'We need proof,' Nasim sighed. He and Arron were sat on the floor under a tree in the school yard. They were in the shaded part, but it didn't feel as dark and scary as it had the last time he'd come round here but then, he'd come to this part of the school for a very different reason this time.

'Proof of what?' Arron asked, he was playing idly the strap of Nasim's bag as the two sat next to each other, not quite close enough to be touching.

'Us, our lives.'

'What?' Arron frowned. His brow furrowed almost comically.

'For the Spartacus project, if Duroc and I are going to get top grades, we need proof that Agron had a lover named Nasir.'

'Good luck with that one,' Arron scoffed, dropping the bag strap and leaning his head back against the bark of the tree. His eyes looked like they were going to droop closed.

'I'm serious,' Nasim insisted. 'There must be some way to prove it.'

'It's a crazy theory,' Arron said, little more than a mumble. 'You must see that. We don't even know if he did have a lover, we just had some weird dreams when we were knocked out playing rugby. And you already fancied me when you had your dream.'

'You're pretty smug, eh?'

'I'm just basing what I say on the evidence before me.'

Nasim just stared up at the older boy. He was trying to scowl but he knew his traitorous mouth was flickering into a small smile.

'And what about your dream,' he asked eventually. 'You didn't even know me when you dreamt about Nasir.'

'I could have seen you around the school,' Arron shrugged. 'I'd have noticed,' he grinned a bit and Nasim felt himself smiling too, and the only way it was going to be wiped away was when Arron kissed him.

They'd been together all evening, together through morning tea and now they were kissing. Arron didn't seem to care who saw them, didn't care that Nasim wasn't exactly popular like his brother had been, and was two years below Arron. None of that seemed to matter to him.

'Hey, Arron,' a gruff voice interrupted them. Arron pulled away from the kiss but he was rolling his eyes.

'What Chris?'

'Leave your boy alone for a minute and come here.'

'Why?' he was somehow sighing more heavily.

'Because your brother's getting his fucking head kicked in.'

'Shit!'

Arron was gone quicker than Nasir could even fathom. He dashed across the yard to the circle of people who were surrounding two boys and disappeared into the crowd. Nasim followed at a slower pace and arrived just in time to see Duroc, lip bleeding and a scowl on his face being hauled from the group by Arron. He was shouting a stream of expletives over his shoulder at Ross, who was now on the ground. Nasim had no doubt that it was Arron rather than Duroc who'd put him there, but he was surprised to see Chadina rushing to his side to help him up. Nasim had almost forgotten about her foolish attempts to use the thug to become popular. He was sure it would end in tears, like most of her pursuits did, but he tried not to say anything. After all, she'd been nothing but supportive about him and Arron.

'What were you thinking?' Arron asked, pressing a bit of cloth to Duroc's lip to stem the blood flow. It took Nasim a while to realise it was a bit of material from the textiles department. He didn't know why or how Arron had come to have it, until Arron eventually handed it to him, and Nasim saw a number scrawled into the corner in Chadina's handwriting. Had she tried her luck with Arron before she'd known he was gay … or after? God, she was bordering on desperate to bag herself a rugby player.

'He was being a dick,' Duroc growled. 'He's always a dick.'

'So you got into a fight.'

'I was just talking to Chadina,' Duroc shrugged. 'And then he starts saying she's wasting her time, I'm not a real rugby player. He was about to tell her that I didn't even go on the pitch…'

'You didn't,' Arron scowled. This was clearly still a sore point.

'… and I had to shut him up.'

'So you hit him?' Nasim asked. He could hear the giggle in his own voice. He just couldn't imagine Duroc hitting Ross.

'He wouldn't shut up,' Duroc shrugged, grinning a bit at Nasim. Nasim grinned back.

'It's not funny,' Arron warned, grabbing his brother's chin between his thumb and forefinger and dragging him around so they were facing each other. 'What if you got suspended? What if you got hurt?'

'Getting suspended is worse than getting hurt, I suppose?'

'You're a fucking idiot,' Arron snarled, turning away angrily.

