'He's a cold man,' said Fiallach, speaking in Keltoi.
'Aye, but canny. He showed no reaction when we spoke of the merchant. Perhaps he knew nothing of it.'
Fiallach said nothing. Brother Solstice had warned them both about hidden chambers behind the walls, where spies might lurk, noting down their conversation.
Beyond the main room was a garden, and Bran gestured Fiallach to follow him out. Once outside they wandered along a curving, neatly paved path, stopping here and there to look at the many flowers. Bran glanced around, sure that from here they could not be overheard. 'You kept your temper well, my friend,' he said.
'Perhaps I'm getting older and wiser,' said Fiallach, but there was anger in his eyes.
'They all know of you, and your skills. They probably also know of your legendary temper. It is vital you do not react to any . . . discourtesy.'
'I know that, Bran. By Taranis, you have been labouring the point for the entire journey!'
Bran smiled. 'You are right. My apologies. I wonder if Nalademus will be at our meeting.'
'I don't much care who is there,' said Fiallach. 'I still don't know why Conn accepted this invitation. And there is more than a chance we'll be held hostage.'
Bran nodded and the two men continued their walk around the garden. They came to a small man-made pond, over which a wooden bridge had been raised. Bran leaned on the rail and looked down into the still water, gazing at his reflection. Like Fiallach he had not relished this trip, and was missing Gwen and their three boys terribly. He thought of them constantly, wondering whether little Orrin had mastered his fear of riding, and if his eldest son, Ruathain, had regained his strength following the fever. The boy had been so weak. Brother Solstice had tended him well, but Bran knew that secondary illnesses could often prove fatal.
'We cannot refuse the invitation,' Connavar had told him. 'It would be seen as both weak and hostile. Obviously Jasaray needs something from us. Find out what it is, and report it back.'
'What about Wing?' Bran had asked, referring to their brother Braefar by his soul-name, Wing over Water. 'He is skilled with words, and might enjoy a trip to Stone. He has no wife, no sons. And he constantly talks of being bored.'
'You are more suited to this task, Bran. Take Fiallach with you.'
This had surprised Bran. Fiallach was known for his seething hatred of all things Stone. 'Would that not cause offence, brother? After Cogden, Fiallach cut the heads from thirty Stone officers, and had them set on spears at the border. According to Brother Solstice only two Rigante names are well known to the people of Stone -yours and Fiallach's.'
'Precisely why he should go,' said Connavar. 'Although you are wrong about two names. There is a third. Many of the merchants who seek our favours are talking about a Rigante warrior who fights in the arenas of Stone.'
Bran had heard the stories, but had never spoken about them with Connavar. 'You want me to meet with him?' he asked.
'No. He has made his life, barren though it is.'
'I liked him,' said Bran.
Connavar's eyes had narrowed briefly, and he had scanned Bran's face for signs of criticism. Then he had sighed, and for a brief moment lost the haunted look Bran had come to know so well in the years since the death of Tae.
'I might have liked him too,' he said at last. 'He is one of many regrets I carry. If I could turn back the years, and live my life again, I would live it differently. I would have taken Tae to the lake. There would have been no war with the Pannone.'
'You know, Conn, this is something I have never understood. You are my brother, and I love you. But how long will you allow yourself to carry this burden? Take a wife, sire sons. You owe it to yourself-and to the people. You must have an heir, Conn.'
Connavar smiled. 'You are my heir, Bran. And your sons will follow you.' Connavar had walked to the window, and stared out over the countryside. Light clouds were casting dappled shadows over the flanks of the mountains.
'You could invite Bane back home,' said Bran.
Connavar swung round, his face once more set, his expression hard. 'We will talk of it no more.'
'As you wish, my king.' said Bran.
Connavar was instantly contrite. 'I am sorry, brother. I had thought the hurt would lessen as the years passed. But it sits like a canker on the soul.'
'Ah, dammit! I am sorry too, Conn. I'll not mention it again. So, what is it you think Jasaray wants from us?'
