He tries hard not to linger to long on the close cropped curls on his old adversary’s head, now iron gray as if to proclaim his true profession, and instead takes another sip of his wine. Hannibal stretches himself sedately on the triclinium but his tongue is as sharp as he remembers.
When the first of the living dead come down the corridor they do not waver but grab a gladius each and wait side by side for the first to reach them.