Page 44 of Thawed Gladiator: Cassius (Awakened From the Ice #3)

Chapter Forty-Four

C assius

Sweat drips down my back as I work. Each methodical scrape of the manure fork against the stall floor is a meditation. The familiar scent of hay and horses surrounds me, grounding me in the present moment.

Through the barn doors, I can see Alex perched atop Buddy, following Diana’s gentle instructions. Their confidence grows with each lesson, though they still tense when I come too near.

The sound of an approaching truck breaks through my thoughts, followed by Dominus the goat’s indignant bleat as he darts between Atlas’s legs. The little goat has developed an uncanny ability to escape Thrax’s attempts to contain him, usually choosing the most inconvenient moments to make his appearances. Atlas, used to the kid’s antics by now, merely flicks an ear as Dominus headbutts his ankle playfully before racing toward the incoming truck.

This is the hay delivery we’ve been expecting. I step out of the stall, surprised by the big truck’s speed. He’s coming in too fast, kicking up gravel and causing dust to drift toward the corral where Diana is working with Alex.

Out in the training yard, I glimpse several of my fellow gladiators sparring. Thrax pauses mid-strike, his attention drawn to the truck’s noisy arrival. When the driver swings out of the cab, something about his demeanor sets me on edge. His dirty bright green cap and stained shirt suggest personal hygiene ranks well below judgmental sneering on his priority list.

“Where you want this load?” the driver directs his question at me, completely ignoring Diana, who is much closer to him. His gaze sweeps over the scene, lingering too long on Alex as his expression hardens into obvious disapproval. “And what is that supposed to be?”

The cruel emphasis on “that” slices through the air like a blade, speaking volumes about his negative judgments. Alex’s face crumples, tears welling instantly in their brown eyes. They curl in on themselves, trying to disappear, while Diana stands frozen, clearly caught between comforting Alex and addressing the driver’s bigotry.

My warrior’s blood burns with righteous fury. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to teach this fool what it means to face a gladiator’s wrath.

White-hot rage surges through me. My first instinct is to grab this stultus by the throat, to remind him how it feels to be powerless and afraid. My muscles coil, ready for violence. The gladiator in me—the warrior who survived matches in the arena—demands blood for this insult.

But then I see Alex’s tear-stained face, and another path presents itself. What lesson would violence teach? That might makes right? That fear is the only way to change minds?

No. I am not that man anymore.

“Diana.” My voice is steady despite my fury. “Please translate my words for him.”

She nods, her face hopeful.

I step forward, drawing myself to my full height. “That is a brave young person who deserves your respect.” I pause as Diana translates, her voice growing stronger with each word.

The driver spits a stream of dark liquid on the ground, causing the taste of bile to rise halfway up my throat. “Respect? For what? ”

I continue in Latin, Diana translating phrase by phrase. “I was born two thousand years ago, in a world that valued strength above all else. We thought we knew everything about how people should be, should live, should act. We were wrong about many things.”

His eyes widen as Diana’s translation helps him realize exactly who and what I am. Good.

“This child has more strength than any gladiator I ever faced in the arena,” I say, gesturing toward Alex, who watches with wide eyes. “They face a battle every day, fighting not with swords but with the simple courage to be who they are.”

The driver’s face reddens as Diana relays my words. He starts to speak, but I hold up my hand, continuing in Latin.

“You have a choice now. You can be the man who made a child cry today, who added his voice to those who would deny them dignity. Or you can be better. Can learn. Can grow.” I pause, letting Diana catch up. “Which man do you want to be?”

He shifts uncomfortably, glancing around at the gathering audience. Thrax and the others have formed a loose semicircle, their presence a silent reminder that this is a place of acceptance.

“Just tell me where to put the hay,” he mutters.

“Diana, tell him he can put it in the hayloft,” I say, “ after he apologizes to Alex.”

When Diana translates this, the driver balks. “Now wait a minute—”

“Tell him,” I interrupt firmly, letting Diana translate, “the apology, or he can take his delivery elsewhere. And his employer might be interested to hear why we no longer wish to do business with his company.”

For a moment, I think he’ll refuse. Then his shoulders sag. He turns toward Alex, who still sits atop Buddy, their shoulders no longer slumped.

“I’m… sorry,” he manages.

It’s not much, but it’s a start. I nod toward the loft, and he hurries back to his truck, eager to escape the tension.

When he’s behind the barn, out of sight, I approach Buddy slowly, careful to maintain a respectful distance from Alex. “Are you alright?”

They nod, wiping their eyes. “That was… thank you.”

“No thanks needed,” I reply through our translators. “We look after our own here at Second Chance.”

Diana’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something there—pride? Approval? Whatever it is makes my heart soar. But I maintain my professional distance, simply nodding before striding toward the dining hall to grab some snacks. Alex earned them.

As I pass my fellow gladiators, Thrax claps me on the shoulder. “Well handled, brother.”

“Indeed,” Quintus adds. “You’ve learned well.”

Their words warm me, but it’s the small smile Alex gives me later, as they lead Buddy back to his stall, that truly tells me I chose the right path. Violence might win battles, but understanding wins hearts.

I am not the man I was, either in Rome or in my early days here. I’m becoming someone new—someone better. Someone worthy of the second chance I’ve been given.