Spartacus: Votum Uxori

Author's Note:

I do not own the characters of the Starz series, fabulous though they are. I only lay claim to this story, meant only to show how much I adore this show, although I am coming to it later than most. I am a Classical Studies student in my final year at university so there will be some Latin language in this, but I will be sure to put translations into English at the end of the story. My favourite character is Agron and though I completely ship "Nagron" ;) the inspiration for this story came in between episodes five and six of "Spartacus: War of the Damned". It's "Nagron" compliant but explores the friendship/relationship between Agron and Spartacus in more detail during the time between "Spartacus: Vengeance" and "Spartacus: War of the Damned". I have since added the epilogue, having wept my way through the end of the series. I googled names of Thracian kings for Spartacus' name and just note, I really do not like Laeta as a character! Please do leave reviews and have fun reading this short oneshot!

Cura ut valeas,

DaenerysTargary3n

Spartacus tossed and turned...nightly. His slumber ever filled with injurious images of wife long absent from welcome and wanting embrace. Spartacus' eyes guided away from troubles of the encampment by Morpheus' potent arm to witness again the demise of the woman whose memory and unbeating, dead heart he would worship until he was plucked from the world.

Sura's delightful, vivacious eyes danced as they would when he returned to her and their conjugal bed. The wild, untamed animus behind her beautiful Thracian eyes bore the passion of the best of wives, not to be replaced or traded for bested. Their love-making in the moments that followed was so violent and rough that often it rivalled the warfare against infractious northern tribes in fervour. Sura's warm thighs were the vice that kept him alive and the heart yet higher still kept him conscious of all that he must protect and fight for.

The dreams of the Bringer of Rain were not filled with the delectable memories of deceased wife, but her sweet visage and flawless form as they writhed and contorted in passion beneath his thrusting anatomy morphed sporadically with blood and gore into those of the other women who had occupied that similar state. As Sura's form grew lean and emaciated to the touch, the dreaming man witnessed as his wife became the slave with unwelcome, fatal wounds on the sands of Batiatus' ludus. Ilithyia's alabaster mask which concealed the harlot and treacherous bitch beneath took the place of dearest wife. Glaber's wife unwittingly and involuntarily seeded that night rolled under his hips as their child was conceived. While Spartacus thrashed in his sleep begging Sura to come back that their rightful child might take life in his bastard's stead, the mother of his unborn child cried out in wanton pleasure and her belly grew as they rutted, as if months were passing as they fucked. When her womb was fully engorged and the child ready to be expelled, Spartacus wished he could withdraw from the woman, only to be forced to feel her blood spread about them as mother and child both were driven from mortal life. The ashamed groans of the former champion still grinding against the dead corpse of his captor's wife against desire and nature became moans of pleasure as once more, partner in love took different identity. Another damned female to feel his cock inside her to die an untimely death took the place of Ilithyia's corpse. As Spartacus felt his partner's body spring to life and meet his thrusts, filled with renewed vigour, hair of ebony replaced the flaxen Roman locks and wild, ferocious eyes looking for satisfaction and vengeance glared back at him. Mira's person clawed at his back and drew tears from his hardened eyes as she drove him to ecstasy. The leader of the rebel slaves wept for the ancilla who had occupied his bed and the small portion of his heart to survive after Sura departed the world and a foremost position in the rebel forces. For, he still recalled her needless death on Vesuvius' slopes and as that musing coaxed him from his fucking, vines covered in thick blood began to pry his former lover from him. Crying out for her to return and warm the coldness of his existence achieved nothing, for as he stretched out his arm to return her to him, his dreams and restless sleep abandoned him and he woke, tears yet gracing his cheeks.

"Fuck the Gods," he gasped, the adrenaline and rampant emotions from the dream coursing through his veins, "may I be granted dreamless sleep lest the Romans kill me being too fatigued to fight!"

"Spartacus?" Familiar voice called from outside his tent.

"Enter, Agron."

The brute from east of the Rhine and Spartacus' most trusted general and companion strode into the commander's tent already clad in his cape and training gear.

"The new arrivals from the mines have taken enough rest to return a cripple to health. It is time they prove worthy of the food and care we have bestowed upon them."

Spartacus resisted a yawn, but gave way to a groan in the light of Agron's counsel. The German had stood alone among Gannicus, Crixus and himself when he questioned and advised against taking in all of those saved souls from the Mines of Lucania, viewing them as unable to fight and support the cause.

