To Love Again

The Thracian, who was helmeted and wore greaves on both legs, carried a small shield and a curved sword. It seemed to Cailin a very unfair match, until the two men began to fight. The Hun tossed his net almost immediately, but the Thracian sidestepped it, and leaping behind his opponent, slashed at him. The wily Hun, obviously anticipating the ploy, moved quickly and was but scratched by the tip of the Thracian's blade. The men fought back and forth for some minutes while the crowds screamed their encouragement to their favorites. Finally, when Cailin had begun to think these combats were vastly overrated for ferocity, the Hun leapt in the air and, with a deft flick of his wrist, swirled his net out gracefully. The Thracian, unable to escape, was enfolded in the web. Desperately, he thrashed at it with his sword, the crowd shrieking with their rising blood lust. The Hun jammed his spear into the ground, drew his dagger out and flung himself down upon the struggling man. It happened so quickly that Cailin wasn't even certain she had seen it, but the sandy floor of the arena was swiftly stained with blood as the Hun cut his opponent's throat and then stood victorious, acknowledging the cheers of the howling mob.

He was a man of medium height, powerfully built, and bald but for a horsetail of dark hair sprouting from his skull and tightly wrapped with a leather thong. He strode around the ring, accepting what he obviously considered his rightful due. While he did so, the groundskeepers ran forth, two of them dragging the lifeless body of the Thracian from the arena, out through the Death Gate; the other two sprinkling fresh sand atop the blood and raking it vigorously.

Cailin was stunned. 'It was so quick,' she murmured. One moment the Thracian had been valiantly defending himself, and in the next instant he was dead. He had not even cried out.

'Gladiators are not usually cruel to one another,' Aspar said gently to her. 'They are generally friends or acquaintances, for they live together, eat, sleep, and whore together. Death matches are rare today, and Justin Gabras must have paid well for them. Or perhaps these gladiators are just desperate men who do not care. Some are like that.'

'I want to go home,' Cailin said quietly.

'You cannot go now!' Casia cried. 'The last match of the day is about to begin, and it is the champion himself. The Hun is an amateur compared to the Saxon. If it becomes too bloody, you need not look, and we will just gossip, but you must see him without his helmet. He is a god, I tell you!' Casia enthused.

Aspar laughed, and turning to Basilicus, said, 'I think I should be worried about Casia, my old friend, if I were you. She is obviously quite taken, nay, fascinated I think a better word, by this gladiator.'

'He is beautiful to look at,' Casia replied before the prince might say anything, 'but I have usually found that beautiful faces and bodies are all men like the Saxon can offer. There is nothing else, neither wit, nor culture. After one has enjoyed a good romp in Cupid's grove, it is nice to lie back and chatter, is it not, my lord?'

Basilicus nodded silently, but his eyes were twinkling.

'Ohh, look!' Casia said. 'Here are the combatants. I should hate to be the poor fellow fighting with the Saxon. He must know he has no chance.'

'How sad for him,' Cailin answered her friend. 'How terrible to know that he is facing his death on this beautiful bright day.'

Casia looked discomfited, but then she said brightly, 'Well, there is always the chance that he just might get lucky and beat the champion. Wouldn't that be exciting? At any rate, they will put on a good show for us, you may be certain.'

The Saxon and his opponent were both armed in the Samnite fashion. Each man wore a helmet with a visor. Each had a thick sleeve on the right arm and a greave on the left leg only. The men's waists were encircled with a belt. They carried long shields and short swords. Their combat would be a very close encounter. Saluting the emperor and their patron, they immediately began to fight. In spite of herself, Cailin was fascinated, for this match seemed more even than the previous one.

Metal clanged upon metal as the two men thrust and parried with their weapons. Cailin soon realized that the battle was not so evenly matched after all. The Saxon's antagonist was not his equal in skill. The champion jumped and twirled in a series of maneuvers deliberately executed to please the crowd. Twice the other man left himself open to attack, but the Saxon feinted to distract attention. Finally the crowd began to catch on, and they screamed with outrage.

