A/N: Just an extra warning for violence in this chapter, lovely readers! No worse than in the show, but that's not really saying much. :P Again, thank you for reading and for the lovely reviews and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four

Nasir woke to the pitch darkness of the woods at night. He could see nothing, only feel the soft touch of misting rain against his upturned back and the slipperiness of wet rock pressed against his bare chest and legs. Somewhere above him, he heard the low hooting call of a night bird, and over to his left leaves rustled as an unknown creature made its slow way over the rain-soaked ground, searching for food and prey.

With effort, he clenched his fingers until his knuckles grazed the uneven ledge of rock on which he lay face-down, his limbs sprawled akimbo. He forced himself to raise his head. Slowly, as his eyes grew used to the dark, he was able to make out vague shapes-his hands before his face, the rough stone surface on which he lay, the occasional dull gleam of the chains that yet bound his wrists. He groaned heavily. Every part of him ached, a deep, painful throbbing that robbed him of strength and was laced by exhaustion, blood loss and injury.

Carefully, he summoned his strength and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. He had fallen, he remembered, tripping upon the very ledge of rock on which he lay. Fool. So close to escape and yet he had been careless enough to miss his footing and spill to the ground, losing consciousness and throwing what meagre freedom he had gained into jeopardy.

He winced as a sharp pain glanced through his head. Gingerly, he reached up with one hand and pressed the tips of his fingers against his scalp, searching for an open wound. He grimaced as the shackles at his wrists clanked loudly in the near silent woods, then swore under his breath as his fingers located a tacky patch of half-dried blood at his temple, matted thick and solid against his hair. Looking around, he was just able to make out a matching stain of equal size on the rock ledge before him, gleaming wetly amongst the dull shadows. He must have hit his head when he had fallen. He cursed again, soft and silent. Who knew how much time he had lost with his carelessness, how much time had passed? How close were his pursuers now? For he was certain that he would be pursued, if not by Secundus himself, then by the guards of his household. Those of them he had not killed or wounded in his escape, at least.

He had to move. Propping his hands beneath him and feeling the earth wet and cold from the earlier rainstorm, he forced himself to his feet, staggering slightly and feeling his legs sway, coltish and unsteady. He had lost track of how many days it had been since his capture, but he knew that he had gone long without sufficient food and water. Such a lack had made him weak and the injuries he had gained during his flight had not helped. Remembering his wounds, he probed the gashes on his thigh and arm with wary fingers, and the deeper one at his ribs that still dripped blood. Apart from the last, he did not think they would hamper him too badly. They still bled sluggishly, and each would leave a scar, yet he was certain he could travel despite them. He would have to.

Summoning his strength, he staggered forward a step or two, feeling as though he was moving through a thick, clinging fog instead of insubstantial shadows. It was not long before he collapsed to the ground again. His head spun and his vision blurred, seeming to throw silvery streaks and spinning, glimmering shadows every which way through the night. The energy that had fuelled his escape had faded, leaving him weak and therefore, he knew, vulnerable. Remembering his sword, he scrabbled around for it, fingers moving blindly through the dirt and finally locating it some feet away, thrown there by his fall. He lurched towards it, only to falter as he heard shouts somewhere close by in the night.

Thought deserted him and panic set in. Pushing himself to his feet, he ran, forgetting his wounds, forgetting his weapon, knowing only that he must flee, away from the villa, away from the Romans, away from the nightmare he had found himself in. Footsteps sounded close by and he swerved away from them, barely aware of the chains at his wrists that jangled so brazenly, breaking the silence of the woods. Glancing up, he saw a pale face flash past in the darkness and heard a rough shout as the person to whom it belonged grasped for him, hands outstretched. He wrenched himself away, stumbling out of reach and ran onwards. Moments later came the sound of galloping hooves and the black form of a horse appeared at his side, large and heavy and snorting and bearing a rider, a swift and solid presence from which he knew there would be no escape. There were more shouts. The Roman on the horse's back swung his fist and Nasir found himself upon the ground, spitting blood and dirt from his mouth as he struggled to climb to his feet.