"Very well, I will give in to your wishes on this matter," Spartacus acquiesced, not having the stomach to oppose his comrade, "but leave it until after midday meal so that I might have my fill of their training."

Agron grinned, "It will be done. Apologies for disturbing your rest."

Spartacus waved off the unnecessary redress, but chose not to reveal that the company was welcome after so unnerving a night.

"I will join you presently. I did not find rest although I slept. Troubled visions plagued my sleep."

"Seek you my counsel or ear?" Agron inquired, perturbed by his leader's intimations of chagrined spirit and admission of weakness.

"Gratitude for the offer, but neither is required, merely more sleep."

Agron nodded, "Then I will see you left in peace until midday meal and afternoon training, friend."

With that, his second-in-command took his leave and Spartacus once more reclined on his cot left alone with his thoughts and Phobos to give concern.

"I must turn my thoughts from these women waiting for me in the underworld and dwell on current felicities and men."

As he bade himself, Spartacus averted his thoughts from morbidity and while he waited sleep to still his mind, the lives and demeanours of his comites swam in front of his unlucky lifeless bedmates.

"Crixus..."

The Gaul was one of the first souls he had encountered in the ludus he would reside in as a slave. Spartacus recalled fondly - now that he and Crixus were joined in the same goal and on amicable terms - how the Champion of Capua, the Undefeated Gaul raged against him for his dreams of wife, freedom and vengeance. Soon, however, once he found joy in Naevia's virginal touch, Crixus warmed to the idea of a life beyond Doctore's training and Capua's arena. Crixus was a solid warrior, and a leader of men, yet Spartacus had misgivings about the man whose mood and mind depended so much on Naevia, whose mind still churned from the misdeeds exacted upon it and upon body during her separation from her lover. No doubt, without him the rebellion would never have been mounted. He was indeed a valued ally and a brother to stand beside with pride.

With thoughts straying to champions and stars of the arena, Spartacus' mind fixed upon the Celtic newcomer to his chain of command: Gannicus. The bosom friend of Oenomaus was a constant enigma to the Thracian. Gannicus' delights and distant desires went only as far as the next amphora or the next maiden to greet him with legs parted and wet for his cock. From his own lips he held no sympathy for the cause of freedom, or the lives of the escaped or liberated slaves who now formed their company. His one true reason for remaining so entrammelled with the army was to see the wishes of Oenomaus fulfilled and to keep company with other members of the brotherhood of gladiators. He would be absent from training, Spartacus scoffed with a grin, anticipating that he would have to pry the older man from betwixt Saxa's muscular thighs to receive yesterday's report. Really, he would have to have words with his general concerning the delay in his duties.

"That is a conversation for a day when we acquire new wine." Spartacus mused, shrinking away from the prospect of chiding Gannicus whilst the latter stood sober.

The notion of wine brought to mind Agron...and Nasir. For, when one sprang to mind, the other was never far behind (as in life itself). The German and his Syrian were truly the greatest of his successes in opening the eyes of those about him to the shackles of slavery and the suffering they imposed. He recalled fondly Agron standing aghast beside Segovax with subligariae on the sand and cocks in the wind, and the older brother's attentions to his kin. Spartacus' eyes watered when the memories of Agron in the weeks after Duro's passing bore down upon him as Doctore's whip. The bereaved brother was fuelled by rage and lamentation. He would heed no order nor be enticed into recreation with his German compatriots. Only when Tiberius became Nasir once more and caught his eye and heart did the Agron of fond memory and time-honoured trust regain his sense of self and purpose.

After he had been forced to plunge blade into Varro's flesh, robbing beloved friend and brother of life, he had never imagined he would once more find such valued and constant companionship. As Sura had revealed that he would never love another besides her, so did he believe he would never know true friendship of another man except for Varro. Fortune favoured him by securing Agron's shadow to his side. The German had taken up Varro's mantle and though Spartacus was forced to endure without his blonde friend, he would never see Agron ripped from side. For, above Crixus, Gannicus, Nasir, Oenomaus, Naevia, Varro and all others who fell wanting, Agron stood tall, outdoing his forebears. His loyalty second to none and his skill second only to Gannicus, Crixus and Spartacus since Glaber's defeat.

