The Edge of Honor

by Minnette Meador

  The battle he waged in his head was more difficult than any he had fought on the field. One moment he would find determination to survive the next morning, but in the same instant, the specter of surrender washed away his resolve.

  The jangle of chains startled him out of his reflection and he sat up. Someone was coming down the corridor with another slave. When the torch stopped outside his chamber, the silhouette of a giant man shadowed the open doorway.

  “Wake up, hero,” Salonius called. The man in chains stumbled through the door, followed by the Roman and his aide. “Brought you some company.”

  The prisoner lunged forward, obviously pushed by the Lanista, and clattered across the room to fall into a pile at Marius’ feet. When the man righted himself, he was almost as tall on his knees as Marius was sitting on the raised cot.

  “This is Thane, but most people call him The Prince. You will like him. He is Briton like that bitch you married.”

  Marius growled and leaped from the cot, but the chains kept him from reaching his tormentor. Salonius laughed and yanked on the other man’s bindings until he rose and allowed them to lead him to the other cot, securing his chains to the wall.

  “You two have a nice chat, but do not get too friendly. One of you dies by the other’s hands tomorrow.” Salonius’ face looked cruel in the flickering torchlight. “Good night, gentlemen.”

  When they left, Marius sat down, folded his arms, and examined the large Briton.

  “I know you,” he said at length. “I saw you fight in this arena, before you went to Rome.”

  A pair of steel blue eyes stared at him from the other cot. “I saw you fight, as well… on the field. You were good. I was very close to you.”

  Marius raised a brow. “Really? I do not remember that.”

  Thane snorted a laugh. “Probably just as well. I was trying to kill you at the time.”

  Marius leaned over and put his elbows on his knees. “You fought with Boudiga.”

  “I fought with the Trinovantes,” he replied pointedly. “Boudiga was our ally.”

  Thane laid his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

  “I have a message for you, Centurion. Your wife sends you word that she will do what she can to help you. Delia loves you, you know. You do not deserve her.”

  Marius became instantly alert and a spark of hope lighted his heart. “You have seen her?”

  “Yes, the night before last, outside of Glevum.”

  “By the gods!” Marius exclaimed jumping to his feet and crossing as far as his chains would allow him. “Is she all right? Is the baby all right…”

  “She was fleeing from slavers at full gallop on horseback when last I saw her. I only pray to the goddess that she made it to Glevum safely and that the Romans did not enslave her themselves, in the end.”

  Thane’s eyes glared angrily at Marius. “It makes me wonder what kind of husband would make his pregnant wife endure such hardships for him, after he has betrayed her with another. It makes me wonder how she could love such a man.”

  The words hit Marius hard. They put to words what had been tormenting him since the day Delia had seen him with Rheydyn. Thane was right; he did not deserve her love.

  “She told you.”

  “Yes.”

  “You are right,” Marius said softly and returned to his cot. “Delia deserves better, much better than me. If I ever see her again, I will try to convince her of that. I do not even pretend anymore that she will forgive me, but I dream of it every moment. You will not understand this, perhaps, but that woman is my blood.”

  Marius glared fiercely and pounded his chest. “She beats in my chest, dominates every waking moment, and gives me life and purpose. I was a bloody fool.” He hung his head and laced his fingers together.

  “I am dead without her,” he whispered. “I have killed them both.”

  A wash of compassion softened the Briton’s face. “Your wife is a formidable woman. She is strong, intelligent, and resourceful. Do not bury her yet.” Thane paused and ran the back of his hand across his brow. “But there was a man after her… a Roman.”

  “Quintius.”

  Thane nodded. “She said he was an enemy. I am certain he was lurking in the woods outside our camp, waiting for her. I saw him leave the woods and follow her into the town.”

  Fear washed through Marius. “If he gets her…” His voice trailed off. “I have to get out of here.”

  “I know,” said Thane. “I will help you.”

  “How?”