He made to run again but within seconds there were men surrounding him. His arms were seized and he was dragged forwards through a break in the trees, fighting and kicking and hissing. He knew nothing but the desire to get away, wanted nothing but to escape. But he was forced to his knees and two tall figures appeared, casting their shadows over him, blocking the faint light of the stars that rested high above in the clouded heavens.

He glared upwards, through the mist that clouded his vision, through the pain and fear and helpless rage, taking in the pale hair and alabaster skin of his captors.

'Roman shits!' he hissed, struggling as best he could against the arms that pinned him in place.

Terentia Cassius laughed, the noise cutting a cruel path through his ringing head. 'Spirit returns to him with much speed!'

Her brother nodded his agreement, yet his own face was as granite as he gazed down at Nasir. 'An idea, sister,' he said. 'Prior to returning this slave to his dominus, why do we not have some games?' He bent down and grabbed Nasir by the chin, forcing him to meet his icy stare. 'I would have Tiberius learn his place.'

'Hold!'

Agron halted unwillingly at the whispered order. 'My sword hungers for Roman flesh,' he growled, twisting round to glare at Spartacus as the man approached behind him, keeping close to the low stone wall that provided much needed shelter from any watchers in the night.

Spartacus nodded, his gaze following Agron's as he returned it to the sumptuous, sweeping villa to which the tracks had finally led. It towered above the bare countryside that surrounded it, its white columns and flat roofs providing an imposing sight as they gleamed wetly under the cacophony of stars which had begun to emerge from behind their blanket of leaden grey clouds. A high stone wall surrounded it, a rarity for this form of property, but likely much needed as a means of defence and deterrence against roaming bandits or any other such group. Agron gave it little thought. The skills he had been taught in the ludus of Batiatus would make scaling such defences of minor consequence. A broad wooden gate was set into the walls, facing out to the east, where the sprawling folds of two adjoining hills broke the horizon, separated by a vast stretch of trees so dark it was almost lost to the night's shadows.

'Your sword will soon have the flesh it desires,' Spartacus answered. 'Yet it is with united attack that we stand best chance of securing victory.'

Agron snorted, then looked to Crixus as he came to kneel down next to them. Like him and Spartacus, Crixus was spattered with black mud that coated his calves, thighs and stomach, camouflaging him so that only his bare chest and face, both flecked with streaks of dirt and filth, seemed to melt out of the shadows.

Placing one hand on the grip of his sword, Crixus leaned in towards them, so close that Agron could see the beads of sweat that coated his forehead from the chase they had made to gain time lost to the rains. 'Something is not right within,' Crixus muttered darkly. 'There has been some upset this night.'

Agron was silent, knowing that Crixus spoke the truth. The villa before them blazed with light, an angry beacon in an ocean of shifting shadows. From the property echoed shouts and calls and the whinnying of horses, coupled with the sporadic wailing of an upset child. The villa gates hung open, untended, and Agron wondered why they were so. Had it something to do with Nasir?

His fingers tightened around the grip of his sword. During the last long stretch of their journey, as they had fought to better their speed with every step, the fear that haunted him had hardened into a ruthless anger that pulsed and pounded, threatening vengeance to all in its way. He would make any Roman fuck who had laid hand on Nasir pay for their trouble.

Next to him, Spartacus gestured at him to move. Agron surged forward impatiently, followed by the rest of their small company. Each of them held weapon in hand, ready to attack on Spartacus' order. Yet Spartacus only led them a bare stretch closer to the villa, moving with practiced swiftness from behind the crumbling stone wall to a sparse, prickly bush that was large enough to cover them all, then over to a scattered couple of fir trees which grew alone and sentinel on the sloping plain that was covered with starlit grass.

