Highland Gladiator

by Kathryn Le Veque

  With that, he headed from the chamber into the holding yard beyond. Milo followed him, but Axel remained behind. He approached Lor.

  “I admire your courage,” he said, “but do not be foolish about this. Remember what I told you before—you cannot bring the Beast down with strength, so it must be by your wits. Considering the man is as dense as a pile of rocks, that will not take much effort on your part, but be smart about it. He is strong and he is fast, and he has good instincts. Prepare accordingly.”

  Lor appreciated Axel’s willingness to help him against a stronger opponent. “Have ye ever seen him brought down?”

  “Do you want an honest answer?”

  “Aye.”

  “I have not.”

  Lor had thought that might be his answer, so he wasn’t surprised by it. He did, however, have a healthy respect for the Beast and the man’s resilience. Truth be told, he also had a measure of anxiety because of it.

  But this was something he had to do.

  “Then I thank ye for being truthful,” he said. “I will do my best tae ensure I am not another victim.”

  Axel didn’t say anything. He simply nodded his head, giving Lor a slap to the shoulder as he headed out of the stone chamber. It wasn’t an encouraging slap, or even one that suggested Axel believed it. It was simply a slap that, to Lor, stated the obvious…

  Best of luck.

  Lor knew he was going to need it.

  * * *

  Because of the feasting and drinking that had gone on the night before, the lists of the Fields of Mars were a little more than half-full when the bouts began an hour after sunrise. Too many men were still in their beds, nursing aching heads and upset bellies.

  But Isabail wasn’t part of that suffering group, and neither were her father or brothers. They had, indeed, feasted the night before, but in moderation. All four of them were planted in the bottom rows of benches with the arena floor spread out before them.

  They had a fight to view.

  That is, if Lor was even fighting. The first few bouts were the same as it had been at the last organized event—novices against more advanced men—and so far, Isabail and her family had seen three novices take a licking before succumbing. As the morning dragged on, there were three more novice fights, the last of which involved a man Isabail recognized.

  The man was the partner that Lor had been practicing with for the past two weeks, and he was paired off against a man with a beard, a ponytail, and a very big club. Lor’s partner gave the bearded man an excellent fight, so much so that even her brothers commented on it. But in the end, he took a blow to the torso that crumpled him.

  The man limped from the field, and the bearded giant gloated for the crowd.

  After that, the fights were stopped for a time as more men filled the lists, and the food vendors began wandering around, tossing small loaves of bread to the crowd for a few pence each. Ossian and Ewan procured loaves for Isabail and her father, and the four of them tore into the still-warm bread.

  “Then ’tis decided that we’ll make an offer on the one they call the Beast?” Ossian asked, his mouth full. “The man is indestructible. He’s exactly what we need.”

  Isabail frowned. “There has been no such decision,” she said. “I told ye there is a fine novice here with ties tae Careston. Da agrees that he would be better because he has an attachment tae the village. It was his home the Lindsay burned.”

  Ewan and Ossian waved their hands to silence their silly sister. “Ye dunna know what ye’re saying,” Ewan said. “Ye know nothing, Issie.”

  Isabail leapt to her feet and balled a fist. “I know I can punch ye intae the ground, Ewan Keith,” she said. “Do ye want me tae prove it?”

  Niall put up his hand before the situation went out of control. He’d seen his daughter in a fight with her brothers and the lads had always come out on the losing end, so he pushed Isabail back into her seat.

  “No decision has been made yet,” he emphasized to all three. “Sit down and shut yer yaps. I’ll hear no more from ye.”

  Isabail sat down, but she was glaring daggers at her brothers, who were glaring at her in return. But men were coming out onto the arena floor so their attentions were diverted, especially when the big, leathery-skinned man who was a familiar fixture at the Cal came out to announce the next bout.

  Bouts were always announced. Until this point, it had been novices against men with names like Hammer Fist or the Sussex Falcon. Those were the more advanced warriors and they all were given a name to identify them to the crowd as men of rank and skill. It was an honor to have a moniker. Therefore, the crowd listened with great anticipation as the next bout was announced by the man with the heavy Germanic accent. When he was finished, Ewan and Ossian turned to their father in delight.

  “The Beast is next!” Ossian said. “Did ye hear? Now we shall see him fight again.”

  “And ye’ll make the offer, Da?” Ewan asked excitedly. “Ye must before someone else offers for him.”

  Niall held up a hand to silence his eager sons, watching as the enormous warrior named the Beast came out into the arena.

  “But who is the Lion of Caledonia?” he wondered aloud. “They announced him as the Beast’s opponent. We’ve not yet seen him fight, have we?”

