I fought through the throngs, cursing all the way. My surroundings blended into a mush-up of faces, bodies, and sunlight reflected off the water. The smells of roasted nuts, flatbread, beer and other arena grub suffocated me.

The only thing I saw clearly was the tunnel's exit, down to its smallest detail. There, they were launching the smaller boats to retrieve the dead behemoths.

Good people of Fidelium traded opinions between bites, excited over the grand finale. The closing act with the gladiatrices was much-anticipated as well. And I hated them all, whether or not they deserved it, hated them till my mad heart pounded in my ears louder than their bustle. One look at my twisted face—and they gave way before me.

I didn't even have to ask for a place on the boat. A couple of crewmen huddled closer together to free up a spot for me on the bench. I sat down heavily, with a sigh of gratitude that still hurt my chest.

They rowed in silence, respecting my frown, even though they probably itched to discuss the gladiatrices dressed as naiads. I didn't have the energy to tell them it was alright with me if they did. I had things to do, the whole list of them, and I couldn't think of anything else, just that list in a certain order. If I stopped turning it in my head, I would lose my mind.

The first face that came into my view on the artificial island was Quintus. His cheeks lost their healthy hue, turning pale as ash. Tears filled his eyes, widening his pupils until it looked like they flooded out into his irises. I barely recognized him in time to cuff him on the ear.

"Move. Get on a boat. Go to Fulvia. Tell her to ready everything she has. I don't care what it would cost. Tell her what the house won't cover, I will."

I'd worry about where I'd get the coin later. Right at this moment, I needed Hecate on standby when we got Victor to surgery. My champion couldn't be dead. If this would have happened to me, I would have lived out of sheer spite, so he had survived. Had to.

Quintus nodded mutely to something that might or might not have been my request.

"Quintus?"

His eyes didn't focus.

I hooked him under the chin with two fingers. "Quintus!"

A hiccup or, perhaps, a faint 'yes' popped out of his bobbing throat. I interpreted it as an affirmation. "Also, tell her to look at your ankle again. No shoddy job this time. Right?"

His next nod was definitely affirmative. My gut protested the blaming of Victor's injuries on Fulvia, but I clenched it. She had lived long enough to understand that the boy needed an out for his guilt, and she would forgive me. I couldn't lose two fighters on the same day.

"That's a good lad." My voice broke, so I patted him on the shoulder, instead of a dozen things I wanted to say.

He took off at a limping gallop to get the help we needed. Strike item one off my mental do-list.

Next, I went to lend my shoulder to move the monster from Victor's body. I found a place between Junius and a gladiator I knew by sight, a shield-wall from Arsenius' stables. It didn't matter which school he represented. He was big enough to heave, and he offered to help, so to Hades with our petty rivalries! "Heave-ho!"

We heaved, pushed and pulled, until veins bulged on my forearms, as blue as any barbarian's. At some point, I closed my eyes, because I didn't want to see the splotches of Victor's blood mixing with the foul liquid spreading around the downed beast. Or Victor's limbs, as they were emerging from under our burden, twisted at unnatural angles.

Once we rolled the carcass off Victor, his chest didn't move.

I yanked a silver medallion from the string around my neck and sank to my knees. Crouching next to his prostrate form, I pressed the polished metal to his lips, counted to ten.

Calm down, he's alive. He had to be. I knew in my heart that Victor didn't die, and I prayed for it, but Fortuna played cruel jokes on me before.

When I was done with the count, Victor's breath fogged the polished silver.

"Gently now," I said. "He is alive."

Or at least that was what I wanted to say, 'alive'. A sob diluted this word, as the binding inside my chest eased, allowing my lungs to spread out, releasing the pent-up air. I would have toppled if Junius didn't catch me round the waist. I couldn't say 'thank you', but I trusted he knew I was grateful for the assist.

Working together, we pushed a cloak under Victor, then lifted him onto the biggest rectangular shield they had on the island. The thing would have been useless in this rugged terrain, but it came in handy to carry the wounded. Maybe it was the plan all along.

