Sibyl watched the children play in a clearing similar to the one she had trained upon with Gannicus. Their laughter echoed, curving her lips towards heavens. They found pleasure in so little a thing, threat of war far from mind.
"Laeta, you have never desired children?" she asked, sitting beside her. Kore, already seated, passed them a piece of cured meat to nibble on.
"I was never blessed as such. Truth be told, my husband was not the patient kind. Perhaps it was blessing I never conceived."
Kore's eyes met Laeta's, both recognising the yearning. Kore asked, "You consider having a child?"
Sibyl shook her head vigorously. "No. Perhaps… someday. At least, not at present. Not with this war and the uncertainty it brings. But I come to realise I would like to raise children with loving husband."
"And how does the mighty Gannicus feel about such arrangement?"
"I think he stands afraid!" Sibyl laughed. "But we do not speak of future. Or marriage." She could not hide her blush. "It is not the time."
"One should not wait to make plans for the future."
"Even when things are so uncertain?"
"Especially when things are so uncertain," said Kore. "It gives purpose, aids in providing reason to fight harder and stay alive."
"It does lift spirits to see you so happy, even amidst this war. But you are more anxious than usual," Laeta said.
Sibyl bit into the meat, the salty taste pleasant. "I will never grow accustomed to saying goodbye, sending prayers to the heavens for safe return."
"The gods receive numerous prayers from you then?"
"There are never enough. But I no longer offer blood sacrifice," she said ruefully. "I say prayers now for Nasir also. His heart is heavy with grief."
Kore and Laeta both remained silent, each affected by the pain of beloved friend.
"Does Naevia accompany Spartacus?" Kore asked eventually.
"No," Laeta replied. "She is yet within camp. She speaks little and eats even less. At Spartacus's request I prepared morning meal. She did not take it."
"We broke words last night. Briefly. She is as shadow in fading light. She wanders in perpetual darkness."
"I cannot imagine burden of her loss. I ponder consequence of losing Gannicus-"
"Do not think it," Laeta interrupted. "He will return to loving arms."
"As Spartacus will to yours," Kore said, keenly aware that no such comfort awaited her.
By midday the rebels returned with prisoners of war. Gannicus looked around for the familiar dark head, but did not see Sibyl. Beside him, Saxa grunted, gesturing ahead.
"Your little thing." Her words held no bite.
Gannicus met her eyes and nodded in gratitude. She nodded back, a smirk playing around her lips. They had finally reached understanding.
"Gannicus!" Sibyl was out of breath from being jostled by growing crowd. "The horde stands restless."
He pulled her to his side, his gaze surveying growing masses. He was uneasy, especially with her within midst.
Ahead, he watched Laeta approach Spartacus. While they broke words, people took justice into own hands, pelting stones at Roman captives, huge rocks narrowly missing his own head. Gannicus pulled Sibyl into protective circle of his arms, her head against his chest.
"Fucking animals!" he roared.
"Stave hands!" Spartacus's voice boomed above all. "I will not have the boy and his men fall to errant wrath! Their blood is to serve higher purpose."
"What fucking purpose?!" someone shouted in return.
"In coming days, we will clear rocky outcrop, and in tradition of old, host gladiator games to honour the fallen and give comfort to those left in deaths wake."
The crowd roared, their chants and cries deafening. Gannicus felt his heart race. To once again be upon the sands. He had never thought such a thing a possibility. And yet opportunity presented itself.
"You will fight?" whispered Sibyl, her hand tugging at his hair.
He nodded. "I will fight."
Days passed quickly. Rebels worked hard to clear mountain outcrop overlooking sheer cliff. But soon they stood upon the eve of games. After evening meal, Gannicus, still not righted since news of Crixus's death, stood preoccupied. Sibyl had left him to privacy of personal thoughts, bringing cool drink as he sat upon the floor, using sand to clean his swords.
That night, he slept fitfully. She curled around him, but still he struggled to find comfort within loving embrace. She whispered suggestion of sparing contest to ease burden of torturous thought. Before dawn, they rose, practicing swordplay as diversion.
