Barbarian Bride (23 page)

***

The canopy flapped lazily in the breeze. The periodic snap of the silk material rasping on Lucius’ already frayed nerves. His father laughed at something one of his guests said, the sound grated in Lucius’ ears. He wanted to shut Decimus up, make the whole day stop. He hadn’t wanted to come but there was no excuse he could devise which would see him clear of his duties. The Senator wished to torture him by having his future bride sitting nearby while the woman he loved fought for her life below. If Decimus hoped today’s event would cement their father-son relationship he was sorely deceived.

Lucius sat stony-faced, refusing to engage anyone in conversation, especially the woman his father intended him to marry. A part of him held pity for her, it wasn’t her fault, and she had as much say as he did in the matter. Aeliana sat primly with her back ramrod straight, her eyes focused on her hands which lay in her lap. Her golden-brown hair was artfully arranged in gentle curls. She looked like quite a nice girl but he knew he could never love her, not as he loved Klara. The searing injustice cut through his heart as the trumpet call announcing the gladiator parade cut through the air.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw her. So brave, marching along behind the men with a look of such fierceness on her face. She did not look up even though he willed her to do so with all his might. He wanted to look into her eyes once more as no outcome of the day’s events was a certainty. The idea he might see her die today filled his gut with sharp terror.

“I can see your thoughts written all over your face,” Alex whispered as she laid a cool hand on his arm. “School yourself Lucius. Don’t give Father any advantage.” He turned to look at her, a vision in white, and offered her a tight smile. “Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to,” she said.

“By the grace of the gods, is that it?” He didn’t mean to sound so bitter yet the idea this was happening by way of godly intervention offended him deeply. This mess had been caused by the greed of men, not of gods.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant, well, I don’t know what I meant.” Alex sounded annoyed. “I only wanted to comfort you.” She sighed and slumped back in her chair, defeated.

It was his turn to take her hand and offer her comfort. “I’m sorry. I’m not in the mood for comforting. I just want this day to be over as quickly as possible.”

Alex smiled and sat up. “I know. It will be alright, you’ll see.”

“It can never be
alright
, Alex. The only way this situation can become bearable is if Klara lives. If she dies…I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Don’t speak of such things,” Alex hissed. “Certainly not here.” Decimus turned around at the sound of their voices. She offered him a smile and blew a kiss. “Now put on your happiest face and grit your teeth. We have to get through this,” she said once their father had turned back.

Lucius did as he was bid but with poor grace. Klara had nearly completed her second lap of the arena and his eyes had not left her once. They were racing towards the moment of no return and there was nothing he could do to stop it or to alter the course it took. The arena cleared and the small orchestra played for a few moments before Decimus stood to make his speech. Lucius did not hear a word. All he heard was the dreadful pounding of his own heart as cold fear crept through his veins.

***

The gladiators returned to the holding area and a water boy handed Klara a cup of cold water. She drank greedily. Her short time in the scorching sun was already giving her a thirst. Tossing the cup back to the small slave boy she began the preparations for her bout. Klara donned her arm and shoulder guards, strapping them carefully so they would not shift or fall off during the fight. She measured the weight of her sword in one hand and clutched a dagger in the other. Noticing Xanthe crouched by a wall looking small and scared, she smiled.

“
Manica
,” she held up her left arm sheathed in the guard. “
Galeus
,” she pointed to the shoulder guards she had donned. “You must know the names of them in case you do survive your fight.”

Xanthe returned her smile with a tentative one of her own. Klara stepped past her to proceed to the gate leading on to the arena floor. “Remember, fight hard and kill quickly. Show no mercy. None will be shown to you.” She could think of no other advice more useful at this moment in time, for herself and for Xanthe. As she re-entered the arena the trumpets sound, announcing her arrival. The crowd roared and she advanced into the ring. The Gods be damned, this time her fate was in her own hands.