'It is hard to say. He has many troubles. The war in the east has meant most of his regular troops are far from Stone. Brother Solstice tells me that there are now more Stone Knights in the city than loyal soldiers. Jasaray apparently believes Nalademus is loyal to him - and perhaps he is. But the political situation there is precarious. The arrival of Rigante ambassadors will cause a stir, and perhaps deflect criticism of the eastern campaign. In short, brother, I do not know.'
Bran had now been in Stone for ten days, he and Fiallach quartered at a villa to the south of the city awaiting the call from Jasaray. Now it had come, and still there had been no talks.
A servant came running down the path. 'The bathhouse is ready, sirs,' he said. 'And your clothes have been moved from the villa. I have taken the liberty of having them washed for you. They are currently drying.'
'That is kind of you,' said Bran.
The private bathhouse was some forty feet long, with a sunken bath large enough to take perhaps twenty people. Bran and Fiallach removed their clothes and climbed in, sitting back and relaxing in the perfumed water. Fiallach sighed and ducked his head below the surface. He came up spluttering, water dripping from his braids and his long yellow and silver moustache. Bran chuckled. 'You are being corrupted by such decadence,' he said.
'It eases the pain in my back,' said Fiallach. 'I am not as young as once I was. I do not heal so swiftly.'
They lazed contentedly for some time, then two servants arrived, holding hot towels. The Rigante warriors climbed from the bath and dried themselves, then walked through to the massage room, where two young men waited.
Bran lay on his stomach and felt the warm oil poured to his back. He relaxed instantly, and the masseur expertly stroked and probed the muscles of his neck and shoulders, easing out the tensions. He glanced across at Fiallach, who was lying face down with his eyes closed. When the massage was finished, the oil gently scraped from their bodies with rounded ivory blades, they rose and dressed, and returned to their rooms. Food had been laid there, cold cooked meats and sweet pastries alongside two jugs, one of wine, one of water. They ate, then sat back to await the call from Jasaray.
'One could almost come to like this place,' said Fiallach.
The door opened and two silver-armoured warriors entered. 'Your chariot is here,' said the first, his voice echoing the contempt in his eyes.
Fiallach rose and strode across to tower over him. He looked at the man closely.
'Isn't that remarkable,' he said to Bran. 'Do you remember the first Stone head I rammed on the lance? It was just like his, though I think this man's neck is thicker. Probably take two cuts to sever it.' The soldier blanched, and licked his lips. Fiallach smiled at him. 'Do not concern yourself, little man. Today I am in a good mood.'
Horath bowed deeply as the emperor and his entourage entered the Royal Enclosure and took up their seats overlooking the golden sand of the arena. The sun was shining, and the stadium was almost full -twelve thousand citizens of Stone, waiting to see today's death bouts.
Horath led the emperor to his high-backed, velvet-covered chair. With Jasaray were two tribesmen, one handsome and beardless with golden hair, the other an enormous figure, with a long drooping moustache. The giant looked fearsome, and his bare arms showed many scars. He would have made a fine gladiator, thought Horath.
Six silver-garbed warriors filed in, and stood in a line behind the emperor. Jasaray sat down, leaning his back against a plump cushion. He glanced up at Horath. 'You are looking well, young man,' he said.
'Thank you, Maj
esty. You honour Circus Occian with your presence.'
'May I introduce my guests? This is Bendegit Bran, a lord of the Rigante tribe, and his aide Fiallach.'
'A pleasure to meet you, sirs,' said Horath, offering a slight bow. 'Have you come to see your comrade in battle?'
He saw the surprise in their faces. 'Bane is fighting today,' he said swiftly. 'He is Gladiator Seven now, a magnificent fighter, and a great asset to our circus. Today he meets Dex, from Circus Palantes. Dex is Gladiator Four and it should be a classic encounter. If you wish to gamble I would be delighted to have your bets placed with the circus bank.'
Bendegit Bran shook his head, and exchanged glances with Fiallach.
'Well, enjoy your day, sirs.' With a deep bow to Jasaray, Horath withdrew to his own seat. Every few minutes he cast nervous glances back towards the door. He had invited Nalademus and the Lord Voltan to the Enclosure, but had received no reply. Even so, chairs had been prepared for them. This had caused him some concern, for Nalademus was a large man, and needed a big chair. Which would have been fine, except that the emperor insisted upon a straight-backed seat for himself, with a single cushion. Horath could not seat Nalademus in a chair more grand than that of the emperor, and had instead placed a wide couch to the rear of the Enclosure.
