slowly. Flexing them. Victor didn't move, but he didn't have to. His physique was magnificent, particularly slicked with sweat that built upon his skin from the heat.

"I had enough of the hot room. Let's... let's go to the pool," the wiser elder guy announced with a tremor in his voice. He and the young guy grabbed their relative by the arms.

"Mark my words, the gladiators and the Senate would be the end of this city," he muttered as the other two led him out of the steam room.

The younger one had the decency to blush when he passed me. "Sorry about that, Maximus. My uncle is... he is... old fashioned."

An old-fashioned prick, but I didn't correct him. "We're good."

"I saw you when you won the great Challenge. You were—" he stalled. "You were..."

I clapped him on the shoulder before he could find the word to describe my glory. "Thank you. Glad you've enjoyed it."

Once they were gone, Victor sat down and stared at the wall, silent.

"Look," I started, but the bathhouse slave returned to throw a fresh bucket of water on the heated stone plate, filling the room with herb-scented vapor. It was divine, but my patience was nearly exhausted.

"Leave the oils," I commanded the slave. "I'll massage my fighter properly myself."

"With all due respect—" The slave tossed his head with the look of offended professional pride, so much so he looked directly into my face. "Maximus? Maximus the Champion of Champions?!"

"Yes."

At least he didn't argue, but he arranged his oils with so many bobs, bows and gasps, I came close to carrying him out. After assuring me three hundred times that he was at my disposal should I change my mind, that everything would be delivered if I fell short, I needed only to call, and so on, he left us alone.

"See? Fame has an upside," I said.

"You are famous?" His eyes flung wide. He even batted his eyelashes. "I can't say I noticed."

I snorted. "I know, it's subtle."

He got up from his place and climbed the benches that went up the wall like a ladder. His mouth hung open as he drew in laborious breaths. Sweat trickled down his handsome face.

"It's easier to breathe if you sit closer to the floor," I advised. "And don't worry, only the hands of a free man would rub oil onto your precious hide." My hands. A tremor started deep inside me at this thought.

He didn't stop till he reached the top bench. There, he sat and stared mutely into the billowing steam again.

"Stubbornness would be the death of you," I concluded.

He grunted and didn't move an inch.

I reclined on the step just below him, letting steam wash over me. If I wanted to pay my debt, I better make my tale as brief as possible, or he would pass out before I had finished it. And this wasn't a story I cared to repeat twice.

"Alright, Prickus Colossus, you won the bet. Here is your story. Just a word of warning, you're going to be disappointed."

"Let me be the judge of that."

I should have had it with his attitude, but I barely suppressed a grin as potent as the content of Jupiter's and Victor's ancestor, the Hunter, loins combined.