With pleasant thought of rival meeting long-awaited and hoped for end and bosom friend, the Slayer of Theokoles permitted his eyelids to close and sleep to once more take him from the realm of the living.

Hours later, Agron sat before his tent and spooned the last drops of broth in his bowl. He looked up and found heart gladdened by the Syrian visage that greeted him.

"Nasir," he sighed, ever calmed by his heart's presence near him, "go now to Spartacus' tent and rouse him. I would start training Damnati ad Metallum within the hour. Spartacus expects to be present and I would not deprive him thus again. Go swiftly and waken our leader."

Agron looked on as the form of his love departed in the direction of the top of the hill where Spartacus had pitched his tent. He wondered at his luck, that it had bestowed upon him such a virile and deserving 'little man', sniggering as Nasir's pet name sprang to mind.

Had the first man to approach him as he took his fill been other than the inner circle of command and their lovers, Agron would have commanded that loyal guard be present as Spartacus be wrested from his slumber, yet he was more and more astounded by how his trust in Nasir grew every day. For as much as he respected and was resolved to guard the life of Spartacus, he trusted and loved Nasir. Agron vowed that day as he had many days before that he would not be without either man in this life or that which followed.

Later, while he watched the new arrivals to the servile camp fall to their attackers in training, Agron marvelled at how much improvement these broken souls from the mines would need to make to be capable of making a dent in the Roman forces which threatened their freedom.

"Agron," Spartacus greeted his friend, arriving just as a Numidian man tumbled under Donar's assault, "are any of note?"

The German former gladiator shook his head, "None, my friend, these fucks were sent to the mines because they were worthy of no purpose when they were brought to Italia, now they are in worse condition still and will serve only to eat, shit and sleep but not to fight."

Spartacus sneered as his second-in-command delivered his report, yet it was not the new additions to their number that caused his foul expression, "Remember, Agron, that they as well as us deserve their freedom and place among us. We have need for more than warriors, and some may serve as medici or blacksmiths or cooks or hunters. Do not be so quick to dismiss them. It is as a Roman would do and you are better man than that."

As the chastised often did after receiving his commander's chastening, he nodded and accepted criticism. Agron knew well that he valued military men and women above all others and saw those who were less able in that regard as unworthy of the resources which were bestowed upon them. It was one of the few things that caused conflict between Spartacus and himself. The only others being his rivalry with Crixus and his people and his quick-to-flare temper.

"Noted."

Spartacus knew well what respect and deference it took for the younger man to submit to his ruling. Yet it amazed him every time Agron adhered to his orders and will without more resistance as Crixus and Gannicus were wont to do. Ever since he lost Duro, the only voice that drew him to reason was his own. Not even Nasir's advice and instruction was held in the same regard and the men were lovers. As Agron left his side and wandered over to one of the younger men, whom they had taken from Lucania and had not fallen quite so quickly under Lugo's assault, and gave him counsel on the lowering of his guard just as he attacked his opponent, Spartacus wondered whether the affection he and Agron shared went deeper than he had previously believed.

"Brother," Agron called, "we can do nothing more here. Will you take a cup of wine with me?"

With one final sweep of the training ground, Spartacus acknowledged the redundancy of their presence and nodded at the other man.

While they were drinking heartily in Spartacus' tent (Agron later admitted he had no wine but would be content to share in Spartacus' share), both were aware that the amount of drink they were quaffing was making them too merry to care about the world outside the tent.

"You know, Agron, I cannot imagine drinking thus with Crixus or Gannicus."

"I cannot either, for they would be beneath the table by now!"

Spartacus, ever trying to be serious, said, "That was not intended meaning. Under the influence of wine, I would seek advice from you..."

Agron looked up at his friend perplexed, "What bearing does wine have on your request?"

"Were I not freed from usual aplomb in drink, I would not have courage enough to consult you in such...intimate and personal matters." Spartacus grumbled, exerting himself to be honest with his companion.

That confession sobered Agron, and worriedly he asked, "What would you have from me? Whatever your will, it is freely given and done."

"I would have your thoughts on the dreams that have kept me from much-needed rest in past days. I cannot divine their meaning by my efforts."

Agron's flinch at his petition did not surprise, for the man was not known for his aptitude at dealing with the emotional turmoil of men other than Nasir but that did not deter Spartacus any, whose desire for uninterrupted sleep outweighed any sense of impropriety veiled by wine.

