PREVIOUSLY ON SPARTACUS: BLOOD & SAND! In a goddamn nutshell, Sparty got some boo-tay and Ilithyia lost her fucking mind.
Beneath Capua’s arena, an everyday grim gladiatoral spectacle awaits – dead bodies of failed gladiators heaped in the corner, bloodstains everywhere, and chains galore. Spartacus and Varro stand chained loosely together at the arena’s gate, waiting their turn, as the crowd chants Sparty’s name. Varro looks a bit nervous and distracted, as his wife and son have still not been found, and Spartacus isn’t having any of that “distracted by a woman” mishegoss. He wants Varro paying attention to more important things, like NOT GETTING HACKED TO SCREAMING PIECES.
They’re up against at least half a dozen other men also chained together in pairs, in a gory free-for-all that’s got a few pairs down already. Sparty and Varro work their way neatly through the remaining men and heads are severed left and right.
Up in the pulvinus, Calavius and Batiatus chat about Numerius’ upcoming Birthday of Manhood, and reminisce about their own boring 15th birthday parties in comparison. Batty cleverly uses Numerius’ gladiator fanboy ways to convince Calavius to hold the party at the ludus, and Calavius doesn’t stand a chance in the face of Numerius’ wheedling and Batty’s wheelerdealering.
Domitia and Lucretia are off in the girls corner for a chat, and Ilithyia’s name inevitably comes up. When Domitia comments on her absence, Lucretia brushes her concerns off with a casual comment about Ilithyia’s “weak stomach”. Snerk.
Back down on the sand, all the opponents are dead except for one huge bald bear of a man, who uses his massive fucking axe to sever his ankle chain from his dead partner. Giantass Hulkasaur gives Sparty and Varro one hell of a fight, but he’s not counting on the Power of Beffie Teamwork! Sparty and Varro, working as a team just as Spartacus and Crixus totally failed to do, defeat the Hulkasaur by choking him to death with the very chain that binds them together. How lolsomely fraught with ~meaning.
Oh, and then Hulkasaur’s head pops off like a giant zit.
Back at the ludus, it’s another gladiator training scene. YAYS. Duro is having his butt kicked by an increasingly impatient Agron when Our Heroes strut through the gate with Doctore and some guards. The rest of the gladiators run over to fanboy them, while Crixus sulks off in the corner, beating on the training dummy like a cranky toddler.
Varro and Sparty grin at one another and laugh matily about how awesome (very awesome) and lucky (very very lucky) they are, and Varro’s luck is only going to get better. Behind Varro’s back, a visitor is approaching – yep, Mira’s found Aurelia and brought her to the ludus. Varro makes a face like a little boy suddenly offered the biggest piece of unexpected cake ever and grabs his wife for the hug to end all hugs. REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOOOOOD in pants.
Does anyone thank Mira for all her hard (and likely dangerous) work? NO. NO THEY DO NOT. And I am outraged on her behalf. Spartacus gives her a tiny imperial nod of acknowledgment and off she goes with the guards.
AW YEAH AURELIA. So that blood left behind at their house? Before she and the baby fled? It totally wasn’t even hers, y’all. She stabbed RapistDude in the groin and got the fuck out of town to hide out with her brother’s family in the hills, which somehow in my mind translates itself to Topanga Canyon. Yeah, idefk.
Aurelia’s still consumed with horror over her rape-induced pregnancy, but Varro’s finally manned up enough to realize that it’s not her fucking fault, and insists that he’ll love any baby of hers regardless of its origins. Wild sobby kissing follows.
Man, Aurelia has really fucking gorgeously luminous skin. *iz jealous*
Upstairs in the villa, Ilithyia’s in totally scruffy looking crazy hobo mode, hanging out in her nightie and huddling over a censer of burning opium. Lucretia storms in to berate her for not joining them at the arena, which has very little effect on our little dragon-chasing princess. Ilithyia moans and wails about her terrible unending guilt and horror, and Lucretia can’t take another second of her shit. It’s actually pretty hilarious how impatient Lucretia is with people who can’t embrace sociopathy as well as she herself can.
Ilithyia’s too scared to go out and party like it ain’t no thang, so Lucretia’s information that Numerius’ birthday party will be at the villa is initially well received, especially when Lucretia promises to stand by her side the entire time and help her through it. Ilithyia soon realizes that there’s a catch – there’s always a fucking catch with Lucretia, isn’t there? Lucretia wants Ilithyia to personally invite a long, long list of wealthy noble Romans to attend the party, so that Lucretia and Batty can get down to some serious social-climbing business.