Finally, he came to a halt not a hundred feet from the westernmost side of the high wall that ran around the villa, formed of large blocks of a pale grey stone. Agron halted close behind him with Crixus at his side, and the rest of the group gathered about them, each making sure to keep crouched low to the ground. So close to the villa, they could easily hear the distinct shouts of men as those inside the walls milled about, apparently in great upset.

'They provide simple target,' Crixus growled, 'undefended and unknowing of our approach. They fail even to place watch upon wall. Enough of this waiting. We must launch fucking attack and take back what they would have from us!'

Agron flicked a glance at him, taken back by the vehemence behind his words. He had not thought the man had ever held much concern for Nasir. Yet then he caught sight of Naevia, who stood at Crixus' side, a mere slip in the shadows, and suddenly understood the Gaul's determination. Nasir had played large part in securing Naevia's return to Crixus's arms. It now seemed that Crixus was determined to return favour.

Agron realised that Crixus was looking at him with his gaze coal-dark, clearly having felt his eyes upon him. Agron gave him a sharp nod, then turned to Spartacus, leaning in close. 'As the fucking gods would have it,' he murmured in his ear, loud enough for Crixus to hear, 'when it comes to Nasir, I once again find myself in agreement with the Gaul.'

Spartacus' mouth quirked in dark humour. 'So be it,' he said. He glanced around. 'Ready yourselves. We attack on my signal.'

The Romans stood no chance. Agron and his fellows moved as deadly shadows through the night, clearing the gates and walls with ease, scaling them and dropping down into the main courtyard before anyone knew they were there. They came upon a household half-empty and in complete pandemonium. One by one, the few Roman men who remained within the villa walls fell to their swords, to be left lying where they died, their mouths slack and dripping blood as their glassy eyes stared unseeing into the starlit heavens.

Driving a finishing blow through the skull of the man he had just felled, Agron met with Saxa and Donar in the villa courtyard, ignoring the fearful, watching eyes of the women and curious house slaves who peered from the shelter of hallways or from behind elegantly towering columns. 'Nasir?' he demanded of them both as he sheathed his sword, having failed to find him in his short tour of the property. They shook their heads and Agron cursed, his temper, leashed for a short while as they had found their goal and made attack, rising violently as fear, hopelessness and fury warred within him.

A shout from Donar had him turning towards the opposite side of the courtyard, where a cloaked man could just be seen attempting to sneak towards the gates by pressing himself close against a tall wall dressed in shadow. Agron did not hesitate. With a few furious strides, he caught the man up and delivered a fierce kick to his legs, sending him sprawling into the mud face-first. Kneeling down, he grabbed the man's shoulder and wrenched him round so he lay on his back, his mouth opening soundlessly as he gasped for breath. He was of middling years, with dark hair cut close and short and wide-set grey eyes that were filled with fear. Drawing his sword, Agron let the weight of it press heavily against the man's fine blue robe, that looked to be made from rich, luxurious cotton, a far cry from the white cloth he had seen upon the watching slaves.

'Stand you dominus of this villa?' he demanded, nudging the sharp edge of the blade deeper into the folds of blue cloth, which began to blacken as the skin beneath broke and blood began to pool, dark and heavy.

The man shook his head frantically, even as his fingers clawed in the dirt, searching for a saviour or a weapon, Agron did not know. He frowned. The man's breaths were too fast and shallow. Pulling back a little, he cast his eyes over the man's body, noting the way he shook and the paleness of his face that was, he realised, more from loss of blood than from fear. The man had been wounded already. Agron growled, realising that he likely had little time before the man left the world for that beyond.

Leaning down, he grabbed the man's robe between his clenched fist. 'What happened this night?' he demanded.

The man gasped, his eyes wide and terrified. 'The slave…' he managed. 'The boy, he-'

He cut off, choking on blood that had begun to trickle from the side of his mouth. Yet Agron was distracted from asking any further questions by the sound of his name.

'Agron!'

He turned to see Naevia half-hidden in the doorway that led to the villa's interior rooms. She beckoned him closer, her movements urgent. 'Eyes need fall on what lies within!' she called to him.