"Then unburden yourself, brother." Agron responded openly, after shying away from such an audience, the request for which caused him sympathetic pain for his brother. He knew well that Spartacus was not resting well and the idea that this was causing enough distress to the man with such responsibility on shoulders that he, by his own words usually reticent, sought aid ripped Agron's heart from chest.

"My dreams have been troubled of late. Sura haunts them. I hold her in passion but such embrace turns to one of death. Her form then becomes that of...lovers, and abhorrent mother of lost child."

"Child?!" Agron interrupted.

Spartacus sighed, having forgotten Agron was not yet of Batiatus' titans when unfortunate coitus was commanded, "I was ordered to lie with Ilithyia, unbeknownst to me at crucial time, and when she was our captive she informed me of her child's true parentage."

For a few moments, Agron could not bring words to tongue, he just sat stunned before man lamentably robbed of wife and child by Roman machinations, "Forgive interruption and continue."

"The dreams begin in pleasure when we lay together but too soon she dies of the wounds she suffered at hands of Batiatus' man. Her form then turns to Ilithyia great with child, but she too dies upon me. After a while, Mira takes her place and thereupon life leaves her. I try to recall them to me, living, but in vain."

Agron patted the man's back, "And you seek meaning to such a vision?"

"Sura, while she yet drew breath, reasoned that the gods sent mortals messages through dreams. I confess I never gave her faith or belief much credence but I cannot discern how my own mind would conjure up such dark thoughts and the gods favour me not so I would know what knowledge they impart. For, every time I wish peace I have to think of still-living friends and not the poor wretches who died on account of me!"

"You did not cause their deaths, or do you think so much of yourself that you consider yourself Bringer of Death as well as Rain?"

For a moment, Spartacus matched his friend's jovial grin, "I do not think myself bringer of anything but freedom to some. Yet, I know I am responsible for their deaths. If I had not sought Sura out, Batiatus would not have cut short her life. Even Ilithyia, for whom I cared not, died for the child she carried, desired by Batiatus' mad wife. Lucretia cut babe from her belly and she died of those wounds. Then, Mira, fell following my cause on Vesuvius. I would know, Agron, why I kill the women I have loved be it in heart, body or mind?"

Agron could not discern the meaning of such things beyond his ken, yet whether he had true answer or no, there would be no cause in prolonging the pained man's suffering. One question did spring to mind, so he applied to Spartacus to enlighten him as to which 'still-living friends' gave succour.

It was almost comical to both men how Spartacus blushed at expected question but he answered, "I think of Crixus and how he changed from the fuck who was Champion of Capua to one giving heart to Naevia. I think of Gannicus, who desires naught but wine, Saxa's cunt and honour to Oenomaus. Then, I think of you yourself... and Nasir. I recall the expression on your face when Segovax bore all and how you raged against the world entire when Duro was taken from you and how only Nasir's heart brought solace to you. You are a changed man since knowing his heart. Of late, you have become more and more skilled as warrior and leader both. Your presence as loyal and needful shadow does not go unnoticed or without gratitude, though until now it has been unspoken. Only when I am reminded of it can I fall to rest after such sanguine dreams."

The subject of an episode in Spartacus' dreams had heart truly stirred by his brother's words. He sniggered at the recollection of Segovax's virtus. It hadn't done the Gallic slave much good though. Seemed to have got him in more shit than spunk. His heartstrings drew taut at the thought that Nasir's influence on him was so obvious and changing.

"You honour me. I had not thought myself important to any but Nasir...and Duro before him," Agron's voice caught in his throat as his brother's name passed his lips, "yet I am glad to hold some worth to you."

Spartacus stood, appalled by what his ears received, "You truly believe yourself of such little note?! I knew you held not the easy pride of Gannicus or Crixus but I at least considered you aware of your import, not only to the people here, but to me. You were the first to join arms with me. You, more than any other, have taken up Varro's place at my side...and in my heart. For, I held him as dearest brother before his death but now, I will acknowledge that you are my truest brother, for though kindred spirit, Varro was a free Roman. You are true brother, born far from Italia, taken by Romans, robbed of cherished family, made gladiator to fight each day for freedom."

Before Agron's tears betrayed him, he brushed off his brother's words, "Now, let us stop speaking as lovestruck women and take more drink! But as you have said your fill, I would have you answer me one thing, brother," his emphasis of that word was as endearment, "why did you not choose me when you, Gannicus and Crixus donned the clothes of Roman soldiers and invaded the temple?"