The men are quietly cleaning up in the baths when Varro bursts in to tacklehug Sparty while prancing with uxorious delight. Aurelia’s agreed to take him back, and Spartacus preens briefly at the glorious outcome of his scheme. He and Varro and Crixus exchange some of their usual taunts, and then Sparty and Crixus are summoned away to the villa. MAYBE THEY WILL BE REQUIRED TO MAKE OUT TOGETHER YOU GUYS ZOMG.
Meh. They’re required to go up against each other in an exhibition fight for Numerius’ birthday instead. Stupid Numerius, why can’t you make them make out? Batty explains, as they meet in the tablinum, that the fight is only for show and that they’d better not fucking seriously injure one another, or terrible spankings shall follow.
Crixus is so totally and adorably excited to finally fight again! He can barely keep the foolish smile off his face. He’s sent swaggering back down to the ludus alone, as Batiatus wants to gossip a little about Crixus. They agree that he’s ready to fight again, and Batty asks Spartacus’ promise not to embarrass Crixus too badly in the fight. How sweet.
And then, lol of lols, they proceed to the Gladiator Statue Room, where Batty unveils a shiny new bustcock of Spartacus on a white marble plinth.
You guys. That statue is fucking hung. I can’t even.
Batty is all bouncy and excited about how Spartacus has not only saved the House of Batiatus’ waning fortunes but catapulted them to serious fame and glory, and Sparty seems genuinely moved by both Batty’s enthusiasm and his mightily cocked statue. HE IS SO PRESH.
Naevia, carrying an amphora of wine through the villa, is waylaid by Hector the Guard (the dude whose keys she stole last week), who wants to know why she’s been avoiding him. Naevia tries to play it off like she’s been too busy to return his txts, but Hector can tell she’s changed towards him, sobbity. Of course it has, dude. She was just using you to snatch your keys to shag her hotass lovah.
Naevia pretends she was just being friendly and goes to be about her wine-carrying business, but Hector’s counterattack is one she can’t ignore – he’s noticed his keys have gone missing, you see. Before Naevia can scamper away, Hector’s gone all Captain Grabbyhands, ostensibly looking for the key but surely also copping one hell of a feel as well. Naevia puts on her best Lucretia Attitude and haughtily informs Hector that their Lady Mistress would not be pleased to know that any man’s hands were on her personal slave, or that a guard had misplaced his keys. This successfully scares Hector off for the time being, but his tooth-grindy face leaves no doubt that he’ll be holding a grudge. Naevia twists the knife by telling Hector to look to the hordes of women he’s notorious for fucking to see if any of them took the keys instead. BOOYAH.
Batty and Lucretia are getting ready for bed when Naevia arrives with the wine. Batiatus is questioning – foolishly questioning! – Lucretia’s plan for Ilithyia to attend Numerius’ party and invite some important guests, because he never fucking learns. Lucretia is sure of herself and her plan, and easily wins Batty over. And Batty naturally has plans of his own! He’s going to wait til after the exhibition fight, when the crowd is drunk and excited, and then casually bring up the idea of political office to Magistrate Calavius.
Batty’s so confident that his plan will come to delightful fruition that he’s even invited Solonius to the party, specifically to see the look on his face when Batiatus succeeds at his social climbing schemes. Lucretia’s not so sure that Batty should discount Solonius’ ability to strike back at some unforeseen moment in the future, but Batty’s apparently got it all under control. Hmm.
The next morning, the gladiators are at their daily chore of training sweatily in the hot sun. Crixus is still sparring with Duro, who looks like he’s getting a little bit better – or at least a bit less terrible. Sparty and Varro are sparring together as usual, but mostly they’re just having a bit of fun.
Crixus upends Duro onto the sand for the zillionth time today, but when he goes to hand Duro his rudus to get started once again, Duro instead gives him the missio and looks kind of tragic and lost. Agron glances over with concern but doesn’t get involved, as per Sparty’s advice, and Crixus goes off to whack at a training dummy instead.
Lucretia is observing from the balcony and is joined by Ilithyia, who has finally managed to bathe and dress and comb her hair. She’s looking rather like her old glorious self, and is happy to leer at Crixus a bit. Lucretia asks after the important invitations, and Ilithyia assures her that they’ve all be done as requested. They thank each other sweetly for being such good friends to one another, and it seems at least halfway sincere.