Unfortunately this would mean that Nalademus, should he arrive, would be sitting behind Jasaray and his guests. Horath comforted himself with the rumour that the Stone elder had been in ill health for some time, and was, therefore, unlikely to attend.
A blare of trumpets sounded and six horsemen rode into the arena. The crowd cheered as the men galloped their white mounts round the perimeter. Then, in unison, the riders lifted their feet and smoothly rose to stand on the backs of the horses. The mounts came into a line. The riders began to leap from one horse to another, landing lightly, timing each jump to perfection. Then they sat back in their saddles and rode from the arena. The crowd applauded their skills. Horath glanced at the two Rigante warriors. They sat, expressionless, arms folded across their chests. At that moment the rear door opened and Horath mouthed a silent curse.
The Stone elder, Nalademus, moved into sight, leaning on a long golden staff. Horath leapt to his feet. 'Welcome, lord,' he said. 'You honour us with your attendance.'
Nalademus nodded, then glanced at the couch. Jasaray rose. 'Good to see you, my friend,' he said warmly. 'Please, come sit beside me. Horath, have another chair brought in.'
Horath hurried out, signalled two servants and gave them instructions. Moments later they carried in a beautifully carved and gilded chair, which was taller and deeper than that used by the emperor. 'You should sit here, Majesty,' said Nalademus, as the chair was placed beside the emperor's.
'Nonsense, my friend. You have been ill, and your well-being is far more important to me than small matters of ego. Sit yourself and be comfortable.'
Nalademus bowed, and lowered his massive frame into the gilded chair.
Horath breathed a sigh of relief and returned to his place. Nalademus was introduced to the other guests, and then the party returned their interest to the events in the stadium. A precision cavalry display was followed by a lion hunt. Two beasts were set loose in the stadium, and two horsemen, armed with hunting bows, galloped out. The first lion was killed swiftly, but the second, wounded and enraged, charged at a rider. The horse reared, throwing the man to the sand. Instantly the lion was upon him, and the beast's talons ripped open his back. The satisfied roar from the crowd startled the lion, which swung its great head just as the second rider bore down, sending an arrow into its heart.
The audience applauded wildly as slaves ran out to carry the mutilated rider from the stadium. The bodies of the lions were dragged clear and slaves with buckets of sand and long rakes covered the blood.
'The riders are men of great courage,' said Horath to Bendegit Bran.
'The lions were starved,' said Bran, 'their strength almost gone.'
Horath smiled and turned away, casting his eyes over the crowd, which was more than two thousand higher than at the last event three weeks before. Circus Occian was close to becoming the most profitable circus in Stone. Ah, thought Horath, how that must taste like poison to the owners of Palantes. Part of the success was due to the tribesman, Bane, who had become immensely popular with the crowds, but the greater part was the influence of Rage, who now trained all the gladiators, driving them hard, building their strength and speed. It was rare now for an Occian man to lose a death bout.
The trumpets sounded for the intermission, and the party rose and moved back to the Long Room, where food and drink had been laid out on a twenty-foot table. Nalademus engaged Bendegit Bran in conversation, while Jasaray stood talking with Fiallach. Horath hovered close by, close to the silent guards lined up across the doorway.
'I understand you have children,' said Nalademus to Bran.
'Three now,' said Bran. 'All boys. The youngest is but four months.'
'The children are our future,' said the Stone elder. 'They should be cherished.'
'Indeed,' agreed Bran, visibly relaxing. 'It is a joy watching them grow and learn. Do you have children?'
'Sadly, no. The priesthood demands total abstinence from all desires of the flesh. It is a source of regret to me, which is perhaps why I take such joy from the happiness of family men such as yourself.'
Horath wandered away. The honey dripping from Nalademus was almost nauseating. Another figure moved into the room, the guards stepping aside for him. He was tall and wide-shouldered, wearing armour of black and silver. Horath hurried over.