Nightfall came quickly and she helped prepare him for the games. She made him sit while she affectionately combed through his hair and tied it with leather strips.
"First beard is fucking removed and now I am to sit as child while my woman combs knots from hair," he complained, but made no move to stop her or assume task, privately enjoying gentle ministrations. Standing before her, he stood magnificent specimen, glorious and ready for battle.
She did not know what to expect of the games, but felt pride at his majestic bearing. Sibyl felt his eyes upon her as she checked the last strap, running her hands over his torso.
"There is but one thing missing," he whispered, the moment between them intimate.
She looked around. He had donned all the items laid out. He gestured to item within grasp and she saw the blue fabric.
"I would have you tie it."
"For luck." She reached for the blue strip, placing a kiss upon it before tying it securely to his chest.
Gannicus reached for her, pulling her against him and resting their foreheads together. She reached up and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose and then his chin. He laughed, the sound echoing in the little tent. Her own smile met his. It was the first joyous sound in days. Her heart lifted.
"Gratitude for your patience in dealing with sullen countenance since word of Crixus' demise." His arms linked together at the base of her spine, pulling her close. "You have stolen heart in small measures until it no longer stands whole within chest; pieces you now hold firmly within grasp."
She rubbed the fingers of her right hand across his cheek, to the depression in his chin, dropping a kiss upon his lips. "Laeta and Kore believe I have managed to tame the mighty Celt."
He chuckled, dipping his head and capturing her lips. The kiss was deep, hot and slow, her arms circling his shoulders of their own volition. His hands roved lower, pulling her against his cock. She gasped, he smiled, always satisfied by her response to him.
"Gannicus," she whispered, already moving her lips back to his, her leg rubbing up against the side of his. "We cannot. You are expected."
"Fuck expectation." His words uttered low and urgent. "I would seek blessing from my woman before battle." He caught her up in his arms and lowered her to the nearest surface – a small table in the corner.
Her eyes met his and his grin was slow and seductive. She felt her insides contract and pressed her lips to his throat, his chest, anywhere she could place it. The atmosphere around them charged as lightning bolts sent from Jupiter himself. Air surrounding was wild, thrilling and intense, the only sound permeating space were their heavy breaths, his grunts of pleasure, her soft moans. They needed to touch everywhere, but were limited by clothing and time.
He raised her dress and freed himself, her legs already spreading in intimate invitation. When he entered her, her back arched upwards, her breasts thrusting into the air, one mound covered, the other freed by his seeking hands and rabid mouth.
"Gannicus!" she gasped as he thrust hard and fast.
His control slipped completely. All he felt was her, around him. All he saw was her, her eyes, her perfect skin. All he could smell was her scent, unpolluted and sweet.
His woman.
And he loved her.
Passion spent, she sat on the edge of the table, her arms limp around his shoulders. He cupped her face and sought her eyes. "Within heart is love that burns for you - like it has for no other."
He saw her eyes go soft and shimmer before she leaned forward, placing the sweetest kiss upon his lips. "My fierce protector, ardent lover, ferocious warrior. I love you."
Gannicus felt his breast flood with pleasure. A happiness he did not recall feeling - save in months since she had stepped into his life – continued its unrelenting spread throughout his being. She loved him. She accepted him as he was. She believed in him.
"As I love you."
In the distance, they could hear the roar of the crowd. The hour was upon them. He placed a kiss upon the tip of her nose, mimicking earlier action and pulled her dress down, bringing feet to ground.
They linked fingers and went in seek of glory.
Kore took a seat and watched the promised spectacular unfold. The hastily constructed arena was carved out of stone, the arena giving way to a sheer drop. All around, people bustled, their excitement washing over her in waves. Bodies filed into seats, thousands chanted, screamed and shouted their enthusiasm. She had seen the games but once. It had not been a pleasant experience. This time however, she would not flinch when watching Tiberius take position upon the sands. She would revel in spill of wretched blood.