'And you're fucking perfect,' Duroc growled. 'I know Arron. I'm reminded every fucking day. Even the one project you failed, I'm going to fail even worse because I can't find anything interesting about Agron and everything's already been said so the teacher's going to call it plagerism.'

Nasim just stared at Arron. It didn't take long for the boy to glance up at him and they shared a thought about the possible existence of Nasir. Arron sighed heavily.

'There may be a way,' he said, putting a hand on Duroc's shoulder and squeezing it gently. 'Meet Nasim and me at the school gate later. We'll go to the library and find you a project.'

Arron had driven them to the library. Leon had sent him three messages, which Nasim had had to read allowed to him while he was driving. Arron had insisted Nasim go in the front seat.

'Brother's get the front seat,' Duroc had tried to protest.

'Boyfriends go above brothers,' Arron shrugged, winking to Nasim. Duroc just grumbled something and got in the back of the car.

'I've got this for you, by the way,' Nasim said, handing over the bit of bloody material to Arron. 'I didn't know if you wanted to keep it.'

Arron frowned at it for a second, then realisation seemed to hit him. 'Oh that's Duroc's,' he smirked.

Nasim passed it to the other boy.

'Chadina gave you her number?' Nasim asked.

'Reason number two for the fight with Ross.'

He was grinning proudly this time and Nasim just shook his head. He could just imagine Duroc and Chadina in a relationship. Neither really sure why they'd got together but both sticking at it because it made them both look cooler in their own minds. It was a match made in heaven when you thought about it.

'So explain why we're going back to the library where we couldn't find any information the first time?' Duroc said, slumping back into the seats as "Counting the Beat" came through the speakers for no discernable reason except that Arron had old-fashioned taste in Kiwi music.

'To speak to that janitor guy,' Nasim said. 'The one that woman mentioned was a Spartacus fanatic.'

'But we agreed that he sounded like a crazy person,' Duroc frowned.

'Turns out we're crazy too,' Arron sighed, reaching over to squeeze Nasim's knee. Nasim smiled. He liked that he and Arron were a "we" now. Then Arron explained the dreams. Duroc just shook his head in disbelief.

'Maybe we should do some actual work,' he suggested. 'Instead of going to see a crazy man about your crazy fucking dreams.'

'Just thirty minutes,' Nasim insisted. 'Then we can go back to yours and work on a different project. I just,' he glanced up at Arron. 'I have to know.'

Duroc frowned, his lip fat from the fight earlier. He'd only reopened his bloody lip from the other day, so the damage wasn't actually as bad as it had looked at morning tea, but he still looked like a bit of a thug. Nasim could imagine the three of them presenting a strange group as they entered the library, one giant rugby player with an Aussie accent, a smaller but similarly built boy with a kiwi accent and an apparent penchant for fighting and a small Māori boy, like that wasn't a strange enough concept to begin with.

'Hello,' the woman behind the counter said as Arron marched straight over, full of apparent purpose. But before he had chance to even open his mouth an old man appeared shouting:

'Agron, was Machen sie?'

'Was?' Arron answered in German and the man began jabbering away in the language. Nasim just frowned and looked to Duroc for translation, but he was just staring back as though he was the one who needed explanation.

'What?' Nasim hissed, feeling a bit angry that the boy should be so accusatory.

'Did you plant this?' Duroc asked louder, and drawing the attention of the old man.

'Duro,' he said, walking over to Duroc and putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Naturlich du bist hier.'

'What's going on?' Nasim demanded, looking at the strange scene. Arron seemed completely bemused, Duroc looked like he'd been stitched up somehow and the old man just looked delighted at his eyes fell onto Nasim.

'Nasir,' he beamed, rubbing at his eye with his sleeve as though he was trying to hold back tears. 'Die große Liebe,' he said, looking between Arron and at Nasim. Arron put his arm around Nasim's shoulders and said something, before finally asking a question that Nasim understood, the only question he'd ever bothered to learn in German:

'Sprechen sie Englisch?'

'Yes,' the old man said suddenly. 'Of course, sorry Nasir.'

'Nasim,' Nasim corrected, though he suspected the old man wasn't that interested to learn his name in this life. The man was clearly from Britain, though his accent had clearly softened over the years.