  “You and the queen saved my daughters. They thrive because of your kindness. Tomorrow, when we meet in the arena you must kill me. The only thing I ask is that you make it swift.”

  “What? I have no intention of—”

  “You have no choice. The administrators have seen to it that this will be a battle to the death. I will not kill you. Accept it. You know as well as I that even if she reached the Romans to help you, they will never get here in time to stop this match. Even if they did, the arena is sold out; the people will tear this city apart if they are denied their bloody due.

  “Like it or not, tomorrow we face each other and one of us has to die.”

  Thane turned to the wall and rubbed his face with his hands, the chains jingling beneath him. “This is my gift to Delia… and you. It is the only thing I have left.”

  “There has to be another way,” Marius said.

  Thane rose from the cot and took Marius’ shoulders in his massive hands. “I am already dead. I died the day they captured me and took away my life. Your blade through my heart will only end my torture. I will join the goddess in paradise. There is nothing left for me here.”

  Marius could not reply to the conviction in Thane’s words. As a warrior, there was only one response. He reached behind Thane’s neck and pulled his forehead to touch his own. “You are a brave and honorable man, Prince, a credit to your people. I swear to you if, in the end, it comes down to it, I will finish you swiftly. I would ask that you promise me the same thing… warrior to warrior.”

  Thane’s face looked grim in the darkened chamber. “I will,” he whispered.

  Marius turned away and lay down on his cot without another word. There was nothing he could do but wait for the sunrise. He closed his eyes, Delia’s beautiful face waiting for him behind them.

  The Edge of Honor

  Chapter XXIII

  The sand at Marius’ feet was dark, stained with the blood of the dead, and dying. All around him, three thousand Roman men and women, proper citizens all, roared until the timbers of the decaying arena shook with the sound. Roman soldiers were noticeably absent. Without their intervention, the men and women became a crowd, and the crowd became a mob.

  Fistfights, loud drunks, and chaos ruled the circled seating, even though the sun had only moments before climbed over the horizon. It was barely dawn. The administrators flitted from incident to incident in an attempt to quell the bedlam. Until the match started, Marius knew their efforts would be useless. People were there for blood. Only violence in the sand would settle their tempers.

  Dew sparkled on the ground in shadowed places. Despite the clinging wetness of morning, sand stirred under Marius’ shifting feet. It smelled of musk and misery. The dusty odor mixed with that of his sweat, food frying from nearby vendors, and an odd assortment of Roman perfumes, doused on women and men alike to drown the stench of their overindulgence. Marius had always hated the rich, even when he took the oath to protect them.

  A poorly padded bronze helmet encased his head amplifying the noise until is rang thunderously in his ears. It was unornamented with no faceplate and Marius was grateful. He would need his wits to fight and gladiatorial faceplates limited your vision.

  Blackened leather surrounded his right arm countered by a bronze greave strapped to his left shin. They were ill fitting and hot. On his left arm was the familiar scutum used by Roman soldiers in battle. The weight of the painted wooden shield was as familiar to him as the h
obnailed leather sandals on his feet. If allowed, he would have thrown the other accoutrements aside; he did not need them. Otherwise, he was naked except for the leather loincloth, the balteus circling his waist, and the iron bands around his wrists and ankles. He adjusted his hand over the grip of the gladius. The sword was not as good as the one he was accustomed to, but it was well maintained and sharp.

  Thane stood next to him in the center of the arena, similarly appointed. The tall man flexed his arms while the magistrate tried to calm the crowds.

  Marius scanned the arena in one hard glance, sizing up the position of the sixteen other gladiators standing stiff in front of the magistrate’s box. In cages behind them were two mangy lions. They roared at the men, poked by a slave to agitate them. Marius knew several days would have passed since they had eaten. This made them vicious and ready for the attack. He hoped the beasts were for a later match, and not intended to end the first.