She caught sight of Sibyl and Gannicus, noting that the younger woman's mouth stood agape at the size and scope of the arena. Gannicus could not dim the grin upon face, the skin around his eyes wrinkled with an excitement it was obvious he failed to contain. He clutched her hand, leading her to the front row. The couple laughed as he lifted her into his arms and placed her in her seat. Kore felt her heart shudder at the sweetness of their interaction, the lightness of their expression. She watched as he gave her a lingering kiss and confident wink before walking across the arena to meet his brothers.
Sibyl looked around for her friends and noticed Kore seated behind her. She waved, making motion that she should join her. Kore shook head in the negative, preferring it seemed to sit a few rows back. She observed that Kore looked tense and smiled in encouragement. Laeta she noticed sought seat across from her, Spartacus leaving her side. It was clear that the rebel leader had reserved his seat beside her.
Around her, the crowd was in a frenzy as Spartacus led his men out into the arena. But she had eyes which sought only for one. Gannicus, his skin cast golden upon reflection of the sands walked proudly, his head high. From his hands swung his swords, newly cleaned with sharpened blades, taking his position at Spartacus's side. She looked at the group of men and the two women beside them and acknowledged that they all stood as fearsome sight. She could however, not hide glorious pride at sight of her gladiator, unaware that her smile beamed as bright as the stars upon cloudless night.
Laeta caught herself, trying with all might to control the smile that threatened to wrap from ear to ear. Spartacus and his generals had entered arena and the games had begun. Without warning, he slit the throat of a Roman soldier who had refused to fight. Action had set the crowd alight, each and every rebel cheering and screaming encouragement.
She had lain with him many a time and was intimate with his form. Yet there was something primal about seeing him stalk across the sands, baiting his prey with cruel, calculated intent. She felt her cheeks burn with supressed desire as he engaged in hand to hand combat, unable to divert eyes from stalking his every movement.
Sibyl watched as Spartacus slit his opponent's throat, blood spewing towards the heavens as river rushed towards ocean. The manic screams of delight from the crowd caught her off guard, those behind her almost mindless in their thirst for blood. Beside her, Gannicus stood engrossed, his attention fixed solely on the spectacle before him.
She leaned across and spoke loud enough to be heard over the din. "I have never laid eyes upon the games."
"These are but dim reflection of their glory," he replied, his voice carrying inflection of longing.
She was surprised. "You speak as though heart yearns for such days."
"To return to shackle and lash, no." He turned and met her gaze briefly. "But to stand upon the sands again, to know clear purpose, who you are and what must be done. That is a thing that calls to all of my kind."
She felt compassion stir within breast for all he had endured in life – like all slaves had. To be conditioned from birth to fight to the death, to hone and develop instincts for survival was cruel punishment to inflict. And yet he stood proud and liberated, now taking to the sands as free man, making choice to fight of own will, not by instruction of master.
He grinned at her and she placed a kiss upon his head before his attention was arrested once again by bloodied accomplishment.
The rest of the games passed in blur of blood, gore and terrible excitement. Vengeance was served to all who watched, even those who flinched from gory sight. Sibyl remembered very little actual detail, except when Gannicus took position. She had seen him fight many times and knew he stood skilled warrior. But it was the first time she had seen him fight for pleasure, fight for the honour of his brothers, and fight because memory of past upon the sands stirred yearnings he had long forgotten. In truth, seeing him had left limbs weak with anxiety, but heart proud when he stood victorious, his first action to place sweaty kiss upon her lips in celebration.
As sun moved from zenith, Gannicus and Spartacus departed to meet with the Roman traitor, Caesar who wished to make trade for Crassus's son and heir. Gannicus had made request that she steer clear of fray and so she had remained within camp when trade was honoured. He would later find her to inform that Kore had volunteered her own life in exchange for balancing scale. Gannicus's chest tightened as he witnessed horror clouding her gaze as he broke words. She rushed into Spartacus's tent, already finding Laeta in attendance.
"This is madness, Kore. You must reconsider!" Sibyl exclaimed.
