As they reached the high road the wagon moved more slowly, for the road was packed with people moving towards the Field. From the highest point Persis could see the tents and food stalls below. Already there were more than a thousand people gathered there, most of them crowding the eastern section. 'There it is!' said Persis, pointing. 'There's the elephant!'
'I have seen elephants before,' Norwin told him.
'It is really big.'
'That's a novelty,' said Norwin. 'I thought maybe they'd bring one of those famous small elephants.'
Kail Manorian had only ever taken part in two death bouts, the first against a young criminal sentenced to fight in the arena, the second against a fine young gladiator from Circus Poros. Kail still felt a shudder go through him as he recalled that second fight. The man was more skilled, faster, and Kail had seen in his eyes a blazing cruelty and confidence that chilled him to the bone.
The fact that Kail still lived was down to the carelessness of an unnamed circus employee who did not adequately cover with sand the blood from the previous fight. Kail's opponent had slipped, just as Kail attacked. He literally fell sideways onto Kail's blade, which lanced up under his chin strap, slicing his jugular. Kail had made an offering to the God of Stone – and walked away from the arena.
Often in the intervening years he had suffered nightmares about the fight. Now, at thirty-seven, he had walked away again. When Rage first told them about the offer from Palantes Kail had volunteered. In part this was to test his courage, but also – if he was being honest with himself – it was because he had believed more of the others would step forward, and Rage would not choose him. But the others had not volunteered in sufficient numbers and Kail had gone home that night in a state bordering on terror.
Three days later he had secretly visited Persis Albitane. He had intended to lie about being called back to Stone, following a family bereavement. Instead he had found himself blurting out all his fears. In his shame he had begun to weep. He had always held fat Persis in faint contempt, but on this day he found the man to be more than considerate. Persis had risen from his seat behind the desk, walked round and patted him on the shoulder. 'You are a good man, Kail,' he said, 'and a brave one. You proved your courage in the arena. Now calm yourself. It is no disgrace to know one's limitations.' Persis poured him a goblet of wine, then perched himself on the edge of the desk. 'I do have a plan. I believe the young man, Bane, would like to fight. I shall ask him today. If he agrees I shall tell Rage that you are being replaced. I will not tell him you requested it. No-one need know of our conversation.'
The relief had been total.
But now, sitting in the Armour Tent, Kail felt wretched. The other gladiators were putting on their armour, ready to share the Warriors' Cup, and several of them had approached him, commiserating with him, telling him how they believed Persis had treated him unfairly, striking him from the team.
Kail sat in the corner, nursing his shame. He saw Rage buckle on his breastplate, and strap his scabbard to his hip. Rage glanced across at him, his face expressionless. Kail looked away. Rage was an old man, and tomorrow he was going to die. But he had not walked away. Even when he had learned he was to face Vorkas. Kail shivered.
He had seen Vorkas a few moments ago, walking with other gladiators from Palantes. The man looked like a lion among wolves. Palantes had said they were bringing no Names – no fighters listed for next season's Championship. Technically this might be true, but there was still a month to go before registration was needed, and there was no question that Vorkas would be among those listed. Seven successful death bouts, each of them apparently won with ease. People were speaking of him as a new Voltan.
Kail stared down at his hands. 'Walk with me,' said Rage. Kail jerked, for he had not heard the big man approach. He rose and followed Rage out into the weak sunlight. Crowds were everywhere and Rage led him to the rear of the tent. 'You want to talk?' asked Rage, tying his red silk scarf around his head.
'What about?'
'About what is troubling you, Kail.'
Kail closed his eyes. 'I wish I was more like you,' he said. 'But I'm not. Never was, never could be.' He drew in a deep breath. 'But I do not like to deceive my friends. Everyone's been telling me how sorry they are that I have been so badly treated. I wasn't badly treated, Rage. I went to Persis and told him I was too frightened to fight. There! It is said!'
'Aye,' whispered Rage. 'It is said. You think yourself a coward?'
'I am a coward. Have I not proved it?'
'You listen to me, Kail, and be sure you understand what I am saying: you are not a coward. If I were beset by foes I would be more than relieved to know you were by my side. And you would be by my side, Kail. For you are a man of honour – a man to be relied upon. But this… this farce is not about honour. It is about money. Palantes want their young lions to taste blood – to taste it without too much risk. They have spent huge sums promoting these warriors, and they expect to make – eventually – a hundred times their outlay as a result. Now stop punishing yourself. You hear me?'
Kail nodded. At that moment the young barbarian, Bane, strolled round to the rear of the tent. 'Persis is asking for you,' he told Rage. The old gladiator swung on his heel and walked away. Kail looked at the tribesman, noting his new armour. It looked expensive. Kail had never been able to afford such a breastplate and helm.
'Do you know who you'll be fighting?' he asked.
Bane shrugged. 'They told me a name. It means nothing to me.'
'What name?'
'Someone called Falco.'
'Three fights,' said Kail. 'Never been cut.'
Bane seemed uninterested. Then he leaned in towards Kail. 'Why are we meeting them today?' he asked. 'And why are we dressed for battle?'
'Did Rage not tell you?'
'He said we were to share the Warriors' Cup. That we were to drink with our opponents. Why should we drink with people we are going to kill?'
'It is a ritual,' said Kail. 'It shows the crowds that we honour each other, and that there is no hatred in our hearts.' He smiled. 'It also helps sell tickets.'
'Ah,' said Bane. 'That I understand.'
Together the two men walked back to the tent. Out on the Field a trumpet sounded and the crowd fell silent. Two men climbed to the back of a wagon. The first man's voice boomed out, in Turgon, welcoming the citizens. The second spoke moments later, in Keltoi, repeating the message. Then they introduced the first gladiator from Circus Palantes. The warrior, in magnificent armour, strode from the Palantes tent, to stand before a long table upon which were set sixteen golden goblets, filled to the brim with watered wine. Then Polon's name was called out.
The sandy-haired warrior, holding his helm under his arm, stepped up to the table, waving to the crowd.
One by one the names were called. Kail felt a second wave of relief that he was not among them. Falco was called. Kail glanced across the field and saw a tall man stride forward. He moved well. Then came the shout: 'And his opponent, Bane of the Rigante.' A mighty roar went up from the Keltoi section of the crowd. Bane waved to them, then walked across to the table.
Then Vorkas was summoned. Kail felt a ripple of fear as he saw the man. Vorkas was impressive, broad- shouldered and well over six feet tall.
Lastly came Rage. Once again the crowd cheered, but Rage did not acknowledge them. He moved to the table, to stand opposite Vorkas, then each of the warriors raised their goblets, offering a toast to their opponents.
Kail turned away, and trudged back into the Armour Tent.
For Bane the ritual at the Field was baffling almost beyond belief. Enemies were people who sought your death. They were not men you drank a toast to, or shook hands with. He looked at the man opposite him. Falco was lithe and lean, the bones of his face flat, his mouth a thin, tight line. The eyes were light blue, and no fear showed in them. He met Bane's gaze, and seemed about to speak. Then the gladiators around him raised their goblets. 'To valour!' they shouted. Applause rippled from the crowd. Bane tasted the wine. It was sour upon the tongue.
Bane glanced to his right, and saw the mightily muscled Vorkas lean forward. 'By the Stone, you look old and