But as Spartacus and Varro descend into silly boyish play-fighting below, Ilithyia watches and a terrible plot-hatching expression takes over her face as she expounds poetically on the value of friendship. RUH ROH.
That evening, at dinner, Agron bitches Duro out for “submitting like a fucking girl begging for a cock to split her open”, which, lol. Duro whines that he couldn’t do anything else, and Agron despairs of him ever being a real manly gladiator man. Why doesn’t he just give him a wedgie already?
Sparty and Varro are talking about Varro’s plans for his future and his family, and everything is very happy and hopeful. Varro hopes to move to Sicilia with his family, and wants Spartacus to come visit them one day. But Sparty doesn’t think about gaining his freedom anymore, and that’s all the impetus Crixus needs to throw himself obnoxiously into the conversation, once again accusing Sparty of stealing his title as Champion of Capua. The boys are laughingly dismissive of these claims, but before Sparty and Crixus can throw down (or throw each other down for a wild shag as they SO CLEARLY WANT TO DOOOO), Spartacus is summoned away.
GODDAMMIT SHOW STOP IT WITH THESE INCONVENIENT SUMMONINGS WHEN I WANT TO SEE SOME SWEATY GRAPPLING MANFLESH. SERIOUSLY HOW HARD WOULD IT BE TO HAVE THEM BRIEFLY LICK THE SWEAT OFF EACH OTHER’S POWERFULLY MUSCLED CHESTS I ASK YOU.
ACTUALLY I HOPE IT WOULD BE VERY HARD IYKWIMAITYD.
Upstairs in the tablinum, Batty and Ashur are playing a friendly game of latrunculi when Spartacus arrives with his escort. Batiatus wants to be sure that Spartacus will entertain and distract Numerius while Batty talks shop and social climbing with Calavius, and Spartacus assures him that he’ll do so very well. Spartacus is then distracted by Ashur’s next move in the game, and advises him that the move is unwise. Ashur and Batty both look startled and a bit amused that a mere gladiator would give advice in a game of skill, and Ashur sarcastically invites Spartacus to teach them a lesson. Which, of course, he does, winning the game in two deceptively simple moves. Batiatus is happily impressed, and sends Ashur off for some wine so he can play against Spartacus instead. NEENERS.
Next thing you know, Sparty and Batiatus are playing and drinking together as equals. It’s actually kind of cute, considering that Batty doesn’t seem to have had a male BFF since his falling out with Solonius all those years ago.
Downstairs in the ludus, Naevia is sneakily opening the gate with her stolen key, and Crixus leaps on her like a starving man on a plate of delicious tacos. In his eager foolishness, Crixus bizarrely reveals his plan to kill Spartacus during the exhibition fight, and Naevia is shocked and dismayed, knowing that Crixus could very well be put to death over something like this.
(I just realized why Crixus never smiles, oh my god. HE HAS THE MOST ADORABLE FUCKING DIMPLES EVER. EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.)
Naevia suddenly realizes that she’s wasting valuable sexy sex time in arguing, and seconds later they’re writhing insatiably together on the floor of the pantry. I note with jealous pleasure that Naevia also has totally gorgeous skin, damn girl.
BUT WHAT IS THIS! AN INTRUDER! Of fucking COURSE Ashur is spying on them, oh my god no. Seriously why doesn’t he have a long comedic villain moustache to twirl already! ARGH ASHUR YOU VILE FIEND.
Does he leap from the shadows and shout J’ACCUSE? No, don’t be ridiculous. This is Ashur we’re talking about. He saves each stolen moment like a miser saves his pennies, just waiting for the day he can cash them in and destroy someone’s life.
Meanwhile, Spartacus and Batiatus are still at it – they’ve been drinking and gaming for a while now, as friends and equals and not slave and master. They’re even laughing and joking together, ffs. Batiatus wants to know how someone like Spartacus can be so much better at a game than a man of higher station like himself, but it’s pretty simple if you think about it. Latrunculi is, in essence, a game of strategy, and Spartacus, as a lifelong warrior, knows a hell of a lot about battlefields and strategy.
They reminisce a while about their parents, and Batty gets all philosophical about the dear departed Titus Batiatus and his failed hopes and dreams to ever please his father. Batty is actually so taken with his new friend that he’s even serving Spartacus wine with his own hands, which is pretty fucking unprecedented. They toast each other matily as Batiatus compliments them for both rising above parental expectations and stations in life.