  To the right of the line of men stood Salonius and his second in full gladiatorial uniforms, shielded, and armed like the rest of them. Above him in the stands sat the slaver Abella with several of his men. Seated between them were three small boys, the Syrian’s motivations.

  Marius cursed under his breath. Abella was clever. They would assure a good, honest fight. As long as the children were in danger, Marius would have to fight well.

  He glanced over at Thane. Marius knew of no other way of getting through this day without killing the man who had saved his wife.

  At a signal from the magistrate, two trumpeters blared out a staccato fanfare.

  Marius and Thane took up their assigned positions across from one another at the center of the sand. They faced the grand podium where the leading aristocrat stood waving at the crowd. The man, the local procurator no doubt, smiled inanely at Marius and he saluted back.

  “Ave Imperator! Moritori te salutant!” He heard Thane echoing the tribute beside him.

  When the noise subsided, Marius moved.

  He circled around the giant Briton slowly, looking for an opening. Thane’s face hide behind a bronze visor.

  Marius did not want to kill this man, which made him hesitant. Obviously, the same was true for Thane, as he made no advance, no opening move to fight Marius. After several minutes of this, the noise from the crowd rose to a crescendo. In the midst of that roar, Marius heard a shrill cry. He maneuvered himself around the giant and looked across the stands.

  One of the lions was free, pulling against a heavy chain. The chain was short enough so that it could not reach the standing gladiators only a few feet away. However, it was long enough to reach an unfortunate child dangling from Abella’s hands over the side of the arena wall. When the lion charged, the Syrian pulled the child up out of its reach, but Marius knew his time had run out.

  “I have to fight,” he called to Thane.

  “I know, Centurion. I am ready.”

  “I do not want to kill you, Prince, but I cannot let the child die.”

  Thane’s laughter sounded strange in the midst of the gravity. “Nor should you. I have prepared myself to embrace my gods, Roman. Paradise awaits me. Let us give these citizens some entertainment this fine morning. It will be an exquisite tale to share with the goddess when I arrive.”

  Despite the situation, Marius had to grin. “A story for the gods.”

  “Yes!” Thane roared and then rushed him. When the clang of metal meeting metal echoed up to the crowd, they went insane with cheers.

  Back and forth, the two men danced. What Marius had in skill Thane made up with sheer size and strength. Thane’s blows against Marius’ sword sent tendrils of pain through his arm. The Briton was more powerful than any Marius had fought. Every time Thane’s blade connected with Marius’ shield, the sound was deafening. Marius could feel the wood surrendering to the heavy strokes.

  Thane managed to drive Marius to his knees more than once. But Marius’ skills, honed by so many years of training and discipline, were more than the Briton could manage. Marius passed up so many opportunities left open by the Briton; he could have killed Thane a dozen times.

  The prince became weaker with each blow. Marius could not pull his skill much longer. The crowd became suspicious and shouted challenges to finish the match.

  Finally, Thane could take no more and fell to his knees in front of Marius. With a single flick of his blade, Marius caught the prince’s shield and sent it flying across the sand. In another, Thane’s blade flew from his hand, a deep bloody gash cut into the man’s right palm. Blood splattered across both men’s faces and flowed down Thane’s arm.

  Thane immediately made the sign for mercy, pulling his left hand up into the air toward the crowd. The crowd screamed for his blood, their thumbs already down. Marius kicked Thane onto his back, put his foot on his chest, and raised his sword.

  “Make it quick, Centurion,” Thane panted.

  Marius nodded once and glanced up at the dais to get the final thumbs down from the administrator.

  What greeted his eyes was the best thing he had seen since Delia. Where Abella had stood with the children, now stood Kuna, waving frantically. Three Briton warriors had the boys locked in their arms pushing their way through the crowd. Abella and his men were gone.

  Marius quickly pulled his leg away from the downed Thane. The prince looked up at him doubtfully. Marius laughed and took his arm to help him to his feet. The mob roared with displeasure. Six of the gladiators moved.

