Spartacus: Blood - And Sand

His name was Pelorus. He was older, his back a lattice of scar tissue, his left hand missing the last two fingers. He had been a champion once, ten years ago, in the time of Titus Batiatus, the current lanista’s father. Now, he was the ostiarius —the gatekeeper. He did not fight. He did not train. He sat on a stool by the inner gate of the ludus, oiling straps, sharpening practice swords that would never see a real throat, and watching.

“You,” Batiatus spat. “You traitorous relic. You told the woman something. You poisoned her mind.” spartacus: blood and sand

“You?” Spartacus said, astonished. “The gatekeeper?” His name was Pelorus

Pelorus watched her from the shadows. He saw the fear in her eyes—not the fear of death, but the hollow, gnawing fear of hope being tortured. Now, he was the ostiarius —the gatekeeper

He took a heavy coin purse from the dead man’s belt and walked out into the burning ludus. Spartacus, bloody sword in hand, stood amid the wreckage. He saw Pelorus emerging from the smoke, the purse in his hand, Batiatus’s blood on his tunic.