The accused (for the question was meant and seen as veiled accusation) smiled innocently, "I chose you not because I would never see you in Roman garb...not even in jest. I had to go to make point with meaning, Gannicus came to make point of goading Oenomaus and Crixus was ordered, I grant you, but you should not be affronted."

"So, it was not a champions' quest?"

The Champion under interrogation groaned, "A champions' quest?! Lunacy, brother! Why would I create such alliance when you cannot forge trust with Crixus alone? Should Gannicus be disposed to lead, there would be no difference between you and them as I treat you and Crixus without preference."

"I will make peace with that then. Now, let us drink more of your wine!"

The stupid, selfish bitch had wrenched heart from fucking chest! By plunging knife into Tiberius' side, Kore had sealed the fate of five hundred of their number. In that moment he wondered if she was more for them or for Crassus, despite murder of beloved son.

"Five hundred souls will go to the afterlife for your rashness!" He bellowed at the unsuspected assassin.

"They will not. If...you present Crassus with someone he holds of equal value."

As Caesar resisted those who held him in check and Kore batted her eyes at him, Spartacus could not believe that on that day, he had lost Crixus, Agron and so many others but more besides, was essentially about to trade slaves with Romans. It was unthinkable but for the diminishing hope in heart and mind that the man he so missed might be alive amongst the horde held prisoner, Spartacus would give Crassus the moon and all its stars. To see how the camp had been so disheartened in the wake of the news of Crixus' death and those he took with him to the afterlife was of greatest concern to Spartacus. He would retake those five hundred from the clutches of the Romans if it was his last deed upon earth.

"Then you will go but let it be known here that you volunteer, else people believe we are slaves who trade our own."

With that Kore nodded and began to prepare to leave their numbers to return to her dominus-erastes.

Spartacus then turned to Caesar and barked, "I will accompany you with a hundred of my own people to escort those you have promised to return to us. No more will we fall to fucking Roman trickery!"

His rival nodded curtly and shrugged off those who restrained him, "Then I will conduct Kore back to her master. But," Caesar said with a dangerous glint in his eye, "tell your friend that I will see him on the field of battle where he will meet his end at the point of my blade..."

While the messenger had no notion to whom the bastard now retreating with Kore was referring, he prayed to gods he held in no regard that he meant Agron still drew breath.

"Quickly, men," Spartacus bellowed, not wanting Caesar to leave him too far in his wake, "one hundred to stride into the Roman camp to retrieve our brothers and sisters!"

When Spartacus and his legion arrived at the prisoners' enclosure in Crassus' camp, many battered and bruised fell into their arms. Caesar had been a while ahead of the rebel force to secure their release but Spartacus yet searched the throngs of defeated people for his closest friend. As he walked into the main ground of the stockade, the vision that greeted his war-scarred eyes instantaneously brought tears to his eyes.

Agron still pinned to the wood aloft was being wrenched from the nails that tethered him to the cross. He was black and blue with grievous wounds inflicted on body, yet he still drew enough breath to scream and curse.

Caesar approached Spartacus unawares as the Thracian stood transfixed as his brother underwent extraordinary pain and whispered, "He is no more use to you and though not dead, he is more dead than living and will beg you to end his life when he learns he can no longer clutch sword in your name."

After Caesar had walked away, having inflicted grievous injury, Spartacus moved forwards to where Agron now was standing with two Romans. The soldiers removing fucking nails cared not for the man which they had pierced and before his leader was able to steady him, they let him collapse to the ground.

"Roman cunts!" Spartacus heard Agron hiss venomously, though he could not open his eyes without injury, and was unaware of his brother's presence.

"Agron," Spartacus whispered, not wanting to stop heart in shock, "you are alive and you are safe now. I will take you back to camp...to Nasir and medicus."

"My hands..."

The tone of pain and fear in the wounded man's voice cut deep as Doctore's whip but Spartacus knew he had to be as rock for his second-in-command, and soothed him, "Hush now, I will find way to carry you home and we will see to your hands, brother."

As Agron attempted to gain full height without aid, he stumbled and had to be caught, but moaned, "I will not be carried back as weak, useless, dead. I will make my own journey or will die in fucking attempt."