Lucretia walks into this brofest and is completely fucking horrified to see her husband treating a lowly slave as an equal, and Batty’s explanation that Spartacus was helping him better his game is not well taken at all. Batty sends Spartacus off to his cell with thanks and a genuinely friendly smile, which only makes Lucretia more angry. Batty’s further explanation that he’s drinking with the Champion of Capua and not just any lowly slave just digs the hole deeper. Lucretia’s outraged query on why Batty never drank and gamed with Crixus is laughable, because, as we all know, Crixus is barely capable of small talk, much less games of strategy.
Batiatus doesn’t see Spartacus as beneath him as he would any other slave, to Lucretia’s horror. Batty acknowledges him as the reason they’ve come so far so fast recently, and even though tomorrow’s guests would be disgusted to see him being companionable with Spartacus, he doesn’t give a good goddamn. Lucretia storms off in an icy rage. Looks like Batty’s sleeping on one of the klinai tonight, then.
The guard that escorts Spartacus back down to his cell is full of shy and admiring compliments on Sparty and Varro’s victory in the arena earlier that week. The adulation comes to a swift halt when they discover Hector attacking Mira in the shadows, demanding to know what she’s done with his keys. Mira sees Sparty over Hector’s shoulder and cries out for help, and Our Chivalrous Hotass Hero demands to know just what the shit is going on here. Hector tells him to MYOB and fuck directly off, but the Champion of Capua isn’t going to take that kind of crap, no siree.
Hector pulls his gladius to bitchslap Spartacus with the hilt, and Spartacus easily overpowers him, holding his face to a woven metal torch sconce on the wall. Batiatus, having heard the distant shouting, comes running just in time to see Hector screaming with a waffle burn on his face. Ohshit.
Spartacus explains the sitch to Batty, who immediately wants to know what the fuck Hector was thinking. Hector stupidly accuses Mira of being a thief, which she denies vehemently. Of course, Batiatus wants to know what was stolen, and Hector can’t exactly admit it was THE KEYS TO THE LUDUS, now can he?
Batiatus assesses the damage to Mira’s bloody lip and sends her on her way. He angrily berates Hector for overstepping and then docks his pay, sending him off in disgrace. Sparty tries to apologize to Batiatus, which is a total waste of time, seeing how Batty’s already miserable from his fight with Lucretia, where he defended Spartacus. And now this! Batty would totes kick Sparty’s ass if it weren’t for the party tomorrow! So there!
What a whiner.
The following morning, as Varro and Spartacus spar together, Varro is incredulous over the tale of the previous evening’s fight. He can’t believe that Spartacus attacked a guard and wasn’t punished. Hi, it’s called being the Champion, dude. Varro hopes that kind of good fortune will rub off on him one day. Awww.
That afternoon sees Batiatus and Lucretia, thoroughly bedecked in their most snazzy dresses, standing in the atrium to greet Calavius, Domitia, Numerius as they arrive for the party with their entourage . Ilithyia enters with smiles and kisses, looking her usual fineass self, but Numerius only cares about the gladiators, where are his precious gladiators? He was promised gladiators! SQUEE SQUEE GLADIATORS. He is a bit insufferable, yes.
Batiatus feeds Numerius’ wild gladiator frenzy by announcing that all the gladiators under the roof tonight will take Numerius’ orders as dominus, and that furthermore, Awesomecakes Champion Spartacus awaits to take him on a private guided tour of the ludus. Numerius jizzes his toga virilis and gallops off with derpy glee.
Ilithyia cleverly extracts the women from the conversation, and the three ladies stroll out to the balcony to drink and gossip, leaving the men behind to discuss business. Calavius is surprised to see that Ilithyia is actually living with Lucretia and Batty, and Batty flutters his lashes girlishly and preens.
Outside in courtyard, Spartacus escorts Numerius around the training square as the men spar with one another. Numerius is full of boyish admiration and endless questions about gladiatoring, and is ridiculously excited by the danger of the open cliffside. Spartacus yanks Numerius back from the edge and reminds him that it’s been a while since they “trained” together.
Crixus can’t resist taking this perfect moment to grandstand a bit, loudly lamenting the lack of a worthy opponent to give the Magistrate’s son a good show. Duro bravely (and stupidly) steps up to the plate, but Crixus wants a REAL GLADIATOR, sorry lil buddy.
