He glanced quickly left and right, as if half-expecting an ambush.
“What plagues you?”
“I desire audience with dominus.”
Oenomaus’s eyes narrowed.
“Impossible. The hour is late. Ask again tomorrow.”
“I prefer to ask now,” Spartacus insisted.
Still Oenomaus regarded him suspiciously.
“What is urgent that cannot wait till morning?”
Spartacus took a deep breath.
“I have given thought to Crixus’s words. I believe I possess solution to recent difficulties.”
The villa was quiet and dimly lit. Spartacus was escorted to Batiatus’s study and shown inside.
Batiatus was sitting at his desk, studying scrolls which Spartacus guessed from his dour expression were household accounts. However, his face brightened when Spartacus entered the room. He stood, extending his arms in greeting.
“How fares my champion?”
“I am well, dominus.”
“You fought well today. Like a lion choosing moment to strike.”
“A tactic born of necessity, dominus. I fear it less pleasing to a crowd seeking spectacle.”
“Fuck the crowd,” Batiatus said dismissively. “Perhaps it was not single most
“Well received, dominus,” Spartacus muttered with a curt nod.
Batiatus beamed, and took a moment to regard his champion, looking on him with the same acquisitive smugness that a man might regard a prized possession-a rare jewel or a much-revered piece of statuary. Then he waved his hand in a flourish, indicating that Spartacus should speak.
“Doctore informs that you desire audience for discussion of recent afflictions.”
“Yes, dominus. The men are reduced by weakness and illness, as you saw evident in today’s games.”
A frown appeared on Batiatus’s face, briefly darkening his good humor.
“It does plague mind and cast cloud over future. Is there still talk of sorcery among the men?”
Spartacus hesitated and then shook his head.
“They do not speak of it openly. But the notion may yet reside in thoughts. And if the mystery lingers …”
“It will fester like open wound,” Batiatus said darkly.
Spartacus nodded.
“You come with proposal?” Batiatus said. “Break open head and share thoughts.”
“The truth of it stands difficult to embrace,” Spartacus replied.
“Arrive at it before the night is over.”
“I have extended thought on this, and come to one conclusion.”
Batiatus’s face was grim.
“I wager it is one that will put sour taste upon palate.”
“I fear so, dominus.”
Batiatus rolled his eyes wearily.
“Spill unpleasant words. The absence of other recourse demands it.”
Spartacus took a deep breath.
“The night Crassus and Hieronymus were honored in your house, as your gladiators labored to entertain guests in the villa, Crixus spied intruder in the ludus.”
“What kind of intruder?”
“He glimpsed figure but momentarily. A dark shape, he said. Moving past door of infirmary. Crixus called out, thinking it the medicus, but received no reply.”
Batiatus shrugged. “Doubtless a vision plucked from fevered head. It is not uncommon to witness self-made phantoms when humors in the body burn and scorch.”
“A thing I considered as well, dominus. But Crixus assures his mind was banished of fever.”
Batiatus waggled his head from side to side as though weighing up the argument.
“Continue the telling.”
“Crixus called for medicus, who appeared after a moment, dazed with sleep. Crixus urged him to seek the intruder but he found none, the gate still locked.”
Batiatus’s eyes narrowed.
“The hour is late and I do not wish weary ear to hear claim that phantom passed through locked gate.”
Spartacus shook his head.
“That is not my belief, dominus.”
“What then?”
Despite the fact that they were alone, Spartacus dropped his voice.
“I believe Mantilus was aided in fiendish endeavors from within the villa. By someone who allowed access to the ludus.”
“Someone from within fucking house?” Batiatus exclaimed, and then a shrewd look crept across his face. “Hold a fucking moment. If Mantilus is
“Perhaps the man is not as blind as he appears,” Spartacus said. “Perhaps the man is not blind at all.”
Batiatus looked at him for a long moment.
“Truth could be found in what you say,” he admitted. “But suggestion remains of the creature aided by a holder of keys within my own villa.”
Spartacus nodded.
Batiatus frowned. “Only villa guards are entrusted with means to move freely about the ludus. Surely entire force of guards don’t plot against me.”
“One only, dominus,” Spartacus said hastily. “Perhaps tempted by glitter of Hieronymus’s coin.”
Batiatus’s jaw clenched.
“You realize nature of words that spill from mouth? You are the Champion of Capua, Spartacus, yet you remain slave. To cast suspicion on Hieronymus, elevated citizen of Capua, is to cast it all the way to Rome. You realize risk of flogging for such a thing, if not more dire punishment.”
“Yes, dominus,” Spartacus said earnestly. “I would not make such accusation with light manner.”
Batiatus stared at him for even longer this time, his expression suggesting that he was barely able to countenance the thought of treachery within his own household.
“To what purpose would Mantilus seek access to ludus?” he said eventually.
Spartacus’s reply was instant.
“To poison the food.”
Batiatus blinked.
“Poison?”
Nodding, Spartacus said, “Poison not to kill, but to rob sense and sap strength from limbs. My belief is that Mantilus entered ludus the night of festivities to taint food with noxious preparation. No doubt sacks of barley and lentils his targets. Some of the men were affected more than others, Felix falling the most infirm. A bare mouthful was sufficient to fill his head with dire vision, pushing him to nearly take leap to his death.”
He fell silent. Batiatus glared at him, as though uncertain whether to direct his fury at perpetrator or messenger. Finally he shook his head savagely.
“Bold theory lacking substance. This lethargy among the men was evident before Mantilus materialized within walls with disturbing presence.”
“An inconsistency which has occupied mind,” Spartacus admitted. “And to which I now bear solution.”
Batiatus raised his eyes to the ceiling, as though addressing the gods themselves. Half in jest and half in
