Page 18 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius (Awakened From the Ice #3)
Chapter Eighteen
C assius
Despite the heat and humidity, my body is comfortable as I sit with Diana on her small porch. Thrax and Skye’s mischievous goat Dominus trots past, eyeing Diana’s potted plants with obvious intent before a sharp whistle from the direction of the couple’s cabin sends him scampering away.
My mind is whirling, though, as I watch the memory from earlier—slowing it down, dissecting it, not sure what to read into it as I wonder if I went along with my father’s suggestions or fought him on them.
I only realize I haven’t been paying attention to Diana’s increasing anger until her irritated voice rises an octave.
“Can you believe this?” The screen she thrusts at me shows a picture of a young man, dressed in what must be expensive hunting gear, squatting proudly next to the body of a massive dead lion, whose tongue is lolling out of his mouth. The man’s smile is wide, triumphant.
I study the image, trying to understand Diana’s anger. “What am I looking at?” I ask, not wanting to offend her.
Diana huffs, taking the phone back. “That’s Senator Johnson’s son. He paid a fortune to go to Africa to shoot this lion. For fun! ” Her voice drips with disgust. “It’s barbaric. That animal was probably lured out of a protected area just so this rich jerk could feel like a big man.”
I nod, unsure of what to say. Diana’s passion is admirable, but something about the image tugs at me, stirring hazy memories.
“It’s not even a fair fight,” Diana continues. “He used a high-powered rifle with a long-range scope. The lion never stood a chance. How can anyone find joy in killing such a magnificent creature?” After a pause, her voice lowers as she ruefully adds, “Small dick energy.”
As she speaks, the world around me blurs. The porch fades away, replaced by a vast, rolling countryside. The scent of damp earth and pine fills my nostrils, and I can feel the warmth of the morning sun on my face.
I’m astride a powerful horse, its muscular body quivering with anticipation beneath me. In my right hand, I clutch a long spear, its weight familiar and comforting. The sound of excited voices and barking dogs fills the air.
“Cassius!” a voice calls out. I turn to see Marcus, my close friend, grinning at me from atop his mount. “Are you ready for the hunt?”
A smile spreads across my face, matching his excitement. “Always, my friend. Let’s see if the lions are brave enough to face us today!”
We’re on my family’s vast rural estate far outside of the Roman capital, in a section of land set aside for hunting. It’s a mixture of open fields and dense forest, perfect for the challenge we’re about to face. Around us, slaves and attendants bustle about, preparing for the hunt.
The hunt master approaches, bowing slightly. “My lords, the beasts have been spotted near the eastern grove. Shall we begin?”
With a nod from me, we urge our horses forward, excitement coursing through me. The baying of the dogs grows louder when they pick up the scent of our quarry.
As we enter a clearing, I see it—a magnificent male lion, its golden mane catching the sunlight. It was brought all the way from Mauretania for this event. For a moment, our eyes lock—a challenge the beast is sure to lose. My blood is pounding through my veins. This is what it means to be alive, to pit oneself against the raw power of nature.
Following their training, the pack of dogs circles the animal, growling and snapping as they form a barricade from behind, carefully keeping their distance from the beast’s long claws and savage teeth.
The lion, realizing it’s cornered, tosses its head and releases a thunderous roar that seems to shake the very earth. Some of the slaves flinch, but I feel no fear. This is my moment.
“Now!” I shout, spurring my horse forward. The lion charges, all rippling muscle and deadly intent. Time seems to slow as I ready my spear, years of training guiding my movements.
With a powerful thrust, I drive the spear into the lion’s shoulder just as it leaps. The beast roars in pain and fury, but I feel only exhilaration as I hold firm and pull the spear free, leaving a trail of crimson blood flowing down the tawny hide. My horse, well-trained for such hunts, pivots smoothly, keeping me out of reach of the lion’s claws, though I can feel the heat and stench of his breath.