  “Retrieve your shield, remove your helmet, and go to the wall!” Marius shouted above the din, pulling the stifling helmet from his own head and throwing it to the side. He quickly backed to the wall watching the gladiators cautiously advance.

  Thane joined him, his sword extended.

  “Shoulder to shoulder to draw them in. Keep the wall at your back and follow my orders precisely. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. We will not survive this, Thane. But we will make the story to your gods great.” Marius scanned the arena. “Your hand, can you hold a blade to fight?”

  “It is nothing.”

  They crouched down, their shields overlapping.

  “Keep the shield in front of you no matter what happens,” Marius ordered, adjusting his hold on his own. “If you lose your shield, you die. Force the men to attack the scutum from above, and then you can impale them from underneath. Remember, a leg wound stops a man, a piercing to the groin, or even a deep cut to the foot will incapacitate him. Do not worry about killing him. We will have strength enough for at most four minutes. We need to do this very quickly. Forget what you have learned at the hands of the Lanista and remember your field tactics.”

  “Yes, Centurion.”

  The gladiators rushed them as a group.

  Marius could tell they were unused to this maneuver. That would be to his advantage. In such a small space, the clustered men impeded each other. Marius crouched and angled the shield to protect his head.

  The force of swords smashing against the wooden barrier sent pricks of pain through to his shoulder. He saw the naked right shin of one of the men and in a quick thrust, put his sword through the man’s calf. The gladiator went down knocking over the man to his left.

  Marius wasted no time. He drove the tip of his blade through the second man’s exposed side. The gladiator did not move again.

  Another man fell to Marius’ right. Thane had cut the man’s inside thigh to bone and blood pulsed out in a torrent. The ground became slick with it, but the hobnailed sandals dug in and stayed.

  Another man stepped over the bodies and charged Marius with a loud warrior’s cry. The impact when he hit smashed Marius against the wall, separating his shield from Thane’s. Marius held on and let the wooden scutum absorb the blow. He did not let the man recover from the impact. Bringing his sword up underneath the frame took effort, but he forced it past the crunching weight. The tip of the gladius went through the man’s exposed gullet. The blade stopped when it hit the gladiator’s spine. T
he weight of the dead man forced Marius to his knees. He had to push hard to dislodge him from the shield. The body fell to the side and he yanked the sword free.

  Thane engaged the two remaining men and Marius jumped into the fray. It was good to be on open ground. He did not like his back to a wall. He tossed the shield aside and showed the screaming audience the magnificence of his skill.

  The twinkle of the sword whirling in the sunlight made the crowd lunge to their feet. Marius disarmed the man with a single flourish and cut off his head with one sweep. Thane and the remaining gladiator were locked hand-to-hand, swords at the moment useless. In a quick move, Thane twisted the man’s wrist until there was an audible snap on the air. The man howled in pain. Thane took the moment to step back and run his sword through the gladiator’s neck. The man fell onto the sand, Thane’s sword still lodged in his throat.

  Marius leaned into his knees, his great gasping breaths billowed into the cold air. His hands curled firmly around the grip of his sword. Thane panted next to him, every inch of his exposed skin gleaming with sweat and blood.

  The crowd shot to their feet cheering, clapping, dancing through the arena, until dust shifted down through the sunlight. Marius twisted his head from side to side to watch them, amazed he and Thane were still alive.

  Salonius turned around in a circle three times, scanning the thunderous crowd, and then signaled one of the gladiators to him. Marius suspected the remaining twelve gladiators would attack and instinctively tightened his grip.

  “Be ready!” he called to Thane.

  The Briton pulled air into his lungs and anchored his feet in the sand. Marius knew the man must be in excruciating pain. It did not show.

  “That was one for the gods,” Thane breathed heavily.

  Marius bent his knees and flexed his arms, preparing for the attack.

  The trainer sent the gladiator back to the others and they marched double time toward the exhausted men. But they did not attack.