'Come this way, come this way.' He dragged them through the library towards a door that looked like it lead to a cupboard – and probably did. He chatted the whole way. 'I learnt German so that I could speak to you when I met you in this life,' he was saying, patting Arron on the shoulder warmly. 'I wasn't sure that I'd ever see you, but I learnt German, French, Italian. You just never know how someone's going to return from life to life. I'd never have thought you'd have come back as a whacking great Aussie,' he laughed, thumping Arron hard again. It didn't seem to hurt the boy, but it must have been annoying. Arron just seemed to react by placing himself strategically between Nasim, Duroc and the man.

'But I knew,' the man continued. 'I believed in reincarnation, I believed that all Spartacus' men would be back and I believed that I would meet them before I died. Then I saw the newspaper article about Spartacus being rugby captain and being the youngest player to play for U21 All Blacks side and….'

'Wait … Spartacus?' Duroc asked, laughing a little. 'You believe that Spartacus, or at least the reincarnated Spartacus is in Christchurch?'

'He is in Christchurch,' the man insisted. 'He's captain of the rugby team at one of the schools.'

'Leon,' Nasim said. 'I saw him in my dream, it's Leon.'

'You're all mad,' Duroc concluded. 'All of you. And we,' he grabbed Nasim's shoulders, 'are going to fail this project.'

'Maybe he can tell us what happened to Agron after Spartacus was killed,' Nasim insisted.

'The best person to ask would be Agron,' the old man said, slapping Agron on the back heartily. 'What did you do after Spartacus was killed?'

'I don't….' Arron shrugged. He looked to Nasim, then Duroc and back to the man. 'I'm not actually Agron.'

'Yes you are,' the man insisted. 'In here,' he placed his hand over Arron's heart. 'Think about it. You've just been in a war and everyone and everything you've ever known is gone. The only people to survive are Nasir, the love of your life, and some other women children and a few gladiators. And you're in charge Agron, what would you do?'

'I'd….' Arron frowned. He looked under-pressure, almost like he was in pain from the weight of it all. Nasim couldn't help himself, he reached out and touched Arron's hand with his own. He felt fingers close around him.

'I'd keep them safe,' Arron said firmly and he was staring right ahead of him, and his voice wasn't quite his own. 'We will flee to the mountains as Spartacus commanded, and I would give life to see them there safe.'

'And once they're free?' the old man asked. 'What then for the great warrior Agron?'

'I would see Nasir far from war.'

Nasim gripped Arron's hand tighter. Something inside him felt warmed by the sentiment, even if it wasn't meant directly for him.

'I would see him happy, as he is owed as I have yet been unable to deliver him.'

'I am happy,' Nasim whispered. He couldn't stop himself. He knew from the dream he'd had that Nasir was happy with Agron. That he'd panicked and fretted when the man was away from him, but when they were together everything felt good and happy and right. 'I am happy,' he repeated more forcefully. Arron looked at him, but his eyes seemed more haunted somehow. Like he'd seen things and done things he couldn't forgive himself for, and he was searching Nasim's face for frantically. Nasim just smiled and Arron pulled him into a forceful hug, pressing his lips to Nasim's hair. They stood there for a moment, just clinging on for dear life, before Arron, or was it Agron, muttered:

'I cannot give you the life you deserve. My hands can't grip sword, and I cannot farm as you would wish.'

Nasim spoke before he'd thought about the words, he didn't really know where they were coming from, but he knew without a doubt that they were absolutely true:

'Then perhaps it is my turn to take care of you.' He pushed away from Arron and looked up into his face, hands clasping his cheeks so that he couldn't turn away. 'And you will not see me from your arms.'

Duroc watched the display in confusion. Something inside him, deep down in his gut, was pulling at him; urging him forward to tell Agron – no, Arron – that things would be okay. That he was glad he could give Agron – no, Arron – the chance to live and fight and find Nasir – no, Nasim. Fuck! He was being dragged into this madness too.

'See,' the old man muttered to Duroc. 'You didn't need me to tell you what happened to Agron after Spartacus' death. You just needed to ask the man himself.'

'Quatsch!' Duroc muttered under his breath.

'You believe not?' the man asked. His German was impeccable.