Agron looked between her and the man underneath him, conflicted. Either path might bear the answers he needed. Fortunately, he was relieved from making choice when Saxa stepped forward, daggers flashing in her hands as she spun them between her fingers. 'Leave him,' she said, in the tongue they shared. 'He will sing like bird.'

With a nod of gratitude, Agron rose to his feet and strode after Naevia, who had already disappeared between the doorway. Quickening his strides, he caught up to her a little way down the passage and followed her through a multitude of passages that were littered with the bodies of dead Roman soldiers. Finally, they emerged into a large room lit by torches set high up on the walls. Crixus was there, his sword bloodied and with a cut on his forehead that was dripping blackly into his eyes as he waited for them. Agron looked about, taking in the bodies on the floor, the table that lay upset on its side, and the food and wine that was spilled haphazardly on the ground. Finally, he gazed at the luxurious pile of rugs and blood-stained cushions that sat in the middle of the room.

His mouth tightened. He had seen such rooms before, at other villas they had liberated, had spoken to the slaves they had freed there, and he knew well enough what such a stage was for. Beside him, Naevia was silent, and he knew that her thoughts had taken her on a similar path, into dark memories all too recent.

Crixus nodded towards the bodies that lay on the floor and gestured at them with the point of his sword. 'Three men felled in here alone, and another outside the door. Your boy does well.'

Agron lifted his chin in acknowledgement, fighting back the fear that threatened to make itself known as the sight of the stage battered against his mind. 'I would expect no less of Nasir.'

Sudden movement caught his eye and he spun to see one of the Romans whom they had taken for dead struggling to rise, despite the grievous wound that ran the breadth of his chest. Agron strode forward. Grabbing the man by his throat, he lifted him easily off the ground and slammed him against the wall, pressing his other arm against his throat. 'Where are your fellows?' he demanded. 'Where stands the dominus of this villa?'

The man, who was older than Agron, with a line of grey hair at his temples, spat a mouthful of blood at him. 'Fucking rebels!'

Agron found himself grinning, despite the fear and anger that battled for dominance within mind and heart. He turned to Crixus and Naevia. 'Reputation proceeds us,' he commented before he turned back to the man and drove his head against the wall, once, twice, then a third time, until he hung half-dazed, supported only by Agron's arm against his neck as he struggled to lift up his head to speak.

'How could it not?' he muttered. 'One of your own brought this villa to its fucking knees.'

Agron's smile vanished. He leant closer, putting further pressure on the Roman's windpipe. 'You speak of some rebel? One taken most recently as slave here? Where is he?'

The man ignored him, instead starting to shudder as his life began to leave him. 'Better that Secundus had put the shit down like the dog he was-' he rasped out between breaths that grew ever more shallow, 'rather than bestowing him with fucking collar!'

'Where is he?' Agron pressed furiously, but the soldier made no response, his lip instead curling in pleasure as the light faded from his eyes and he passed to the next world, denying Agron answer.

'Fucking Roman shit!' Letting the body drop, Agron strode over to the upset table and kicked at it with all his strength, sending it skidding across the clattering against floor so that it hit the wall just as Saxa entered the room, her daggers in one hand as she dragged the Roman that Donar had spied behind her with the other. The man's robe had darkened even more and blood dripped from his nose and mouth, covering the lower half of his face with a foul red mask that gleamed in the torchlight.

'Nothing,' Saxa said, the word sounding strange and unfamiliar as she used what little broken Latin she knew. She swung the man up against a wall and pressed the point of one of her knives to his chest. 'He speaks of Tiberius, not Nasir.' She drew back her hand to drive her blade deep.

'Hold!' Agron surged forward, grabbing the man from her and slamming him against the wall himself. 'Tiberius is the name Nasir went by as a slave.' Lifting his sword, he held its point against the man's neck and leant forwards. 'You broke word of Tiberius to my friend?'