'Lord Voltan, many, many thanks for taking the time to attend. Circus Occian is honoured by your presence.'
'Fetch me some wine,' said the tall warrior.
'Indeed so,' said Horath, holding to his smile. As he filled a goblet Horath became aware of a change in the atmosphere within the room. He glanced back to where the former gladiator stood. The guards looked nervous and ill at ease, and even the emperor was watching him closely. Jasaray strolled over to where Voltan waited. For a moment it seemed the Stone Knight was not going to bow, but then he dipped his head. Jasaray summoned the captain of his guards. The man stepped forward.
'The Lord Voltan', said Jasaray, 'is a loyal and good friend, and I can see from the dust on his cloak that he has ridden hard to be with us today. Which is why I excuse him for coming into my presence armed with a sword. In his haste to pay his respects he probably forgot he was wearing it. What, then, pray, is your excuse for allowing him to enter?'
'I am sorry, Majesty,' said the man. 'It will not happen again.'
'Indeed not. You are dismissed from my service. Report to your commander and await my pleasure.'
'Yes, Majesty,' said the man, bowing deeply. He backed away.
'Before you go,' said Jasaray, 'be so good as to remove the weapon of which we were speaking.'
With a speed that made Horath blink Voltan's sword flashed into his hand, and for a moment the air was charged with danger. Then Voltan reversed the blade, handing it to the disgraced captain, who swiftly left the room. Horath stepped in, handing the goblet to Voltan, who received it without a word of thanks. Nalademus introduced him to the guests, and Horath saw his gaze lock to that of the mighty Fiallach. 'Ah yes,' said Voltan, 'you fought at Cogden Field. I have heard of you. Are you not the general who beheaded captured Stone officers and raised their heads on poles at the Genii border?'
The very same,' said Fiallach.
'A sound strategy,' said Jasaray. 'Terror is a potent weapon in war. The placing of the heads on the border sent a clear and concise message to the enemy, while at the same time instilling fear in them. Now let us take a little refreshment before the main events.'
* * *
Bane grunted as Telors probed the injured rib. Blood was still oozing from the four-inch-long gash on Bane's left side.
'The rib's broken,' said Telors. 'You were lucky, Bane.'
'Oh yes, I feel really lucky,' said Bane, winci
ng as Telors wiped away the blood.
'Damn careless,' snapped Rage. 'I spent many hours watching Dex, and I told you how fast he is on the counter-attack. Did you read the notes I left with you last night?'
'Yes, I read them,' lied Bane. 'And I didn't fail. Dex is dead, isn't he?'
'Yes, he's dead,' agreed Rage, 'but a better man would have cleaved your ribs or disembowelled you. A man like Brakus, perhaps.'
Suddenly Bane grinned. 'You are never satisfied, are you? After my last duel you were telling me how if I fought like that when I met Dex he would cut my head off. And before that there was the deadly Kespus. Now both are dead.'
'Perfection is what we strive for, boy,' said Rage.
'No-one achieves perfection,' said Telors. 'You know that, Vanni.'
Rage sighed. 'If it could be achieved, it wouldn't be worth striving for. The object is to get as close as you can.' He looked at Bane. 'You fought well for most of the bout. Good footwork, fine concentration. But right at the start he lured you in with a feint. Only your speed saved you, and even with that he snapped a rib. An extra ounce of pressure and that rib might have pierced a lung.'
Telors opened a small leather medicine bag, removing a crescent needle and some dark thread. For some moments he tried to thread the needle. Finally Bane took it from him, threaded it, then handed it back. 'My eyes aren't what they were,' grumbled Telors.
'That's because you're getting old,' Rage told him.
'I'm ten years younger than you,' Telors responded.
Rage smiled at him. 'That's true.' The big man sat down alongside Bane. 'Don't mind me, boy. You frightened me out there. For just a moment I thought he had you.'
'I thought so too,' admitted Bane. 'And you are right. I was careless. But the shock of seeing Bendegit Bran and Fiallach with the emperor rocked my concentration.' He swore as Telors tightened the first stitch.
'Be brave, little soldier,' said Telors, with a grin.
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