  Isabail shook her head. “Nay,” she said. “I dunna know who he is.”

  Niall was curious. His sons, however, didn’t care about the warrior called the Lion of Caledonia. They were far more interested in the Beast, who lifted his hands to the crowd in the lists to encourage their cheers. As the crowd roared, his opponent made his way out onto the field.

  Isabail gasped.

  “Da!” she said, pointing. “It’s…it’s him.”

  They could both see Lor making his way onto the field, carrying a club with him and nothing else. Nothing else, not even a shield. Aghast, Isabail stood up to gain a better look at the lunatic of a man now taking the field against the Beast.

  “What is he doing?” she hissed. “The man is carrying nothing more than a stick!”

  Niall tugged on her, pulling her back into her seat. “Either he is daft or the smartest man in Scotland,” he said dubiously. “Ye wanted me tae watch him fight, Isabail. I dunna know how much of a fight this will be.”

  Isabail didn’t know, either. She was positively horrified. She couldn’t imagine what Lor was thinking, coming to a fight with nothing more than a stick against a man of such enormity. Her heart started to pound as she watched Lor square off against the giant.

  God, dunna let him be torn apart right before my eyes!

  She wouldn’t be able to stand it. Spending the evening in his arms, feeling more love and contentment than she’d ever known, had done something to her. Isabail had always believed herself hardened to things like battle or destruction, but not when it came to the man she loved.

  Already, she was terrified.

  The marshal signaled the commencement of the bout and the crowd shot to their feet, cheering and screaming, as Lor and the Beast circled each other. It was like watching two dogs sizing one another up just before they jumped in and began to rip each other to shreds. The crowd had their champion and they fully expected him to chew up the Lion of Caledonia and spit him out, blood and bones all over the soft Scottish earth.

  The Beast made the first move.

  Abruptly, he charged Lor, who waited until the last moment before spinning out of the way and bringing his club to bear on the Beast’s skull as he did so. The cracking sound was audible, echoing off the top of the arena as the crowd roared and the Beast nearly fell to his knees.

  The big man teetered but caught himself on the waist-high wall that separated the lists from the arena floor. Furious, he turned to Lor, who was several feet away. Clearly, he’d been surprised by Lor’s action as well as embarrassed by it. As the crowd watched, Lor swung his club
and beckoned the Beast to come toward him again.

  The Beast complied.

  Charging Lor, the Beast thought he was being clever by breaking to his left because the last time he’d charged, Lor had moved to his right. His intention was to cut Lor off, but much to the Beast’s surprise, Lor moved to his left, away from him, and came up behind the man only to crack him over the head so hard that the Beast tipped forward, struggling to stay upright, but ended up pitching to his knees.

  Lor was on him in a flash.

  Leaping onto the Beast’s back, Lor threw the club across the man’s neck with the intention of choking him. It happened so fast that the Beast had no time to defend himself. The next he realized, there was a club across his neck and his opponent was strangling him.

  The crowd went silent with shock as Lor grabbed hold of both ends of his club and pulled back as hard as he could. He was gripping the Beast with his legs, wrapping them around the man’s waist and locking his ankles so he had leverage as he tried to choke him. The Beast was in a very bad way, quickly pitching forward into the dirt, face first, as Lor continue to choke him with his club.

  It was clear that the fight was over, and over very quickly.

  Isabail, who had been watching the entire battle with her hands on her mouth, began to realize that Lor wasn’t about to be plastered all over the arena. He was slowly strangling the Beast to death, so much so that the man’s face was turning purple. Before he could complete the deed, however, the marshals came running out onto the field to stop the fight.

  In fact, even the big man with the Germanic accent came out to help the marshals separate the combatants because it was obvious that Lor had no intention of easing up. He was fighting for his life, and he wasn’t about to relinquish control thanks to the tricks Wendell pulled on him. But the man with the Germanic accent finally forced him to drop the club.

  The bout was finished.

  The crowd, seeing that their mighty champion had been flattened by a mere tiro, wasn’t quite sure how to react. They were actually confused, watching as the Beast was dragged off the field in defeat. But his opponent remained.

  It was Isabail who finally began to cheer for the new champion.

  Hearing her screams, others began to pick up the cry. With a massive grin splitting her face, Isabail stood on the bench where she had been seated and began to wave her arms, screaming and cheering for Lor, who was still standing there as if dazed by the entire event. A temporary madness had evidently overtaken him, the madness of self-preservation, and as the man with the German accent gently shook him, pointing to the crowd, Lor seemed to come alive.

  In fact, he was alive.

