The journey back west toward Moguntiacum took far less time, Titus noticed, than the journey east. He was content to let the centurion set the pace, signing his name wherever the man pointed so they could commandeer fresh horses from each way station. “With a different horse every day,” Vix complained, “you’d think I’d get a good one at least once. But no. They all hate me.” Titus got used to leaning over and hauling Vix back into his saddle by the neck of the tunic whenever he started sliding down the horse’s shoulder. Even with the grueling pace, Titus didn’t mind the return journey so much. Maybe it was just the difference of having someone to share dinner with at the way stations now. “I’m sure Cicero or Juvenal had something clever to say about exhaustion and dirt grinding away the barriers of birth,” he told Vix one night, head tipped back in his chair, their boots propped identically before the common-room fire. “But I am for once too tired to come up with a single quote.”

“God be thanked,” said Vix, his eyes closed. “Pass the bread.”

Titus stared into the fire in the crude little way station’s common room. His boots were steaming. “I suppose you’ll think me a dreadful coward if I tell you I was terrified,” he found himself saying. “When I saw those Dacians coming at me…” His feet had felt like they were bedded in stone; all he could do was stare frozenly as they grew closer, closer—until Vix’s arm found his, jerking him up onto the horse so violently he could hardly move his arm in its socket the next day. “Terrified is putting it mildly,” Titus concluded.

“I pissed myself the first time I was in the arena and I saw a man coming at me with a sword.” Vix tore off a mouthful of bread, reaching up unconsciously to touch the little amulet hanging at his neck. “Everyone’s terrified, when the moment comes at you.”

“What did you do?”

“Pushed the fear down and killed him first. All you can do, if you don’t want to die.”

“I would have died, if you hadn’t picked me up out of that road.” Titus felt awkward. The words Thank you seemed hopelessly inadequate.

“Don’t mention it,” Vix said, eyes still closed. “And don’t mention what I said either, about pissing myself, or I’ll have to kill you.”

“Done.” Titus tore off a chunk of bread for himself. “What’s that token around your neck you keep playing with?”

“Nothing much.”

“You made sure to touch it before you jumped into that fight with the Dacians,” Titus noted. “Good-luck charm?”