But those artists! Mithras' bull, did they have to pile the rocks all over the place? No wonder Quintus' foot caught in their demented booby traps!

"Eye-pleasing designs, my ass!" I growled. "Dumb artists."

"May their noses rot away and their teeth fall out," Junius boomed his consent.

Hope stirred in my heart, despite his quip having nothing to do with Victor or being funny. It relieved the strain just a bit. As soon as this weight lifted, hope slipped right into the freed space.

What are we worth without hope? Nothing.

After we got into the boat, I must have rowed. Yes, I definitely did. I had arms, right? So I must have rowed. But, Senators, I couldn't remember a single thing from that journey, until I spotted Fulvia at the make-shift dock. She greeted me with a withering stare and leaned on Quintus' arm. His ankle sported a new binding. The welcoming party also included Rufius Fulgentius.

"Came to check on your investment, noble Rufius Fulgentius?" I grated as we pulled in. The splashing water covered my voice. Probably, it was for the best, because I didn't want to bicker, not really. I might have been unfair too. And I didn't give a fig.

We brought Victor to Fulvia's surgery and surrounded her alcove.

"How bad is it?" I whispered, breaking the sullen silence.

She clicked her tongue at me. "Bad enough to be examined as soon as possible, with no stupid interruptions."

I sucked in the damp tunnel air through my teeth.

Every joint in Fulvia's body creaked, the tree branches in the blistering wind, as she knelt by Victor.

She clicked her tongue, commandeered us to remove his armor, pocked torn flesh, sighed, and started stitching. Nobody dared to say another word.

She clicked her tongue, set a cast and poured murky substances all over and inside Victor.

She clicked her tongue one more time, and more remedies emerged from the sacks brought to her by limping Quintus.

At some point, the boy must have lost all his fear of the crone and her paraphernalia. He measured, poured and ground until sweat dripped from his nose, without a single spooked glance. He just kept his eyes on his work, but the back of his neck was stiff, as if he felt the weight of our stares.

Fulvia charged me with holding a lamp to illuminate whatever part of Victor's mangled body she was putting back together. Was this all I could do? Yes.

Rufius Fulgentius gulped his wine like he was dying of thirst. Next, he pushed his cup against my lips. I cursed him out and shoved Junius aside when he made a grab for my lamp.

"Drink," they both hissed.

I held onto the damned lamp for dear life, snarling at them. Because if holding this lamp was all I could do for Victor, then I would hold this lamp till the cows came home. I would be the best cursed lamp-holder in the world!

"Drink, Maximus," Fulvia barked, without taking her eyes off her work. "Drink or get out. And stop shaking the damned light."

"Fine." I drained the cup. Rufius Fulgentius' wine scorched my throat on the way down worse than any vinegar. I couldn't fathom why he liked it so well.

***

Enough time must have passed while Fulvia sewed for the behemoths to be cleared away.

The gladiatrices streamed past the surgery, ready to play their part in the festivities. To me, it felt like the portal to the arena was real and we all came from some different worlds. Theirs was full of chatter, jingling chain mail and hopes. Ours was a dark place, because Victor's chest didn't move once, no matter how much Fulvia stuck him with her needles and hooks.

Once the gladiatrices stepped into the arena, the outside noise picked up to a vibrating pitch. Even that cacophony couldn't overpower thoughts crowding my skull, one gloomier than the next.

The sounds of the newly joined battle, the appreciative calls of the spectators or their disappointed groans were in full swing, when Fulvia clicked her tongue for the hundredth time.

She straightened, rubbing her back. "I'm getting too old for this."

"You were too old for this twenty years ago," I snapped. The lamp swung in my hand. In its orange light, Victor's features didn't look so waxy any longer. Hope pulsated through me once more. Did his chest move? "How's Victor?"

The wrinkles around Fulvia's colorless, rheumy eyes deepened. "Son..." People only lower their voices in this manner for one kind of news, the ones you don't want to hear.

"Your man is young and strong." Fulvia chewed her lips.

