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“What make you of the newest recruits?” he asks, leaning against the wall of his cell. Melitta curls her feet beneath her and leans forward to accept the cup of water from his outstretched hand.
It is a strange thing that Melitta, who calms her domina with soothing words and plays the role of mother to the young girls of the villa, has developed such a keen eye for the gladiatorial arts. It is not so unexpected, when one serves in a ludus, but it is her passionate understanding of the games and the meaning they hold to a fighting man that give Oenomaus pause.
“The Celt – “
“Gannicus?”
“Gannicus,” she nods, taking a sip of water. “The only one among them who shows promise.”
“I fear he has not the cause to give it breath.”
“Yet passion stirs in his eyes. Though perhaps he will never rise above the rest, it will be enough. Cause and honor are of higher merit – leave such things to champions.”
They lock eyes as she lifts the cup once more to her lips, and for the briefest of moments Oenomaus could swear he watches the future unfold in her dark gaze.