Duro launches himself at Crixus in a childish rage as the rest of the gladiators look on and laugh. It takes less than 5 seconds for Duro to end up on his ass in the sand, and Agron looks utterly disgusted. Numerius only has eyes for Crixus’ impeccable form (lololol) and Spartacus gravely promises to prove otherwise at the exhibition fight later on in the evening.
Duro inexplicably gets to his feet and insists that their fight isn’t finished. Crixus tells him to fuck off before he gets hurt, so Duro, in his most cleverly strategic attempt to date, uses the edge of his shield to throw sand in Crixus’ face. Crixus still kicks his ass in a matter of seconds.
Duro gets up once again and, weaponless save his shield, throws himself at Crixus with a crazed bellow of rage. The assembled men, Doctore included, look grudgingly impressed at his determination. And again, Crixus whups him but good. When Duro gets up for a third time, even Agron tells him to stay the fuck down, but it’s too late, and Crixus beats on Duro with his own shield until Doctore finally steps in with his sexwhip. As Duro struggles to his feet a final time, the rest of the gladiators applaud him solemnly. HE’S A BIG BOY NOW.
Calavius and Batiatus are upstairs playing latrunculi in the tablinum, and Spartacus’ lessons are paying off like whoa – Calavius is surprised and a little grumpy at Batiatus’ superior skill at the game. Batty wisely does not attribute his skill to lessons from a slave, instead claiming to be a longtime student of military strategy. Calavius likens war to politics, and that’s all the opening Batty needs to set his scheme in motion.
They’re interrupted by an overexcited Numerius, who comes galloping in with a rudus given to him by Spartacus so that he can practice his swordplay. Everyone exclaims over how gritty and filthy Numerius is, and he’s sent off with Naevia to have a bath. He falls over his own feet rather goofily when Naevia, half-naked in her slave dress, addresses him quietly. LOLCANO.
Lucretia, Domitia, and Ilithyia watch him stumble off derpily and laugh about his ridiculousness, and Ilithyia gets a particularly fiendish look in her eye when she says that soon enough he’ll be a Real Man. Oh dear.
Scrawny little plucked-chicken Numerius is simmering in the bathtub and thinking happy gladiator thoughts when suddenly…. what? Oh god. Ilithyia walks in and starts asking some suggestive questions about needing a good hard scrubbing. ILITHYIA YOU STRUMPET.
Numerius’ eyes are huge and giddy as Ilithyia witters on about how his choices tonight are fraught with meaningful meaning, but before he can ask exactly what the shit is going on, Ilithyia drops her dress and gets in the tub with him for some cougar time lovin.
I mock, but I am pretty sure I would have the exact same epically derpy grin if Ilithyia got into the tub with me.
That evening, gilded half-naked slaves writhe about dramatically as the guests drink and eat and gossip in their finery. Manpantied gladiators are assembled in various alae, and random pairs of men are wrestling sweatily for the delight of the observing ladies. Numerius is waving his sword about to a group of his jealous little runty friends, and Calavius and Batty look over the assembly feeling terribly smug about it all.
In this midst of all this drunken cheer and goodwill, Ilithyia and Spartacus glare eyefuckily at each other from across the room. What the fuck ever, you two, you boned and you both fucking loved it. Get over it already.
Varro takes note of their staring contest and his snarky witticisms are interrupted by Mira, thanking Spartacus for last night’s guard-beating. She’s really sweet about it, which is sad, because she’s surely reading more into it than he intended. When Sparty tells her he would’ve done the same for any woman, so chill the fuck out, her only response is to tell him what an ass he is. HA.
Ilithyia is chatting with her two bitchy friends, Caecilia and Aemilia, and alas the subject of the missing Licinia comes up. Ilithyia looks nervous and lost, but luckily Lucretia steps up to her aid, wondering aloud what could possibly motivate a proper Roman woman to sneak out into the night without slaves or her husband to accompany her. The two bratty girls are predictably scandalized and admit that Licinia’s husband is in fact a fat stumpy creeper, so the idea of a lover seems most logical. Ilithyia isn’t following the conversation any more, though – she’s hallucinating huge puddles of blood and Licinia’s mangled corpse on the floor again. Oh dear.
Solonius busts in on the convo to hand out flowery compliments that no one really seems to want, except possibly Lucretia, who deigns to speak with him a moment. Batiatus swans over, full of delightedly obnoxious cheer at seeing Solonius, and delivers backhanded compliment after backhanded compliment, all carefully couched in false concern and bonhomie. It is quite the performance, actually. WELL DONE BATTY.