I bristled. "Don't drag it out. You aren't a playwright."

"He'll live for a day. Maybe two. He might even regain consciousness to say his goodbyes and tell you how his gods—"

I didn't recall how brittle her bones were, how little flesh still coated them and how desiccated it was, until Fulvia dangled in front of my face. Her sunken lips pinched in pain and her head rolled back on her stringy neck as if it had already snapped.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to..." I relaxed my grip on her bird-bony shoulders, and they slumped under my fingers.

"There must be something," I raved into her face, brown and lined like old leather. "Something you can do. He is not dead. Not dead! You have more potions in those sacks. Use them. Use them all! By the crows, do something!"

"Maximus." Junius stepped forward, as if preparing to wrestle the crone from me. He was my best before Victor had showed up, but his odds to beat me were shit.

"Let her go," Junius said. Let it go, he meant.

Fulvia was too old to need rescuing by anyone. "I don't want to give you a false hope," she croaked, "but there's something."

I set her down with a thud. "What? What can you do?"

"Me? Nothing."

I would have hefted her again, but Junius tackled me and screeched into my ear. "Let her finish."

Fulvia gave Junius a grateful nod. "Thank you, handsome."

"Get a room!"

She shook her head sadly, as if trying to recall the last time she'd needed a room and a young man and couldn't. "Like I said, I can do nothing more. But you, Maximus, you can."

My heart was getting used to leaps and plunges today. "Yes? What should I do?"

"Take Victor to the Temple of Asclepius. Tell them Fulvia sends you and prepare to pay their price."

I glanced at the motionless profile of my downed champion. At his broad chest. At the bandages, already stained with fresh blood. "Temple of Asclepius?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Alright! We'll do that. Noble Rufius Fulgentius, if you could hire a cart..."

My boss frowned. "Maximus, wake up. The hag just wants you out of her face until you come to your senses. The temple healers are good, but Hecate or Asclepius, it's all the same."

"Imbecile!" Fulvia scoffed at Rufius Fulgentius. "I said that Maximus has to be ready to pay the price, didn't I?"

Scolded, Rufius Fulgentius dabbed his bald pate with his cloak. "That's... he can't do that!"

If Fulvia heard his objections, she ignored them. She fixed me with her pale gaze. "Any price the priests want to name, you'll have to pay without arguing."

I hadn't even haggled at the markets since I lived on my own. My old ma saw it as a sign of the uppity airs I picked up in Fidelium, and it drove her up the walls.

"I'll pay," I said.

She nodded. "After you agree on the price, ask them to take Victor into the Sanctuary."

Rufius Fulgentius blew out a frustrated sigh and muttered, 'bloody witch' under his nose.

The lamp dropped out of my hand, spreading burning oil over the floor. I clenched my fists, advancing on Rufius Fulgentius. "Hire me a cart or get out!"

Junius hopped about, stomping out the flames. I spotted him shaking his fist at Rufius Fulgentius. Not threateningly, more like, 'humor the lanista, for Mithras' sake. Don't you see he's out of his mind?'

When the fire was put out, Junius clapped me on the shoulder. "He'll get you your cart."

I appreciated the gesture. Mithras' bulls, I even appreciated Rufius Fulgentius, when he shuffled away, still cussing Fulvia under his breath.

"And in the meantime, you and I will put together a stretcher to transport Victor. Right?" Junius continued. "Quintus will help Fulvia pack away her medicines."

Quintus bobbed his head with twice the vigor necessary. His curls bounced about wildly, and so did his gaze, swiveling between Victor and me. His mouth contorted to stifle the sobs. Whatever was going through his head, it wasn't something I wished on anyone.

I didn't care if they were just humoring me as long as Victor drew breath and a sliver of hope remained. I put my faith in Asclepius and in Victor's raising and falling chest. His breathing was shallow, but for me, it was the most encouraging thing in the world. I clung to the sight of it while Junius did most of the work, promising to pay the priests whatever price they asked for, so long as they could save him.

Please, Asclepius, a miracle. Ask anything of me for it. Anything at all.