When Ishbosheth woke up again, Luther was pushing a cart from bed to bed, placing a bowl on each man's table as he passed. As Luther came to his table, Ishbosheth sat up, noticing he couldn't open his right eye, due to the swelling in his temple. Through his one eye, he could see that Luther was bringing him a bowl of soup, steaming, with a silver spoon in it. Luther set the bowl down, then drew up a chair to sit on next to Ishbosheth's bed.
The Lion stared at Ishbosheth, with bandages on his head. A few moments passed, the two staring at each other in silence. Finally, Luther cleared his throat and said, "She's here."
Ishbosheth rubbed his head, "What?"
"The girl you were asking about. She's been kept by Antony as a house worker. She won't be sold to another trader. Not yet anyway."
Ishbosheth felt more relieved than he ever had in his life.
"As for you," Luther continued, "You've been chosen to be a house fighter."
Ishbosheth patted the bandages on his temple, "Because I'm obviously so good at it."
"No, you were chosen because you failed so terribly. That's how Antony decides which fighters he choses. If Stark has to work too hard to knock them down, he sells them for a big price to some slave trader to become gladiators, or to be killed by gladiators. He just wants to give a show, not a blood bath. We're going to start training you all once you begin to heal, and then you'll be thrown into a fight next week. So, rest up, and we'll start training tomorrow." Luther got up and scooted his cart over to the next bed.
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