'He drank a great deal,' said Bane. 'I've heard of men dying after imbibing like that.'
'I'll sit with him.'
Bane cut a slice of bread from a loaf, smeared it with butter, and joined Telors at the table. 'I thought he didn't drink strong spirit,' said Bane.
'He doesn't usually. It started back in Stone after… a personal tragedy. Death bouts began to affect him, and after them he would get drunk then wander off somewhere. I always found him and brought him home.' Telors moved to a cupboard and took out a small jug of uisge, adding a measure to his cup of water. He offered the jug to Bane, who lifted it to his mouth and took several deep swallows.
'Did he talk much?' asked Telors.
'What about?'
'Oh, life… his past?' Bane saw the worried look on Telors's face.
'No. He said something about coming from the stars. That's all.'
Telors looked relieved. 'He'll be fine in the morning. Cara will cook him breakfast. She's a sweet girl. I wouldn't like to see her hurt.'
Bane suddenly understood Telors's concern. Cara did not know of her mother's suicide, nor the truth of her background. Bane took another swallow of uisge. It was very strong, and he felt its effect almost immediately.
'Rage was magnificent in that bout yesterday,' he said, changing the subject. 'Fast, sure and deadly.'
'That's Rage,' said Telors, his face relaxing into a smile.
'Would he have beaten Voltan?'
'I see you're learning your history. Well, the answer is that I don't really know. Both were awesome in their prime. I guess if I had to put all my money on a fighter I'd pick Voltan. But if someone was fighting for my life I'd want it to be Rage. Does that answer your question?'
Bane swayed in his seat, the room beginning to swim. Telors laughed. 'Better get off to bed, lad. I'm too tired to carry you up those stairs.'
Chapter Seven
Bane floated in a sea of dreams, faces and images floating across his mind, merging and changing. He saw his mother Arian, then Vorna, then the elderly hunter Parax, then Falco the Gladiator… An endless stream of people flowed past him. He tried to reach out to them, but his fingers passed through them, rippling the images as if they were water. He awoke in a cold sweat and threw back the covers. The room was cold, and ice had sealed the shutters.
He sat up, and groaned as hot hammers began to beat inside his skull. Rising he dressed swiftly and left the room. In the kitchen Cara was helping the fat Gath woman, Girta, to clean the breakfast plates. 'You slept late,' said Cara. 'I could toast you some of yesterday's bread?'
'That would be welcome,' said Bane.
The pounding in his head eased off slightly, but a dull ache had begun behind his eyes. He sat down at the table and rubbed his temples. The veins below the skin were hard as copper wire. Girta dropped a muslin pouch of herbs into a cup and filled it with hot water. A sweet scent filled the room. She placed the cup in front of him. 'Wait awhile,' she said, 'then drink it. You'll feel better.'
Bane forced a smile. 'Do I look that bad?'
'You are very pale, and there are dark hollows under your eyes. Uisge hollows.' She grinned at him. Bane rubbed his eyes. He thought he had taken only a few swallows of uisge, but he remembered the strength of it. It was like swallowing fire.
A few minutes later Cara returned with a plate of hot buttered toast. Bane thanked her, and sipped his tisane. Girta was right. His head began to clear almost immediately. 'Where are Rage and Telors?' he asked.
'They had breakfast an hour ago, then went for a run,' said Cara. 'Telors said not to wake you, because you had been drinking uisge.' She gave him an accusing look. 'Grandfather says gladiators should not drink strong spirit. It is like poison, he says.'
'He's a very wise man,' observed Bane.
'He's not going to fight again,' said the girl. 'Not ever.'
'I'm glad to hear it.'
She looked at Girta. 'Yesterday was a terrible day, wasn't it, Girta? Sitting here not knowing if Grandfather… It was a terrible day.'
'But today is not so terrible,' said Bane.
'Today is my birthday,' said Cara. 'I am fourteen. Grandfather and I are going into the city. He is going to buy me a horse. Not a pony! A horse. And we are going to buy more cattle. Grandfather is rich now. That's why he doesn't need to fight again.'
As Bane was finishing his breakfast Rage and Telors ran into the open ground beyond the kitchen window. Bane glanced through the window. Telors waved at him and walked over to lean on the sill. 'The young just can't handle strong drink,' he said, with a grin.
'It wasn't the drink,' said Bane. 'It was your snoring. I hardly slept a wink.'
Telors flicked snow at him from the sill, then turned as a rider came into sight. The man wore an expensive cloak edged with ermine, and fur-lined riding boots. His horse was a fine beast, well groomed and keen-eyed. Rage walked out to meet him. Bane wandered to the window. 'Who is he?' he asked Telors.
'Judging by the eagle embroidered on his tunic I'd say he's from Palantes,' Telors told him, then wandered off to join Rage.
Bane headed through to the main room and sat down by the fire. His headache was almost gone, but he felt drained of energy. The chair was deep and comfortable, and he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.
'Someone here to see you,' said Rage. Bane sat up. The visitor, a tall man running to fat, dipped his head in a short bow. Bane picked up the scent of perfume.
'I am Jain, First Slave to Circus Palantes,' said the newcomer, his voice smooth and melodious. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.'
Bane stood and shook the proffered hand. The man's grip was soft, the fingers clammy. 'I watched you fight yesterday. You were very impressive.' Bane said nothing. 'I have spoken to Persis Albitane about you, and made him an offer for your contract. In short, Circus Palantes would like to sponsor you.'
'Sponsor me?'
'They want you to fight for them,' said Rage.
'Five hundred in gold upon your signature, and a guaranteed two hundred each time you fight. Your lodgings and personal expenses will also be paid by the circus, and we will supply you with armour and weapons.'
Bane looked at Rage. 'Is this a fair offer?'
'Yes, but no more than that.'
'What do you advise?'
'Think on it,' said Rage.
Bane looked at the man from Palantes. 'I will give you my answer tomorrow,' he said.
'You won't get a better offer,' said Jain, holding his smile in place.
'Tomorrow,' Bane repeated.
'Yes, yes, of course. Well, as I said, it was a pleasure, and congratulations on your duel.' He turned to Rage. 'My congratulations also to you, sir. We all thought Vorkas was destined to be Gladiator One. You showed us the error in that judgment.'
'Good-bye,' said Rage, opening the door for him.
The man left the farmhouse, climbed on his horse and rode away.
'As I told you,' said Rage, 'Palantes do not grieve for long. There is always another fighter waiting to be sucked dry.'
'I did not like the man,' said Bane. 'Yet his offer takes me closer to my… quest.'
'Aye, it does that,' said Rage. 'They are a disciplined circus, with good trainers and fine facilities: their own bathhouses, masseurs, surgeons. They even have a whorehouse purely for the gladiators and owners. They will rent
