16.

A sudden heat seized him, like loops of hemp twining around his limbs and neck. Sweat trickled, followed by a gasp. Groping at the straws under him, Xeator popped open his eye. 

The roof of the tent billowed in ripples. Next to him on the brazier, the charcoal hissed and glowed. 

Propping on his elbows, he sat up. Vertigo rushed up his head, taking his eye to a spin. He dropped supine again. 

"You look terrible." Julius' voice rose from above. 

"Do I?" 

"That won't do. We need you splendid." he snorted, his feet tapping. "When the people of Pethens see that the traitor's son from thirteen years ago has returned to stir the country upside down, the healthier and more thriving you appear, the less likely you'll inspire sympathy from them. Ironic, isn't it?" 

Xeator felt the sweat frosting on his back. "My bad," he hummed wryly. "I thought you'd be different. Guess fever does make one stupid." 

"Oh, but I am different," Julius' voice hovered to the left. "I am better. I beat you at your own game! And I'll hand you over to Pethens as a gift weighty enough to trade for Father! With some clever diplomacy, I might as well have my autonomy here! I guess I have you to thank," he paused, whipping up a mirthless laugh. "None of it would have happened had it not been for all your schemes for nothing!" 

Xeator chewed off the dead skin on his lip, savoring the wonted, metallic taste of blood. He peeled open his eye. On the lattice wall were large hangings of maps. Above them, rafters tilted to the center of the roof ruffled by the howling wind. 

"My father was no traitor; he was betrayed, by yours," he crooned with a sting in his voice. "I thought, stupidly, that of all the people, you'd be different enough to tell the difference."

"Piss off!" Julius snarled. "After everything you've done, you expect leniency for old time's sake?"

Think. Clutching at the straws, he thought. And stop feeling! Feelings got you in this plight! Now think yourself out of it! Think of a way to mash him in his own feelings! 

"You're right," he said, holding himself up on a crooked elbow. "I came for vengeance, and I almost had it. But because I never really knew what to do about you, I started to lose. I thought that by crushing you, I'd make your lord father feel how he made me feel thirteen years ago. But then, it dawned on me that I can never settle the score with him, for how can losing a son for him ever be the same as for me losing my, everything? Everything that included you! And as for you," he sneered. "Too bad you're not just his son. You were also Cato's friend, his brother, one he thought he could die for and stand beside for life. While I can never know how much pain losing you would inflict on your father, I know Cato wouldn't want it." His breath tickled, rattling in his throat. He meant every word he said and hated himself for it. 

"Trade me for your father, I don't care." he sniffed and gulped. "I died thirteen years ago, and don't mind doing it again. But let's not jump too far ahead. You need to fight off the Turisians first to be even considered for entering the bargain." 

With his back to Julius, he sat up and plucked a straw from the floor. Holding it between his lips, he drew his lap to his chest, his arms upon knees. 

Julius didn't speak or move. The lattice walls creaked, braving the wind. A swish of steps heralded Julius' squire, who lurched headlong through the wall flaps. 

"General Julius!" he sounded startled. "An envoy has been sent from Lorenzo's camp!" 

Skewing around on his hips, Xeator spat out the straw and clambered to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Julius glowering at him. 

"Send him in," Julius croaked. 

The wall flaps flipped again; in came a brawny man well over six feet tall, with tousled curls parting in the middle and sullen eyes under bushy brows as thick as the face was thin. His beard, however, was braided and bedeight with rings and chips of gemstones. Under a fur cloak, he wore the livery trimmed with the Legidus' leaping panther. A rough-hewn box jutted from under his arm. He held out the box at Julius in one hand. 

"What is it?" asked Julius, one brow spiking at his hairline. 

The brawny shrugged, his head lopsided. 

"Are you mute or deaf?" Julius snapped. 

Without a word, the man regarded Julius; disdain rippled in his narrowed eyes. He plodded to Julius' mahogany table and thudded the box upon the pile of maps. 

Prickled by a misgiving, Xeator felt his heart clench. Whatever was laid in the box wasn't part of his plan. "The Turisian sent you, didn't he?" He tilted to the envoy. 

Who only jerked his lips to a crooked smile. 

Xeator skewed around to Julius. "Don't open it! Whatever is in there, it's meant to provoke you!" 

Julius looked daggers at him, his cerulean eyes ridden with rage. Every time they were pit to fight, or when Julius wanted the room to quiet so as to declare to the world that he had nothing to prove, he gave that look without a word. And without a word, Xeator knew his mind had been made. 

Reaching for the box, Julius trembled; his veins throbbed, bulging down his neck. His cheeks balled and sank as he pulled the lid. Rank stench of gore and carrion cleaved through the air like a hatchet. Julius' face scrunched up while he thudded the table with both fists. He sobbed, gasping in grief.

At the bottom of the box was laid a decapitated head facing up. It looked fairly young, swarthy with a prominent forehead streaked with dirt and high cheekbones straddling a broad nose tipping skyward. His eyes were closed, jaws opened, through which peered ivory teeth. 

Xeator frowned and shut his eye. Must it be the head of Quirinus Silvus, he thought. Julius' reaction had confirmed it.

Fuck.