Off in the corner, Ashur is staring thoughtfully at Naevia as she directs the slave girls in their handing around of food and drink. Solonius decides this is the perfect opportunity for some scheming, which seems as ridiculous to me as it does to Ashur. Ashur blabs Batty’s plan to humiliate Solonius in front of the magistrate, and Solonius stalks off in a huff.
Batty gathers the guests together in the centre of the villa to announce the evening’s climactic spectacle, but when he goes to announce Crixus as Spartacus’ opponent, Numerius stops him cold and says that Crixus is too old and lame to fight. He wants to see Sparty fight Varro instead.
Oh, Crixus’ little hurt face! I CANNOT BEAR IT. He looks like a puppy that lost his favourite chewie. Varro and Sparty look confused but game, and Batiatus has no choice but to agree with a smile. Numerius shares a significant look with Ilithyia and ARGH THIS IS GOING TO END SO BADLY ISN’T IT.
Also, Crixus is legit pouting right now. It is hilariously tragic.
The boys are given their swords and shields – real steel and not wooden practice weapons, mind you – and the fight begins. It’s their regular style of showy, leapy, happy sparring: they know each other’s moves so well by now that they can really throw themselves into it without fear of actually harming one another. Varro still takes first blood with a small gash across Sparty’s ribs, and the crowd gasps and clutches their pearls.
Eventually Varro loses his shield and then his sword, and is left at Spartacus’ laughing mercy as the crowd applauds the show. Batiatus expansively tells Numerius to pass judgment on Varro’s defeat, assuming, as everyone else does, that this will be the pleasant, all-in-good-fun end to the evening.
BUT NO. NUMERIUS YOU MISERABLE LITTLE SHITBAG. He gives the thumbs down signal for Varro TO DIE AT SPARTACUS’ HANDS. The entire crowd is completely fucking shocked, but none more than Sparty, Varro, and Batiatus.
Ilithyia doesn’t look the least bit surprised, because she is a crafty little bitch.
Batiatus tries to salvage the situation by reminding Calavius that the fight was meant only as an exhibition and not as a fight to the death, but Numerius’ whinging and pleading look to his dad blows the scheme out of the water. Calavius rolls his eyes and promises to pay extra for Varro’s death, and that is apparently fucking that.
Batty’s stuck – he doesn’t want to impede his plans for social climbing on the back of the Magistrate. He tells Spartacus to proceed. Sparty is on the verge of refusing, but Varro insists that he do it before they’re both killed by the guards for insubordination. Hector in particular looks pleased to comply.
Varro makes Spartacus swear to watch over his wife and child, and then grabs the sword himself and jams it into his own throat. Sparty weeps some emo mantears and jams the sword in to the hilt, and Varro dies without any further fanfare. Sparty throws his sword down as the crowd applauds the spectacle, and Ilithyia looks like she’s just come all over herself.
Magistrate Calavius and Batty are strolling through the crowd together matily, and Calavius thanks Batty for his hospitality and party-throwing skillz, which of course Batty brushes off casually. Instead, he somewhat clumsily turns the conversation towards his political ambitions, which Calavius brushes off equally casually.
When Batty presses, Calavius stops politely dissembling and states it plainly: Batty may be the finest of all lanistae in the Republic, but he’s just not politician material. To compound the humiliation, Solonius appears from the shadow and smilingly agrees with Calavius that politicians should be man of status and breeding. So basically they’ve both just signed their own death warrants, right? Come the fuck on, Batty’s not going to stand for this shit.
Oh yes indeed. Lucretia runs over as soon as Batty is alone to ask what the Magistrate’s response was, and Batty only THIRSTS FOR HIS BLOOOOOOD.
Guys, this is going to be awesome. And gruesome. And lolsome.
Alone in his cell, Spartacus is pacing and weeping and raging and flailing and guilting through the 5 stages of epic emo manpain. Mira eventually finds him huddled up in a miserable ball on the floor, fists bloodied from punching the wall hysterically.
Do you even need to be told that she cuddles him to her heaving bosom as he weeps tragically? NO YOU DO NOT. Oh how I love this predictable show.
NEXT WEEK! Spartacus is still a total emo wreck! Crixus is back in the ring! Batiatus has his revenge! Aurelia freaks out! And Spartacus makes a shocking discovery.