Sibyl felt her heartbeat increase. She turned away, unable to look upon him a moment longer. His eyes were large and sad, hiding deep secrets and even deeper pain. She wished she held powers to relieve his burdens. But she did not possess such talents. So she made request that the gods show him that life yet held meaning and hope.

She knew he doubted her belief in him. All she could do was prove that it was not misplaced. Silence stretched between them before he finally said, "I saw you flee from square day Crixus prompted contest for bread."

"I had not idea you had noticed." She whispered so softly she was not sure he heard her. Louder she said, "I could not watch Ulpianus be treated as such."

"He stood a Roman."

She turned to look at him, eyes blazing despite mild tone. "Do all Romans deserve to die simply by virtue of birth?"

"Do they?" he challenged. "You tell tale of injury at the hands of your own Dominas. You speak of prayers offered to your gods to see self delivered. Yet you make argument to spare lives of those who would see you to the afterlife if they stood as we do now."

"I hold no answer. But I do know that Ulpianus has always shown kindness to his slaves. Just as Laeta had. Perhaps they too are but product of life they have been borne into."

He shrugged and she felt need to make him understand. To move him. "Tell me ire did not stir within breast at the sight of injustice? Of Ulpianus's wife, babe yet within belly, watching as husband might be forced from this world before he is able to meet his child. Are we not to offer compassion to our enemy?"

"Compassion?" His voice was low, as if he too doubted his own words. "We stand in a war. Compassion has no place upon the battlefield."

"So we would be like them? We would perpetrate same action in vengeance? Gannicus," she coaxed, "when does it end? When we have killed all Romans who yet walk the earth? Roman children, mothers, brothers?"

She did not know she called his mind to same sentiment he had voiced to Spartacus. It felt as lifetime ago. "Perhaps it never ends. Perhaps we were born and this is what we are."

"I will not believe it," she whispered fiercely. "As the tides race to the shore, or flowers bloom in the springtime, there is hope that there is life beyond this war." She met his eyes. "For all of us."

She saw him look away, hopeful her words struck a chord.

"Hour is late. Get some rest."

"We cannot risk sleep," she said, incredulous.

"We cannot," he clarified. "But you can. It may be hours before we might be presented with opportunity to see ourselves from this city. By whatever means we discover to flee this place, it will require sound mind and body. Close eyes, seek comfort of oblivion."

He no longer seemed to doubt that they would find means of escape. Inside, she smiled. They made progress, even if he did not realise it.

She turned her idol in her hands. "The gods will show path."

"Your belief astounds. We are in the heart of our enemy. They would slay us absent thought upon discovery. And yet you cling to your faith."

"I choose to cling to hope. That is all."

"I do not claim to understand your faith," he confessed, his chuckle resigned.

"Perhaps," she offered with a smile, "when we are clear of this city, you might gain the clarity you seek."

"Sleep," he urged. "I will be here."

She lay down, curled upon side. Within minutes, her chest rose and fell as sleep claimed.

Afternoon had faded into evening and Gannicus watched Sibyl sleep. It provided, he admitted, opportunity to examine her absent knowledge or need to pretend he looked everywhere but at her.

His eyes travelled, drinking their fill of her length, her rounded curves, her milky skin. He noticed small things… the curve of her neck, the shell of her ear, the delicate span of her wrist. Finally, his eyes found her legs and he swallowed, sure he had found favourite part of her body yet exposed. She was not excessively tall, but her legs were shapely and smooth, the cut of her dress highlighting features sculpted with the help of Venus herself.

She inspired need to protect and shelter. And… he admitted, she inspired a longing inside he had not felt since Melitta. A longing to be close to someone. To offer affection and see it returned. To love. He swallowed at conscious realisation. He closed eyes as vision of Melitta passed within recess of memory.

Her death had been a hard thing to bear. While he had not poisoned wine that took her life, he had encouraged affections she had spurred numerous times in lieu of a love she held for her husband. Hate for himself had burned inside for a long time, making him almost comfortable with constant pain. It was why alcohol held delight. With lusty gulps, weight of poor decisions and hefty consequences did not seem so bad a thing. He had vowed to never love another. His affections could not bring renewal as spring did after harsh winter.

And yet he knew Melitta would break harsh words if she were able. She had often lectured him to see the good inside of self. She had had manner of seeing what he did not. She held belief that he was capable of more than he would aspire to. But she was dead. A consequence of his own actions. Proof that in this, Melitta had been wrong.

Yet in this woman, he felt a melting of the ice in cavernous space around his heart. Absent words, but with ideals firmly held, she had way of inspiring hope inside of him. Something he stood absent the power to control. It was as the night would give way to day. It stood inevitable fate.

Watching her, he realised the hatred that had been a part of self for so long stung a little less, its claws retracting, allowing room to breathe.

He knew not how long she slept, nor how long he watched her. Despite circumstance, he was relaxed; her sleeping form a comfort in the darkened space. She was near. And safe. But eventually soldiers returned, this time with different intent.

Sibyl tossed, in the grip of a fevered dream. Anxious she would cry out and reveal hiding place, he knelt beside her and gently but firmly cupped his hand to her mouth.

He felt her jerk and was sorry for the fear he knew she would automatically feel. But absent words to alert, it was a necessary thing. Her eyes were filled with panic when they opened. But then she saw him. His insides softened when trust replaced fear.

"More soldiers return," he whispered. "They pry wood and beams searching for vermin."

"If we stay will they not find us?"

"They will." He knew moment inopportune, but lying beneath him, he had never seen her look lovelier; her hair spread out, her cheeks yet flushed with the heat of slumber.

"Is there nothing we can do?" she whispered.

Idea struck. "There is but one thing." She raised brow. "Pray."

