Chapter 6: nomen

Night had fallen again and Tiberius sat alone, leaning against a pillar. All around him the rebels were celebrating again. At this pace Dominus' supply of wine would soon be gone. The other freed slaves were trying to fit in. He could see them sharing cups and laughs. Tiberius still did not care to join in. He stared across the courtyard. There he stood. The bringer of rain. The bringer of blood and death was more like it. Tiberius wondered if they would let him go. Spartacus had spoken of freedom and choice. What if he chose to leave and throw himself at the feet of the first Roman he encountered? What if he took his freedom and placed it in the hands of a new master? He very much doubted that Spartacus would have approved of this choice. As much as he doubted that he really had the choice to leave at least not as long as it could endanger the rebels. They would not risk him telling the Romans where they were and how many. Maybe he could stay behind when they finally moved on. Tiberius had no intent of joining the rebellion. He had trained and earned sore limbs from it but he had not broken words with anyone but Spartacus, not exchanging more than ten words. He was not at ease with these people and doubted he ever would be. He felt suspicion everywhere he turned and returned the sentiment. These were not his people. He had no place in their world.

He noticed the presence at his side but was not willing to acknowledge it until Agron broke the silence. Only then did he turn and accept the cup. After all, not long ago the man had voted for his death and as he was sure the sentiment had not passed he thought it wise not to anger him. Listening to other people's conversations over the course of the day Tiberius had learned a few things about the gladiator. Agron was from lands east of the Rhine, he had a temper and was one of Spartacus' most trusted friends, one considered a brother.

Even crouched beside him he was tall and Tiberius felt strangely intimidated. At least he had enough practice in hiding his feelings that he could be sure Agron would not notice. He studied him from the corner of his eyes. The German seemed to be a hardened warrior but there was something that did not fit, something just underneath the surface. If only he knew what it was, he might have used it for his benefit.

This mystery had to wait for the moment as Agron asked for his name. When he told him, it suddenly tasted as heavy as the first time he had spoken it. He did not lie, he was more Roman than Syrian. He hardly remembered the land he had been born in but for the searing sun. Nevertheless, the name had never completely lost all its foreignness. Was he supposed to feel offended by the mention of this one Syrian Agron once knew?

And again Agron asked. Tiberius was surprised at the interest in him. This time the answer was not that easy. Of course he had had a family. He must have had a mother and a father once but they had faded to nothingness. Only Adad still visited his dreams in some nights but they were becoming fewer and fewer. The last time had surely been months ago. The laugh that once had been so distinct in his ear was sounding ever more distant, the smile blurred. His brother's voice was all he could really hold on to and he was not sure he wanted to. His life had become so much easier once he had let go of the illusion to see his family again. Somehow he had never been able to ban Adad from his thoughts.

"I only recall a brother," he said after a moment. The boy inside him felt betrayed. Had he not vowed to never speak of his brother again? His dreams and memories were the only things that really were his own and he had guarded them carefully. What compelled him to lower this guard now he could not have said.

"I too had a brother."

"No longer?"

"He was struck down by the Romans."

That was the something. Tiberius could see it in Agron's eyes and hear it in his voice. The loss of the brother at Roman hands was still fresh, a festering wound that had yet to scar. Tiberius did not feel pain when thinking about his brother, nor loss or longing. He had had to mourn when he had been too young to understand it completely. Now Adad was but a voice for him, nothing that could trouble him much. Agron on the other hand was more affected and it told Tiberius more about the man than every word he had heard from others. It was a weak spot. Finally.

"When you turned swords against them?" He kept his voice level and studied Agron's reaction. He was pleased to see the remark hit the sore spot. Anger flashed over the other man's face and a heavy breath escaped his lips but he did not lash out. He simply smiled at him in a way Tiberius had never seen anyone smile before. It was a mixture between mad determination and serious conviction, mingled with grief, a sad smile and yet somehow not.

"As you shall one day if you hold any fucking sense." The smile vanished with these words and gave way to a grave expression before he stood up and left Tiberius more thoughtful than before.

"Can you do what is asked?" Of course he could do it. He was the only one amongst the freed slaves who could. The real question was: Would he do it? And they all knew it, Spartacus, Agron, Crixus and most of all Tiberius. If he refused, the rebels would have a problem but one of them would probably kill him for this decision and if he had learned one thing as a body slave it was how to survive. So he nodded his agreement.

"I will personally see him to afterlife if he makes attempt at betrayal." As if this threat was necessary. Tiberius remembered Crixus making a very similar one after he had tried to see Spartacus from this world. Just as in that night he did not answer and only met the Gaul's stare.

"I am sure the little dog knows better than to bark at wrong tree," Agron remarked, once again the acid dripping from his words. Tiberius did not answer him either and turned to open the doors to the Romans and break words.

He had his hands folded behind his back, standing just straight enough to convey the pride of a trusted body slave but not so much as to give a sense of defiance in regard to the soldiers. He chose his words carefully and his looks even more so. This was his place in the world and it was going well until the soldier cast a closer look and Tiberius felt the missing weight of his collar. A mistake. If he wanted to survive he had to delay the parting of the Romans. He spoke the invitation and chaos broke out around him. Someone knocked him to the ground and someone's sword landed at his feet. It took him a moment to regain a sense of what was happening. The Roman soldiers and the rebels were fighting and it looked as if the Romans stood little chance being outnumbered by far.

However, the one solider Tiberius had spoken to managed to disengage himself and turn to Spartacus who had his back to him. Tiberius eyed the weapon on the floor before him. He could remain where he was and do nothing. He could sit and watch the soldier kill Spartacus and finish this rebellion. It was what he had attempted himself not long ago and no one could hold it against him. After all he barely knew how to hold a sword. If the Romans let him live, there would be a new master and he could go back to his life of some comfort and sense of security, knowing where his place was in this world. It was what he had wished for since Spartacus and his men had attacked the villa, was it not? If the Romans let him live, if he got a chance to explain what had happened here, if the new master valued his services. If, if, if.

And then there were Spartacus' words in his ears: One of your own choosing.

It was a curious feeling to force the blade into the man's back. The flesh gave less resistance than expected. Tiberius had imagined it to be a difficult thing but the blade cut through the man with ease. He pulled back the sword and stared at the Roman falling down, then at Spartacus. His breath came heavy. Before he could say a word Crixus grabbed him by the throat and pinned him to a pillar, angrily pointing a sword at him and shouting. Tiberius explained and was released from the grip. For a moment no one spoke a word and he regained control of his breath. He had just stabbed a man and not just any man, a Roman. As you will one day if you hold any fucking sense. Or had he completely lost all sense? He felt confused, conflicted even and wished to be by himself though he did not dare to leave just yet.

"You did well, Tiberius." Spartacus put a hand to his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. There was gratitude in them for saving his life and a spark of respect. Tiberius. The name had never sounded more Roman before. Spartacus and his men had presented him with a choice and Tiberius knew he had just made his. There was no going back from this point on. He had killed a Roman and with him the Roman in himself. Whatever that meant. If he was not Roman, if he was not Tiberius who was he?

"Nasir," he heard himself say. A laugh flashed in his memory, followed by Adad's voice calling out his name as if his brother wanted to tell him: There is your answer. He did not look at Spartacus who had turned around. He directed his words at Agron, who would understand their full meaning. At least Tiberius hoped he would. He had to suppress the sudden impulse to run his fingers across Agron's lips to remove the blood that coloured them. Instead he made sure the other man looked into his eyes when he said: "My brother called me Nasir."

It was the simple small nod that Agron made in recognition of the words that marked the death of Tiberius and gave life to Nasir again.