speed and good co-ordination.' Rage rose to his feet, removed a red silk cloth from the pocket of his black shirt and tied it over his shaved head.
'I thank you for your compliments,' said Bane coldly. 'But I'd like to see you best me now I'm prepared.'
'Takes you some time to learn, boy, doesn't it?' said Rage. 'Whenever you're ready.'
Bane advanced cautiously, then threw himself at the man. Rage grabbed his outstretched arm, twisted on his heel, and threw Bane over his hip. Keeping hold of the arm he flipped Bane to his belly, then touched the young man's throat with his index finger. 'If that was a knife you'd be pumping blood right about now.'
Bane sat up. 'You've convinced me. How do I acquire this… self-discipline?' he asked.
'That is just one of many skills,' said Rage. 'Have you breakfasted yet?'
'No. Persis told me to be here just after dawn.'
'Good. Can you run?'
'Of course I can run.'
'How far?'
'As far as I need to.'
'Then let's begin,' said Rage, setting off slowly towards the eastern hills. Bane removed his cloak, left it hanging over one of the wooden frames, and set off after the older man. Coming alongside he said: 'Where are we going?'
'Over the hills,' responded Rage.
'Why are we running so slowly?'
'We're warming the muscles. We'll stop at the first crest and stretch, then the real work can begin.'
Bane settled in alongside him. On the hilltop Rage slowed to a walk, then moved through a series of stretching exercises. Bane watched him. His legs were lean, and there was not an ounce of fat on his powerful frame. Then the two men ran on, moving easily for several miles. From the high ground Bane could see the port city of Goriasa. According to Brother Solstice it had once been one of the most ugly settlements on the mainland, a mass of clumsily constructed wooden buildings, set close together, and separated by winding, claustrophobic alleyways. The conquest by the armies of Stone sixteen years previously had seen much of the city burnt, and now there were stone-built temples, houses, and places of business, all linked by a series of streets branching off from a wide avenue through the centre of the city. Some three thousand citizens of Stone now lived here among twenty-five thousand Gath.
Rage and Bane ran along the crest of the eastern hills, then cut down into a wooded valley. Rage increased his pace, and Bane matched him, still breathing easily. His legs were a little tired now, his calves burning. After the Cenii witch woman had healed him he had recovered fast, but had then come down with a fever. It had stripped him of flesh and sapped his strength, and he had been forced to spend three months recuperating in the city of Accia. He had thought his stamina to be fully restored, but now he realized just how weak he had become.
Rage cut to the left, climbing a slippery slope. Bane fell, and rolled back, then scrambled up after the older man. Once more on the flat Rage picked up the pace again. Bane was now breathing heavily, and struggling to keep up. Rage noticed his distress and grinned at him. Anger touched Bane, sending new power to his tired limbs.
They ran on, covering another three miles, before climbing over a low drystone wall and loping back towards the distant white-walled farmhouse. Once there Rage stretched again, while Bane slumped down onto a bench, sucking air into his lungs.
'Strip off your shirt,' said Rage.
'Why?'
Rage stood silently for a moment. 'Let us understand something, boy,' he said. 'Persis asked me to assess you. As a favour. I told him I would – if you proved yourself willing. But in my company you are my student. When I tell you to do something you will do it. Instantly. In that way you will learn self-discipline. Now I think you are intelligent, so understand what I am now going to say: disobey me one more time and I will send you away, and you will have to travel to another city to fulfil your dream. Am I clear on this?'
Bane looked into the man's dark eyes. 'Aye, you are clear,' he said.
'Then strip off your shirt and stand.'
Bane did so. Rage looked at him closely, turning him round and examining his muscle development. 'The biceps and shoulders need work,' he said. 'But you are built for speed and strength. You came from good stock.' He paused and peered closely at the scar on Bane's chest. 'Short sword. Should have pierced the lung and killed you. How did you survive?'
'I don't know,' said Bane. 'Luck?'
The wound in your back is also from a gladius. Were these wounds from the same fight?'
'Yes.'
'More than one assailant?'
'No. Just the one.'
'He stabbed you first in the back?'
'No,' said Bane. 'Here.' He tapped at the scar on his hip.
'Ah, I see. You rushed him. He side-stepped and stabbed you in the back as you went past. Then you tried to turn and fight him and he finished you with a lunge to the chest. Skilled man. Very skilled.'
'Aye, he was that,' muttered Bane.
'A gladiator?'
'I have been advised to be wary when speaking of… my wounds,' said Bane.
'Good advice,' said Rage. 'All right, put your shirt on, and let's get to work.'
He took Bane to one of the wooden frames. A round pole had been extended between two supports ten feet above the ground. Rage extended his arms, leapt lightly and hung on the pole. Then he drew himself up until his chin touched the wood. He repeated the move twenty times then dropped to the ground. 'Now you,' he said.
Bane found the exercise easy – for the first ten raises. The next five were difficult, the last five excruciating.
For the next hour Rage put him through a series of agonizing routines. Bane completed them all, until, exhausted, he sank to the cold ground.
'Time for breakfast,' said Rage.
'I don't think I could eat,' said Bane.
Rage shrugged. 'Suit yourself,' he said, and wandered into the farmhouse. Bane joined him, and sat quietly while Rage prepared a pan of oats and milk, which he placed on a black iron stove.
'Why are you still fighting in the arena?' asked Bane, as the warrior stood over the pan, stirring the contents.
'Why would I not?'
'Persis said you earned fabulous sums as a fighter.'
'Indeed I did. I managed to save almost ten thousand in gold. But it was stripped from me when I quit. All I had left was this farm.'
'Why did they take your money?'
'I brought the noble name of gladiatorial combat into disrepute. Now you tell me why you want to become an arena warrior. Glory, riches, revenge?' He glanced back at the blond-headed young man.
'Aye. One of those.'
'I thought so,' said Rage. 'You want to find the man who almost killed you, and prove to yourself that you are the better man.'
'No,' snapped Bane. 'I want to kill the whoreson for what he took from me.'
'Interesting,' said Rage. 'But your friend's advice still remains good. Let us talk no more of it at this time.'
The door opened and a young girl entered the kitchen. Bane judged her to be around thirteen years old, very slim, with long, white-blonde hair. She was wearing a brown cotton nightdress, and she yawned as she moved to the table. 'Good morning, Grandfather,' she said sleepily.
'You slept late, princess,' said Rage. 'Did you have nice dreams?'
'I never remember dreams,' she said. 'You know that.' Then she noticed Bane, and turned towards him. Her eyes were cornflower blue, and very large. Bane smiled at her. She did not respond.
'Who are you?' she asked him.
'I am Bane of the Rigante.'