'There's few his match,' Basilicus noted. 'He's but tried to give them a good show, but they want blood. Well, they'll get it now, I think. The Saxon should have been saved for the final day instead of having him fight two days. Gabras obviously wanted his money's worth.'

The combat took a different turn now, with the Saxon attacking his opponent vigorously while the other man fought desperately to save his life. The champion, however, refused to draw it out any further. Relentlessly he drove the other Samnite across the ring, his opponent getting few blows in and striving to protect himself with his shield. The Saxon rained blow after blow upon it, until finally the man fell back, exhausted, his defense falling from his hand. The Saxon swiftly and mercifully pierced the other gladiator's heart with his sword. Then he walked across the ring to the cheers of the spectators and saluted the emperor with the bloodied weapon.

'Remove your helmet, Saxon,' Justin Gabras said loftily, 'that the emperor may see your face when he congratulates you on your victory.'

The Saxon removed his helmet and said, 'There is no victory against a weaker man, lord. In two days' time, however, I will fight the Hun. I will bring you his head upon a silver salver, and then I will accept your congratulations for a battle well fought.'

'You do not fear death?' the emperor said quietly.

'No, majesty,' the Saxon replied. 'I have already lost everything I ever held dear. What is death but an escape? Yet the gods have willed it that I must live for now.'

'You are not a Christian, Saxon?'

'Nay, majesty. I worship Woden and Thor. They are my gods,' came the reply, 'but the gods, I think, do not concern themselves with little men like myself, else I should have had my heart's desire.'

Cailin stared at the Saxon as if mesmerized. She could not hear what was being said, but she knew he was speaking, for his lips were moving. It could not be. He looked like Wulf, but it simply could not be. Wulf was in Britain, on their lands, with a new wife and child. This man could not be Wulf Ironfist, and yet… She needed to hear his voice, to see him up close.

'I told you he was a glorious creature,' Casia purred in smug tones. 'Even covered in sweat and dirt he is beautiful, is he not, Cailin? Cailin? Cailin!” She tugged at her friend's sleeve.

'What? What is it, Casia? What did you say? I was not listening, I fear. You must forgive me. I was momentarily distracted.'

Casia giggled. 'I can certainly see you were, and by what.'

Cailin smiled. 'Yes, he is a beautiful fellow,' she replied, regaining control of herself, 'but despite it all, I do not like these gladiatorial combats.'

'My lord Aspar?' A guardsman had entered the box. 'The emperor would speak with you a moment.'

Aspar hurried from the box. When he returned several minutes later, he said to Cailin, 'There are emissaries here from Adrianople. It seems the peace there grows more fragile with each hour, and fighting is threatening to break out again between the religious factions. I am going to try and mediate this here in the palace with Leo tonight. Do you mind going home alone, my love?'

Cailin shook her head. Actually she was relieved. She needed time to think. The resemblance between the Saxon and Wulf was amazing, though his hair was lighter than Wulf's corn-colored locks had been. 'Keep the litter,' she told Aspar. 'Whatever time you come home, you will need transportation. I will go with Casia to her house, and then her litter will bring me to Villa Mare.'

'Of course,' Casia agreed. 'Cailin is ever practical, my lords. Basilicus, my love, you will join me for supper?'

'I cannot,' he said regretfully. 'My sister insists I keep her company this evening, for she is entertaining the patriarch. Perhaps I shall come late, my sweet. Would it please you?'

'No,' Casia said, 'I think not, my lord. If you cannot come to supper, then I shall take the time to catch up on my sleep. I do not seem to get a great deal of it when you are with me,' she added suggestively, thus tempering her refusal. Rising, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. 'Come, Cailin. It will be difficult enough getting through the crowds, with the arena emptying itself like a full wine cup.'