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Felix licked his lips and rubbed his earlobe as the stranger unwrapped the gladius. Its blade gleamed even in the darkness of the alleyway, as did the bull’s head motif on the pommel.
“Do you like it?” asked Felix. His eyes widened as he tried to compensate for the gloom of the alleyway, but for nought. All he could see of the stranger—silhouetted by what light crept into the alley—was a bald head, a beard, and a cloak.
“I need new fighters.”
Ajax, startled, almost wet his bed as Celsus shook him awake. Crying out like a child, he grabbed at Celsus’ thick arms.
“What...?” he said, blinking. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m telling you I need new fighters,” said Celsus, stepping away from the bed and scratching his massive belly. “We’ve just lost Dordalus, Labrax and Petrus.”
Ajax frowned. What did he just say?
“What do you mean ‘lost’?” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes.
“Lost. Dead.” An impatient tone crept into Celsus’ voice. “They were ambushed trying to sell insurance to Hegio…”
“Labrax is dead,” said Ajax. He frowned as he turned the implications over in his head. If Labrax was dead, didn’t that mean—?
“…Which means I’m in charge now,” said Celsus, celebrating with a loud belch and an even louder fart.