The man nodded, blood trickling out of his mouth as he choked on it.

'Where is he?'

But the man's body began to convulse as he continued to choke and gasp until his body went limp.

Agron threw the man's lifeless body to the ground. 'Fuck!' He spun round to Saxa. 'Stupid shit! He held fucking answer and yet you saw fit to take life!'

Unable to make out his words, yet clearly grasping his meaning, Saxa switched immediately into their own language. 'Death would have come had knife found his gut or not,' she retorted angrily. She cast a disgusted glance at the body of the Roman soldier that lay slumped against the wall by Agron's feet. 'And your own Roman fares no fucking better!'

'Agron!'

Again Agron turned at the sound of his name to see Donar waiting at the door, his hand on its frame. 'Spartacus desires immediate presence.'

Agron's heart stuttered at the words, so reminiscent of those spoken by Mira back at the temple when he had first heard of Nasir's capture. Immediately, he turned on his feel and followed Donar from the room, leaving the others behind.

Donar led him into a large chamber, luxuriously decorated with woven wall hangings, finely carved furniture made from wood and a large bed on which cowered a heavy man robed in fine white cloth, though it was stained red from a shallow wound in the man's side. Spartacus stood over him, his bloodied sword gripped loosely in hand.

'Agron,' Spartacus said evenly, as Agron entered the room, his every sense alert for danger, 'I would have you meet one who names himself dominus to the slave Tiberius.'

Agron's blood surged so that he felt it would boil out of his very skin. He crossed the room so quickly he was hardly certain he had moved until he had stopped beside the bed. His every muscle tense, he reached down to seize the Roman cowering there by the front of his robes, barely noticing the deep purple welts that covered his neck, which seemed swollen beyond normal size. 'You will speak fucking truth or have it cut from mouth,' he growled, lifting the man bodily from the bed. 'Where is Nasir? Find voice and speak!'

The man trembled in his grasp, his jowls shivering. 'I know no one of that name,' he gasped, his voice so hoarse and stuttering that it could barely be heard.

Agron stared at him, almost disbelieving, but Spartacus, who stood close by at his shoulder, cut in smoothly. 'We seek the whereabouts of the one you call Tiberius,' he said, his voice lending a calmness and strength that was far from Agron's reach at that moment. 'Speak and your death will be kind.'

The man began to shake his head, desperation in his eyes. 'I know not! Tiberius made attempt on life when I went to bed him, then fled from villa! Soldiers went in pursuit, that is all I know!'

'Where did he go?' Spartacus demanded.

The man snivelled. 'I know not! I swear it by the gods.'

Agron drew his sword and laid it at the man's swollen throat. 'And if you did?'

'He would tell us.' Spartacus laid a restraining hand on Agron's shoulder. 'Look upon his eyes. He stands coward. He would speak whatever truth would save his life. We must seek some other source of knowledge. I would have you go. Gather with others in courtyard. I will deal with this one.'

Agron scowled, knowing Spartacus' words for sense. He released the man's robes and had turned away when the man's words of a moment ago caught up with him. Carefully, he laid his hand upon the hilt of his sword, where it hung sheathed by his side, and spoke without turning back towards the bed. 'You stand dominus here?' he asked softly. 'And you sought to bed Tiberius?'

From the silence behind him, he could tell the man had realised he had spoken in error. 'He was my brother's body slave,' the whisper finally came, so weakly it was barely audible.

'And you harboured intent to make him your own? To bed him for your own fucking pleasure?'

There was no response this time. Agron nodded, just once, then spun and drove his sword through the man's chest with all his strength. The dominus spluttered briefly, his eyes wide and fixed on the blade that was buried half into the mattress as blood bubbled from his chest and mouth and nose. Finally, he stilled and silenced and his gaze took on the glassiness of the dead.

Agron stared down at him, his mouth set in a grim line. 'Death came too swiftly,' he said, not taking his eyes of the body before him.