'Naturally not,' Duroc answered, glad to be able to speak his native tongue.

'Pity,' the man sighed. 'You can learn much about Spartacus. You can achieve an "Excellence" for your project.'

'How? We have no proof, or?'

'There is always proof,' the man grinned, returning to English easily, winking up at the two boys. Duroc glanced up to see Nasim smiling a little. Obviously he was the recipient of the wink, Arron was just leaning on the smaller boy, blinking as though waking from a very long sleep.

'What's going on?' he asked.

'You were making weird noises,' Duroc informed him, glad that his brother and stopped acting like someone possessed by the devil.

'Latin,' the old man smiled. 'You were both speaking Latin.'

'But I don't know Latin,' Arron frowned. His eyes were still slightly glazed and Duroc noticed the old man seemed reluctant to actually explain anything to anyone. He'd rather talk in riddles and look at them with an infuriating smile, like he knew something they couldn't.

'Proof,' was all he said. 'Come with me.'

They all went through a door at the back of the cupboard. It took them into something that looked like a small staffroom, or maybe a small sitting room, the sofa was broken, with springs sticking out of it, but there was a blanket thrown over it and a cushion covered in dry drool.

'Do you live here?' Duroc asked, earning himself a dig in the ribs from Arron. He just glared at his brother, but the old man laughed loudly.

'Of course,' he said happily. 'I've always been destined to live in squalor.' The old man stared at Arron and Nasim, as though he was expecting them to understand. They seemed to be as blank about the situation as Duroc was himself.

'Anyway,' the man continued, when he'd given up any slim hope of Arron and NAsim recognising him. 'This,' he pulled a weird, wooden briefcase from under the sofa and opened it on the table, 'is yours.' He pushed it towards Nasim.

'What is it?' he asked.

'A journal,' the old man explained. 'Or at least the parts the historians decided to omit. Scrawled on parchment, animal hyde, wooden bark sometimes, written in Latin, by a favoured body slave, who'd been taught to read and write. A boy who was freed by the rebels early on, a boy who refused to turn to Spartacus' ideals at the beginning, but eventually became one of Spartacus' most trusted warriors.'

'Nasir,' Nasim whispered, stepping closer to the assortment of objects in the chest. He was touching them gently.

'This,' the old man continued. 'Is every part of the diary that mentions his relationship with Agron. A lost conversation with another house slave, where she suggests that Agron has taken a fancy to Nasir.

'He talks about not being sure whether Agron has any feelings towards him, or whether he sees him as a plaything. And then he talks about love.'

'Why have you got them?'

'My family kept them,' the old man said. 'This diary was discovered in the late 1800s but all the parts that mentioned gay love were omitted and placed in this box.' He patted the box happily. 'My family kept it safe for generations. History cannot be changed, however much we don't like it.' He sighed heavily. 'I'm glad you have found each other in this life,' he almost looked tearful. 'Though I always thought Nasir could do better than that foolish, hot-headed boy-warrior. He seemed to love him deeply and I wouldn't see you parted like you were in the 1800s.'

'We came back in the 1800s?' Arron asked.

'In England,' the man nodded. 'You,' he clasped Arron's bicep, 'an eligible bachelor, you,' he placed a hand on Nasir's shoulder, 'a poor Welsh servant boy, who could barely speak a word of English.' He rubbed his wet cheeks with a dirty sleeve. 'You barely had a year together until you were caught and parted … permanently.'

The man reached out and touched his fingers to Nasim's throat, tracing a non-existent bruise around the skin. 'You were still so young,' he whispered, retracting his hand slowly. 'And you, imprisoned,' he said to Arron. 'You returned home still a young man, still rich and a bachelor, but you had no life in those times. You grew old alone and angry with only your brother for company, a man branded a coward….' He scowled at Duroc. Duroc felt sick. Was he ever not a fucking coward? Or was that his destiny, to keep returning to this stinking world in crappy times and being branded a coward, living under the protection of his brother. 'But that is a thing of the past,' the man said firmly. 'This,' he beamed at the three of them. 'This life will be long and full for you both. I'm sure of that.

'Now,' he picked up the box and handed it to Nasim. 'Take this. Do your project.'