His companion, fraught with worry, knew he should protest and order Agron to accept assistance, but his words would have fallen on deaf ears. He merely nodded and placed his friend's ruined hand on his shoulder for support and took up slow pace to enable his foolish friend of immense fortitude to find his feet.

"You may leave me, brother," Agron keened, "you should lead our people back, not be at the rear with a dying whelp of a man."

"I will stay by your side as shadow, as you have stood by mine countless times, and you may go slowly as will and body permit. I will not stray from wanting and wounded side. We will enter camp together and the people will rejoice that you return to them."

Agron said no more, strength abandoning him, but directed all effort to placing one foot in front of other and winding way home to Nasir, if he yet waited for or required him alive. Though he could not voice gratitude, it was felt when energy retreated and shoulder's soundness was needed. Many flocked to them, wishing to express gratitude to the Bringer of Rain for bringing escape from the Romans, and while Spartacus smiled, few recognised Agron but the handful that did made the exaggerated claim that his bravery in insulting captors brought the brunt of the Roman ire upon him and spared the rest. This made Spartacus glow with pride for his brave general but only caused Agron to stop in his path and lose momentum.

"Keep them away, brother," he murmured while a young woman kissed the other man's hands in thanks, "if I must stop once more before camp is reached, I'll expire upon threshold."

Once limit was made known, each time in the next two hours when Spartacus was approached by unwitting victims of captivity, he shook his head kindly and silently requested that they not obstruct their path. As people sped homewards, the number of times Spartacus had to redirect others' gratitude dwindled. Agron did not gain speed but nevertheless his effort to go home with his brother in this world remained strong.

Spartacus decided after another hour had passed and the nearest reaches of the camp were only just in view on horizon, their solitude need not pass in silence, "Do you recall those many months ago when I spoke to you of my dreams?"

He took the consequent grunt as assent and continued, "I have since, only in the days since Crixus' death and your absence, had eyes opened to meaning of infernal visions. I never told you that day of words loving wife imparted after we first lay together. Sura said the gods told her that I would never love another woman as long as I drew breath. It was her promise. I found comfort in embrace of Mira, and Laeta, even Ilithyia, but never love as possessed when Sura trod the earth. All women I took to bed died 'fore my heart could welcome them fully. Yet, you - man born East of the Rhine, brother of truest heart, most loyal blade in camp and earliest companion still drawing breath - you,"

"Only just drawing breath, brother, and not yet in camp." Agron interrupted with laboured breath but acerbic wit.

Spartacus guffawed, taking care not to jostle hand pressed upon crutch of shoulder, "you will yet make camp's boundaries and continue to draw breath for years to come. You, and you alone, fill the voids in heart left by mourned wife. It was never to be a woman destined to heal the heart's wounds after Sura's passing but a man...a brother. You have Nasir foremost in your heart; he is your heart itself. Yet my own heart is consumed by thoughts of saving you. It is your freedom I draw sword to defend and secure. You and Sura occupy my heart so through you I save her, I save Nasir, Sibyl, Laeta, Gannicus, Naevia and all others depending on Spartacus. Yet, I would have you and Sura be only ones in this foul land to know my true name. The world may yet know and remember me as Spartacus but for those holding true place in my heart, I would be remembered in private as myself, for should you look for Spartacus in the afterlife, you'll not find me. I would have you by my side after I am from this world and meet Sura upon unhappy reunion."

"I'll have to bring Nasir, beloved brother," Agron grunted, "I would not be without my own heart."

"And I would not have you so torn," Spartacus accepted, revelling in his title of 'beloved brother', "I would have heart complete once more. I would have Sura's words ring true and show her man who is as balm to wounds cleaved on heart by her death."

"I cannot say more, but before you give true name, I would say this, that I will be shadow of you should I survive to camp and shadow still in afterlife when I pass from this world. Yet, do not be so certain that I will not fucking await you with your wife. I fear I am not long for this world."

His faithful companion shook his head, "No brother, you will live to see Spartacus' fight prove worthy. Yet, it is Bergaios who will stand on far-off banks with Sura beside him waiting for you and Nasir."

All Agron yet had the strength for was to look up and smile at privileged learning of long-withheld name. He would treasure it and all it meant. He would not allow either man, private and public, to precede him to Death's cleansing embrace but he would search for Sura and be her protective shadow until Bergaios and Nasir could join them in distant years.