Spartacus nodded, clapping an understanding hand on Agron's shoulder. 'It served to speed our search.'

Agron shook his head. 'Would that I had time to peel skin from flesh and bones before he left this world.' All of his anger slipping suddenly from his grasp, he turned miserable eyes on Spartacus. 'What the man spoke of…'

Spartacus sheathed his own sword at his belt, cutting Agron off. 'He spoke of Nasir making attempt on his life,' he said firmly. 'And the villa was in upset before we made our presence felt. Nasir has proved he is not without defence. You have trained him well.' He tightened his grip on Agron's shoulder. 'Hope remains high that we will find him, Agron.'

'You are Agron?'

They turned as one to see a slim wisp of a girl silhouetted in the open doorway. Like the crash of waves upon the shore, Agron's fury returned, as sharp and dangerous as it had ever been. In a few short strides he had her by the throat, her feet dangling up off the floor. The girl choked, her arms and legs dangling and her eyes wide in her white face, which paled even further as she laid a frantic gaze on the body on the bed.

'Agron!' Spartacus shouted. 'Release grip before death seizes her! Look to collar! She stands slave here!'

Becoming aware of the dark strip of metal that he could just feel beneath his hand, Agron lowered the girl to the floor and let her go, keeping a sharp eye on her as she staggered backwards. 'You spoke my name,' he demanded. 'How?'

The girl stared up at him, one hand clutching at her throat. 'He told me of you,' she rasped. 'He said you held his heart.'

Agron's heart began to beat faster. 'You spoke to Nasir?'

The girl shook her head, confusion settling into her eyes. 'The one I broke words with went by Tiberius,' she said. 'He told me a man named Agron would come for him.'

Agron's heart clenched in his chest and he stepped forward, only to have the girl retreat from him with fear in her eyes.

Spartacus laid a restraining hand on Agron's chest and pushed him back a few steps before moving forward himself. 'Tiberius was small, yes?' he asked her. 'Dark of hair and skin?'

The girl nodded, dropping her hand to her side. 'You are Spartacus?' she asked nervously. 'The bringer of rain?'

Spartacus nodded and a faint smile lit the girl's face, ridding her of the fear that haunted her eyes. 'He spoke of you as well. Plan was for him to serve my dominus. But he made escape.'

'Escape?' Agron repeated urgently, unable to keep silent despite Spartacus' hand upon his shoulder. ''Which way did his path lie?'

The girl's eyes widened but she held her ground and pointed a tremulous hand. 'West. He made for the mountains. Or so spoke the guards.'

Spartacus nodded. 'You have our gratitude-'

'Aemelia.'

'Aemelia,' Spartacus repeated. 'I would have you wait upon our return with all others who were slaves here. Close gates and barricade all doors until we return. I would see each of you free from the bonds of slavery.'

The girl smiled, her narrow face softening with the expression, and she nodded resolutely. As Agron and Spartacus turned to go, she called them back. 'Hold! Soldiers…a company of them, along with two of my dominus' guests, they went in pursuit towards mountains. And Tiberius was not without hurt.'

Spartacus raised a hand in acknowledgement and farewell. 'You have our gratitude, Aemelia.' Swiftly, he ushered Agron out of the room and Agron went, pausing a moment to pull his sword free from the body on the bed. Together, they made for the central courtyard of the villa, breaking into a run in silent accord as they passed through the villa's many corridors.

'It seems liberating worthless house slaves is often of more worth than not,' Spartacus murmured, as he jogged by Agron's side.

Agron ignored him, looking instead out through an open window as they passed it and taking in the clearing sky and the faint brush of early dawn that he could see just starting to lighten the horizon. 'Let us hope the girl speaks truth,' he muttered. 'I would have Nasir back in my arms before night ends.'

Spartacus nodded. 'As would I, brother.' He clapped a hand on Agron's shoulder. 'Come. We shall gather the others, then make pursuit towards the mountains. It is time to finish what Nasir began.'

TBC