"The exchange is complete. 500 of our men will be released," Spartacus said gently.
"He would kill her for betrayal upon Melia Ridge!" Laeta fired back, her eyes flashing in her lover's direction.
"Laeta. Sibyl." Kore reached for her two friends – her sisters - bringing them close. "This is necessary thing." Sibyl began to speak but Kore shook her head. "I have tried to change course of life and mend wounded heart. But the gods presented opportunity to balance scale and achieve desired vengeance. I have made my choice. And I will honour it."
"You stand as sister," Sibyl said, embracing Kore and then Laeta. "You both do. If this life affords opportunity, I would pray we see each other again. Or upon the shores of the afterlife."
"Do not forget Sibyl," Kore whispered, tears breaking words. "Do not wait to make plans for bright future. Let plans give hope and spur courage for what must be done before this war is at an end. Every day, cycle of life continues. Wrest happiness as nectar from summer fruit."
Sibyl nodded, unable to speak. The women formed a circle of colour; red, yellow and blue, their arms reaching to embrace each other while Gannicus and Spartacus watched on, each sorry to see pain reflected in the eyes of the women they cherished.
When night fell, Gannicus returned to the tent, having lent hand to prepare funeral pyre. The look upon his face broke her heart. Without word, they embraced, standing in silent comfort. She feared she would never see Kore again and he still spoke nothing of the rage and silent devastation that warred inside. But pressure of his arms around her told all she needed to know.
All within camp, even those with grievous injury attended the funeral ceremony. Across from her, Sibyl saw Agron leaning on Nasir's shoulder. While the young warrior's gaze was warm and relieved to have his lover returned, Agron was silent, the slump to his shoulders an indication of a heart heavy with the burden of all he had endured.
She shifted closer to Gannicus, her own anxiety about losing him once again pressing upon mind. Spartacus's voice rose to address the crowd.
"This night hearts lift in joyous reunion with those thought lost to us. Fathers and sisters, sons and lovers. Hold them close. For the shadow of Rome is upon us. We shall seek our destiny together, whatever the cost. Yet let us not pass from memory those left absent from our arms. Those who sacrificed their lives so that all may live free."
Sadness, overwhelming and instant snaked firm grip upon her heart. She breathed deeply to hold emotions threatening to spill at bay. Beside her, Gannicus reached for her hand, enveloping her smaller one into his warm, but rough palm. She turned gaze upon him, his profile hard, hiding deep sorrow. He did not meet her eyes, but squeezed her hand tightly, needing the comfort of her touch to remind that all was not lost.
"For Crixus!" Naevia's voice rang clear, the emotion evident in tone, her tears trailing across her face. She lit the pyre, the fire burning brightly, the embalmed head of her lover consumed by destructive flame.
"For Sura! For Varro and Mira!" shouted Spartacus.
Beside her, Gannicus called, "for Oemamaus!" His hand trembled within hers and she gripped hard, her throat burning with suppressed tears.
"For Diotimus!" she called, remembering the man who once stood as protector, friend and brother.
All around them, the names of those held close but lost to the war rung out.
"For Crixus! Crixus! Crixus!"
"Split heavens with the sound of his name!" Spartacus called. "Let it carry to Crassus and Pompey as distant thunder promising storm of blood. All those who are able, will make final stand against Rome. And this I promise you. We will live free. Or join our brothers in death!"
She let the tears fall then, as so many around her had already done. She saw Laeta move to embrace Spartacus, the rebel burying his head in her shoulder, tears not absent upon usually stoic gaze.
Gannicus greeted all his brothers, keeping Sibyl close to his side. It was as though everyone understood that such luxury would soon be at an end. Not all would survive the coming fight. Not all would welcome loving arms at battles end. What little time they had left, they would spend in the arms of love.
Spartacus eventually turned to his brother's and embraced them. First Gannicus, then Agron. To stand so united was a thing of great magnificence.
That night, after Gannicus made love to her with heart breaking intensity, he kissed at her tears, offering her the whole truth; it began with the tale of a woman named Melitta.