As the camp drew closer and a throng began to gather awaiting their return, Agron wished to inspect crowd for beautiful Syrian face, yet to greet lover he must not fall and that required all attention, even with beloved brother's tender care. Spartacus also was too preoccupied with task of fending off those who would accidentally jostle his charge and cause unintended harm to already mangled flesh.

Soon enough, Agron felt Spartacus stop and before he could look up and pry open swollen eyes to witness the cause, familiar and missed hand cupped cheek and long-awaited voice spoke; reason enough to endure pain to see lover's matching face.

"The gods return you to my arms."

Agron's eyes were pulled open as Spartacus lovingly and gently placed right hand on heart's shoulder where it ever belonged, "I was fool ever to leave them."

Spartacus but looked on as Agron's anguished eyes began to tear as they held Nasir's gaze. Once he had given his beloved brother and own surviving heart to loving embrace to continue rest of journey to own tent, Spartacus' eyes met those deep blue of hue belonging to Laeta. In the moments when he needed not heed Agron's delicate state, he was still affected by the blows dealt to his brother by Laeta's people, for though she had brand upon arm and lack of freedom, she was still a Roman noblewoman in breeding and birth. She was one of those who had pierced his brother's wrists and rendered them unfit to bear arms.

"Do you see what your people have done to beloved brother?!" Spartacus seethed at her, uncaring of previously given comfort.

"Spartacus, I-"

"No! Hold tongue! I will not hear more Roman words this day. I must tend to what remains of Agron and fetch medicus to see to wounds from crucifixion, only just survived by tenacious will. You will prepare with Sibyl and the others for Crixus' funeral. I will not see you until such time. As much as I try to put it from thought, you are Roman and while you may have been gifted to Heracleo as concubine, you are not of us, domina!"

Laeta stood, cheeks matching auburn hair with tears streaming from previously gladdened eyes, turned from joy at lover's return from Rome with Agron to sorrow at embittered heart that greeted her and cast her aside.

He who made invective strode off in direction of Nasir's tent where Agron would be laid down, pulling a medicus away from a woman with graze upon brow. He did not spare Laeta another glance as he headed to task.

Upon entering the tent, he found Agron reclined on cot with Nasir wiping blood away from wounds, he asked Nasir, "How fares he?"

"Now that he is resting, why don't you ask him yourself, brother? Or, think you that my tongue is as useless as the rest of me now?" Agron stuttered.

Nasir rolled his eyes, still tinged with tears, at his lover's cutting remarks but spoke not a word.

"I have brought medicus who will be judge. And I think your tongue works as well as it ever did and would have it serve cause and rally the people before Crixus' pyre this night."

"Your will, my hands," he moaned, "or tongue, as it must be now."

All in the tent stood frozen at Agron's accidental slip, but once they heard faint glimmer of laugh, they joined in laughter at painful jest.

"I will leave you in loving hands, brother," Spartacus announced, satisfied with presence of medicus that Agron would survive him this day, "and must attend to funeral matters."

"Spartacus, pray wait a moment," Agron requested, turning to the other occupants of the tent, "Nasir, medicus, will you grant us a moment of privacy?"

They did as requested, both unwillingly, however.

Spartacus took seat on edge of cot and awaited the patient's will.

"I would have you know that your confidence in my recovery and affection for me holds great meaning and it is fully returned. I would stand by Spartacus in this life and Bergaios in the next ."

Final Author's Note:

Gratitude for reading! :) I hope you enjoyed this short story and I hope you are moved to review in positive/negative criticism. All that remains is for me to produce the promised lexicon of classical phrases and vocabulary included:

Votum Uxori: The Promise of [my] Wife (i.e. that Spartacus would never love another woman)

Cura ut valeas: Translated means Take care

Animus: Soul

Ludus: Gladiator training school

Ancilla: Slave-girl

Phobos: Divine personification of fear

Comites: Noun (comes, pl. comites) meaning comrades/companions

Amphora: Vessel for storage and transportation of wine

Subligariae: Male lower body garment

Damnati ad Metallum: Technical term for those who are condemned to mines

Italia: Italy

Medici: Noun (medicus, pl. medici) meaning doctor

Virtus: Manhood

Dominus: Master

Erastes: Ancient Greek term (cf. Plato's Symposium) for dominant male lover

Medicus: Doctor

Bergaios: Thracian king (400-350 BCE) in the Pangaian region (c.40km from Kavala)

Domina: Mistress