The lion stumbles, weakened by its wound, but it’s not finished. It turns, preparing for another charge. But before it can, Marcus rides in. The lion twists to meet the new challenge just as Marcus’s thrust finds its mark in the thick muscle of the hind leg.
As Marcus pulls his spear free, the beast roars in pain and fury. Together, my friend and I wear down the great beast until, with a final thrust of my spear through its heart, it gives one last defiant growl as it collapses to the ground.
As it heaves its final breath and loses all muscle tone, a cheer goes up from our companions. Marcus claps me on the back, his face flushed with the excitement of the hunt. “Well done, Cassius! A kill worthy of the gods themselves!”
I dismount, standing over the fallen lion. Its eyes, once so fierce, are now glassy and lifeless. I feel no remorse, only a sense of accomplishment and pride. This is what it means to be a Roman of status—to demonstrate mastery over the wild, to prove one’s courage and skill.
“A magnificent beast,” I say, running my hand through its mane. “It will make a fine trophy for the villa’s wall.”
As servants move in to prepare the carcass for transport, others bring us rhytons of wine. These silver horn-shaped vessels are curved at the bottom in a striking depiction of a horse’s head and forelegs, the hind end rising to complete the cup.
Marcus lifts his rhyton to me and dips his head in a nod. “To Cassius,” he toasts, “master of the hunt!”
The others join in the toast, their voices full of admiration and camaraderie. This, I realize, is what it truly means to live: to face danger head-on, to triumph, to earn respect—and perhaps a touch of fear—from one’s peers.
“Cassius?” Diana’s voice pulls me back to the present. I blink, disoriented by the sudden shift. “Are you okay? You look like you’re a million miles away.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I… I remembered something,” I say slowly.
Diana leans forward, her eyes wide with interest. “What was it?”
I hesitate, uncertain how to explain. Will she look at me with the same disgust she showed for the hunter in the picture?
“I killed a lion,” I say finally. “On a hunt. I was on horseback with a spear. It was… exhilarating.”
Diana’s expression is a mix of surprise and concern. “Oh, Cassius. That must have been terrifying.”
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t. I felt alive. Powerful.” The words taste strange in my mouth, at odds with the person I’ve become since waking in this new world.
Diana is quiet for a moment, processing this information. She covers her mouth with her hand, perhaps in an effort to hide her disgust.
“It’s different,” she says finally. “You were from a different time, a different culture. This guy,” she gestures at her phone, “he’s killing for fun in a world that should know better.”
But wasn’t I killing for fun, too? The memory, vivid as it was, didn’t feel like a necessity. It felt like… sport. A game. The realization unsettles me.
“Maybe,” I say, not wanting to argue. “It’s all a bit hazy.”
Diana reaches out, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay. You’re not that person anymore. I guess that explains why you took to the horses so easily. Your muscles remembered.”
Her words are meant to comfort, but they stir up a strange mix of emotions. Am I not that man who killed for sport and felt like a god? If so, then who am I now? The thrill I felt in that memory, the pride in my skill—was that wrong? The memory reinforces something deeper—not just the thrill of the hunt, but the natural order of things. Some are born to command, others to serve. Even here, in this strange time, I notice how the staff defer to Dara’s wealth and power. As they should.
I force a smile, not wanting Diana to see my inner turmoil. “You’re right,” I say. “It’s different now.”
As we sit in silence, watching the last light fade from the sky, I can’t shake the memory of the hunt. The rush of the chase, the weight of the spear in my hand, the respect in my friends’ eyes—it all felt so real, so right.
For the first time in this strange new world, I find myself longing for the past I’m starting to remember. I was strong, confident, obviously respected, and in a position of power. How did I end up a gladiator slave on the ship Fortuna? Who was I? And more importantly, who am I now?
The Cassius who killed that lion without remorse—is he still inside me, waiting to emerge? And if he is, what will that mean for the life I’m building here?