Klara strode towards her opponent, recognising the woman’s distinctive helmet immediately. Athena! She smiled beneath her own protective head gear. Of course. Sirom would not miss an opportunity to capitalise on their natural animosity. She stopped several paces from Athena, just out of arm’s reach, and assumed her fighting stance. The crowd roared in anticipation. Somewhere, out of her sight, sat Lucius watching. Right now she could not afford the distraction and for the first time was grateful for the clumsy helmet obscuring her view.

Athena wasted no time in delivering the first strike. Her sword swung down as Klara’s shield came up to meet it, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the amphitheatre. The force of the blow sent shock waves along Klara’s arm and made her teeth rattle. Athena had clearly decided to use her full strength from the beginning, a fact she hoped to use in her own favour. All she had to do was keep Athena working hard until she tired. No doubt lurked in her mind. This fight was about anything other than death. There would be no quarter given here today, not from Athena.

She returned the attack with a sweep of her sword, blocking Athena’s parry with her shield which was fitted snugly to her left arm. As she ducked beneath another sword swing the distinct odour of blood wafted up from beneath the sand. Even though slaves had cleaned and covered the blood spill from the morning’s events the smell remained serving to remind her—as if she needed reminding—that she fought for her life.

With the thought of her own demise uppermost in her mind Klara thrust upward as Athena closed in upon her but she moved too quickly closing the space between them. Klara stumbled backwards, out of control. Letting herself fall, she rolled away and leaped to her feet as quickly as her body armour would allow. Athena kept coming with a guttural roar. She jumped at Klara, her sword arm slicing down in a perfect arc with all her force behind it. Klara dropped to her knees and took the impact upon her shield, her spine jarring with the effort. Then Athena spun like lightning before Klara could recover and kicked her ribs as hard as she could. Klara felt a bone crack and a searing pain brought tears to her eyes. Fear surged through her as she realised the outcome now hinged on her ability to fight through her injury.

She stood, wincing. At least Athena had kicked her on her shield side and not her sword arm. Had she damaged her right ribs Klara doubted she would be able to wield her weapon properly. Clenching her teeth against the pain she twirled her sword as much to convince the crowd she was fine as to unsettle her opponent. Athena laughed and shouted something unintelligible but was undoubtedly insulting. Klara let her have the moment. The crowd cheered and Athena opened her arms to receive their praise, giving Klara the moment she needed.

Taking a deep breath she dropped her right shoulder and charged, hitting Athena at full pace and knocking her to the ground. They went down together to a cacophony of screams. Klara fearing the risk of becoming entangled rolled away as quickly as possible. She struggled to her feet, ramming her sword point down in the sand for stability. Reefing the blade out of the dirt she swung with a furious backhand motion connecting with Athena’s back as she made to rise.

Athena grunted as all the air ricocheted out of her lungs and she slumped, spread-eagled on the amphitheatre floor. The crowd were banged and yelled wildly in the seats above. Klara ignored them all. As she approached the prone figure she shucked off her shield. She kicked Athena’s helmet from her head before crouching over her, holding her head by her hair and her sword to her throat.

For the first time she raised her eyes towards the special area where the Editor sat. The sumptuous silk canopy sheltered Senator Decimus Aurelius and his guests. They were all on their feet and she could see Lucius looking pale and tense standing behind his father. Her heart melted at the sight of him but at the same time her resolve hardened and she hiked Athena’s head up a fraction causing the woman to yelp.

The Senator stood with his arms spread wide, taking in the chanting of the crowd. Whatever they wanted he had the last word. Nothing was certain until he made it so. Slowly he raised his right arm before him letting the crowd’s anticipation grow along with the noise. Finally he indicated with his thumb that Athena should be allowed to live. The crowd stomped their feet and bellowed their approval.

Klara let go of Athena’s hair and the woman’s head dropped to the ground. It was then she noticed the blood running down her arm. Athena’s sword had found its mark and yet she could not remember it happening, did not feel the cut. Decimus was speaking, something about a draw and then she saw it—the
rudis
. Her heart swelled with hope as he beckoned her to approach. She did so, every step causing her breathing to labour as hot pain seared her side.