Gannicus quietly outlined simple scheme. He saw her nerves and stood grateful that she gave them no voice. He would die to protect her, he realised. He felt the weight of the responsibility.

She positioned self and he gave nod of encouragement. The trap opened and a soldier approached as anticipated. In a blur, Gannicus pulled him from perch and saw him swiftly to the afterlife.

He turned to her, his words urgent. "If any but my visage return, take your life." Dread settled upon her face. "It would be a kindness in comparison to what they would do to you." He did not allow himself to soften or show feeling. There was no time.

He passed her his knife and in moment wished he had time and courage to say what was yet uncertain. He met her gaze and tried to convey feelings he did not yet fully understand. With a nod of encouragement, he hoisted self up and out of their hiding space.

Sibyl clutched tightly to the blade he had given her, this time unable to stave the tremors of terror that shook her body. Above, she heard grunts and the clash of steel. She could not discern who sounds belonged to and sent swift prayers to the heavens.

A thud sounded above her head. A blade with blood dripping from tip speared through gap in the floor sending unfortunate recipient to the afterlife. All had gone silent and she felt nausea rise, breath caught and her head swim, her terror so acute. Thought of Gannicus lying absent life, his vitality extinguished in death sent a crushing pain across her breast. She would not cry, she warned self.

She heard footsteps move towards and door and with shaky hand, brought his blade to her throat. He had sacrificed his life to keep her safe. She would honour him with noble death. With blade primed, she pressed, waiting for the face of her captor to appear. With each step she pressed the blade closer still, about to close her eyes.

But then his visage appeared and her entire body went limp, hand with weapon falling useless to her side. Despite her terrified relief, he smiled, charming. Her insides melted as ice exposed to sun. His eyes now offered the reassurance he had denied earlier.

She did not hold knowledge of it, but he was surprised and proud that she had followed instruction, willing to take life.

"I begin to believe in your gods." She realised he meant it. "Let us see how far they would take us."

He offered hand and without hesitation she took it.

Outside, Gannicus lifted Sibyl onto the nearest tiled rooftop and absent sound, they made way from one villa to the next. The rooftops were yet unpatrolled, but he knew it would not be for long. They were able to move swiftly, Sibyl a surprise with nimble, agile movements.

Upon a tiled ridge, she huddled close as they watched Roman soldiers below.

"Streets stand too swollen," he whispered. "Rooftops alone will not carry us free of the city." The number of soldiers were insurmountable. He would not attempt to risk open combat, even with superior skill. Their sheer number would overwhelm. Had he stood alone, he might have made attempt. But with her at his side, he would take necessary precautions.

"Gannicus," she whispered, drawing his attention below.

They watched as Heracleo produced Crassus's seal.

"Fucking pirate," he spat. "The traitor yet lives."

Plan formed in mind. If they could commandeer seal, which provided protection to move freely about the city, he might be able to see them from Sinuesa. He offered hand, reassured by its feel in his and she followed.

He dropped to the street absent sound, surveying that none ventured close before reaching for her. She weighed nothing and quickly lowered her to ground. With his hands yet upon her waist, he spoke quickly and quietly. "Stay close. I would not have you hurt." She nodded.

"This was Attius's workshop," she whispered.

He nodded grimly, a shadow passing across face. "Perhaps my old friend blesses us. I know layout well. Ready?"

"Yes." They shared a look when a woman's scream rose from within. She gasped, gripping his arm. "Laeta. It's Laeta."

Heracleo's voice followed. "That is the worst of it my love."

"I do not believe it so," Gannicus said, striding in. The pirate was surprised, but he recovered quickly.

"It lifts spirits to see you alive my friend."

"Many of my brothers did not fare as well." He felt disgust rise inside of him.

"An act born of necessity and raised with heavy heart. I much liked King Spartacus and his companions. Well, most of them." Heracleo confessed. "Yet I was given no choice between a wealthy life or die a merciless death. Which to a man of my sort is no choice at all."

He sneered but the pirate continued. "I know what thoughts pass through mind. That we are but shit eating Cilician's." Gannicus smiled in condescending agreement. "No match for a god of the arena. Perhaps this is true my friend. Perhaps my sword will find your woman's throat before I fall. A thing you must appreciate in such a delicate situation."

Sibyl. He would not give indication of her meaning more to him. In such fucking company, it would prove grievous error.

"She is not my woman." The words were not a lie but he stood sorry at having to utter them. It served intent as Heracleo lost his smile.

He made his move then, striding towards the pirate and the handful of men who guarded him. His only intention was to ensure battle was over swiftly, without drawing attention by the clash of steel.

While Gannicus battled with his men, Heracleo escaped from grasp and made way towards the warrior's woman. The Cilician had murder in his eyes as he approached her, seeing her as a means to bring fucking god of the arena to his knees.

He was pleased to note she was a whelp of a woman - not a threat - but a pretty thing he admitted. Had he not already found his wife, he might have been pleased to have her as his whore.

He lunged for her but she had managed to lay hands upon iron shackles, swinging it wildly. He felt his rage intensify when paid exploded in the side of his face. Fucking bitch had managed to lay iron to his cheek.

He recovered quickly, raising sword and charging at her. She swung the shackles again, but this time he managed to catch it, ending her struggle by knocking her to the ground.

He knew the gladiator caught her scream, look of horror upon his face confirmation that instincts proved true.

He smiled absent humour. A weakness at last. He did care for the woman.

Sibyl felt pain explode in her cheek as she went crashing to the ground. Blood flooded her mouth, its metallic taste bitter upon tongue, causing her to gag. The pirate loomed above her, his own mouth bloodied from the blow she had aimed with iron. His eyes were dark and cold. She knew he would kill her.

She imagined she might lose consciousness but willed self to remain conscious. She had made personal vow. She would not leave Gannicus alone.