As she approached the
pulveris
she was acutely aware of Lucius staring at her, his eyes dark and hungry in his pale face. She allowed herself one moment of connection, one instance for their eyes to meet and all the things unspoken to fly between them before giving her attention solely to the man before her.

“Queen of the Hun!” he said in a booming voice. The audience quietened a little to hear his words. “You have fought valiantly today. In consequence, I bestow upon you the coveted
rudis
and give you your freedom.” He passed the wooden sword over the top of the wall and Klara caught it with both hands. The sword carved from a dark wood, was smooth to the touch and light in weight—much lighter than her fighting sword. She stared at it, taking her time as its meaning sunk in. She was free! Free!

Raising the sword above her head in triumph she turned to the crowd who screamed in response, whether in approval or not she did not care. Before her stood attendants with a stretcher. Where had they come from? Klara blinked at them uncomprehendingly before her knees buckled and she began to fall forwards. The attendants caught her before she hit the ground and lay her none too gently upon the stretcher. Blood soaked her arm but she managed to hold the sword high as they carried her from the arena.

The world began to swim as they passed from the light into the dim recesses of the Coliseum. A flame of red hair stood out in the gloom.

“I survived!” Klara called out. “A draw! I am free, Scythian. I am free!” Xanthe squeezed her hand before the attendants took her off to the physician, leaving a trail of blood in their wake. She didn’t care. She had her freedom. Her last thought was of Lucius before darkness claimed her.

Lucius pushed his way along the crowded stairway. He had to find Klara. She’d appeared a mess, blood everywhere. Who knew what other injuries she’d sustained when she’d been kicked and the gash in her shoulder looked nasty. He shoved a small balding man aside in his hurry and received a mouthful of abuse for the trouble. Where would they have taken her in this godforsaken place?

He arrived underground, more by accident than anything else. Here the cheers of the crowd were muted, drowned by the noise of slaves shouting to each other, injured gladiators moaning and the protests from the animals who had survived the morning’s events. The smell was extraordinary and he hesitated for a moment while his eyes and his nose adjusted.

“Hey, you!” He shouted at a slave who appeared to be standing still in a place of constant movement. “Where did they take the wounded gladiatrix?”

The slave looked at him with terror in his eyes and made to dart off. Lucius grabbed him by the back of his tunic and held firm. “I asked you a question,” he said.

“I… they… over there,” the trembling boy stuttered before Lucius let him go. He strode in the general direction the boy indicated coming to a large set of doors guarded by two burly slaves, both armed to the teeth.

“I need to see the Queen of the Hun,” he said using his most commanding voice.

“We can let no one pass without our master’s permission,” came the gruff reply.

Rage took hold of him. “Do you know who I am?” he bellowed, drawing himself up to his full height hoping to intimidate the enormous guards.

“Lucius Aurelius, son of Decimus, Senator of Rome,” said a voice behind him. Lucius spun around to see Sirom standing with two of his personal guards.

“I need to see Klara.”

“Ah! The Queen of the Hun. I’m afraid I cannot allow that,” said Sirom, an oily smile lighting upon his face.

“What gives you the right to prevent me?” Even though Lucius knew aggression would get him nowhere with Sirom, he was incapable of restraining his anger and desperate need to get to Klara.

“Not what, but who? Your father has made it very clear you are not to be allowed to speak with the Hun woman. If it were up to me I wouldn’t hesitate to let you in but you understand I cannot go against the wishes of my patron.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. Nothing about the slimy little
lanista
suggested for a moment he would help if he had his way. In fact he suspected Sirom was enjoying the situation. “I want to get a message to her.”

Sirom shook his head sorrowfully. “I’m afraid that too is impossible. Your father said you might try such a tactic and to remind you a deal is a deal.” He stepped forward and took Lucius by the arm, manoeuvring him away from the door of what passed for the Coliseum hospital. “You are a man of business so I’m sure you understand. Let me show you back to your party.”

Lucius shot one last look at the impenetrable doors and turned away. He would have to find another way to get to Klara.