  He’d survived the Beast and lived to tell the tale.

  The man with the German accent lifted one of Lor’s arms, a signal of victory, and the crowd went mad for him, throwing money at him from all over the arena. Silver and gold coins began to rain down as Lor seemed to perk up, feeling the thrill of victory for the first time in his life.

  It was evident that he could hardly believe it.

  Somewhere in the midst of all the madness, his gaze locked with Isabail’s as she jumped up and down, waving her arms and screaming, and for a split second, she saw something warm flash in his eyes when he looked at her. But he quickly turned away from her, seemingly fed by the cheers from the crowd, and he suddenly began to bellow, releasing his fear and his excitement, listening to the cheers grow louder in response.

  At some point, Isabail stopped cheering simply because the noise around her was deafening. She had eyes only for Lor as he responded to the crowd, drinking in adoration and worship usually only reserved for the mighty and the strong.

  Isabail had to smile at the smithy from Careston who had become a champion today, a moment he would surely remember for the rest of his life. Turning to look at her father, she could see that he was cheering Lor on, too, and an offer for the man would soon be forthcoming.

  The Lion of Caledonia had finally roared.

  An hour later, Lor Careston was presented with a symbolic gladius with a red ribbon tied on it, which meant an offer for his services and fealty had been made—and accepted.

  Part Three

  The Lion of Caledonia

  Chapter Eighteen

  Although Lor had only been at the Ludus Caledonia a short while, leaving it felt oddly bittersweet.

  He’d come to the Cal with absolutely nothing—no self-confidence, no friends, and no future. But he was leaving with all those things and more. He stood in his cottage, packing items he’d accumulated over the past couple of months and thinking about the life he was about to embark on. It hardly seemed real. He was just tying up the last of his possessions with a hemp binding when the door to his cottage opened.

  “You are leaving us?” Galan said as he entered. “How is that possible? You have been here even less time than me.”

  Lor smiled at the man, his one real friend. “I’m going back tae my village,” he said. “Well, not exactly my village, but near it. I’m going tae help a clan in need.”

  Galan was bruised since his bout the day before, his left eye black and his lips swollen, but his injuries didn’t diminish the smile on his face. “I have heard,” he said, but his smile quickly faded. “But what about the men you wanted to exact revenge upon for your grandfather’s murder, Lor? That was why you were here, to learn to fight so that you could punish them. And now you are leaving so soon?”

  Lor looked at Galan, wondering if he should tell him the truth—that he was going to destroy the clan responsible for his grandfather’s death from within. They thought that they’d bought a man to defend them, but they’d really bought their own destruction.

  Even if it was the clan of the woman he loved.

  In looking at Galan, he realized he couldn’t tell the man any of that. He couldn’t risk letting Galan in on his plans. At the Ludus Caledonia, everything was honor bound, and Lor had accepted an honorable offer of fealty even if he had accepted it with an ulterior motive.

  Lor wouldn’t touch Galan with the stain of dishonor that he’d assumed himself. He respected Galan, and everyone else at the Cal, too much to confess that his reasons for accepting the Keith offer were subversive.

  Wicked.

  “It feels right,” he finally said. “The clan that offered for me is from the Highlands. That is where I’m from and where I will return. But I willna forget ye, Galan de Lara. Ye were a friend when I needed one.”

  Galan’s smile returned as he reached out, taking Lor’s big hand. “I will miss you, Scotsman,” he said. “Or should I call you the Lion of Caledonia? That is all anyone can speak of today. You nearly destroyed the Beast.”

  Lor lifted his eyebrows as if he, too, was surprised at his victory. “It was out of sheer terror,” he said. “But the techniques Milo has been teaching us helped. Milo is a good teacher.”

  Galan nodded. “He is,” he said, letting go of Lor’s hand. “I will not keep you any longer, for I know you must depart, but I wanted to wish you well. I am not sure where I will be in the future, but you can always send a missive to Trelystan Castle on the Welsh Marches. They will know where to find me.”

  Lor was feeling sadness at leaving Galan. “I’ll be in a village called Auchnacree, so if ye ever have need of me, send word. I will come.”

  Galan smiled, patted Lor on the cheek, and left the cottage. Lor grabbed his meager belongings and followed him out into a cold morning that had clouded over. It was December, after all, and the weather had been mild up until now.

  Leaving the village, Lor walked over to the great walls of Caelian Hill where Isabail and her family were gathering with their horses. Lor could see Isabail’s red hair in the distance. He could also see Axel standing there along with Clegg, who had a servant standing behind him with a large tentlike apparatus, holding it over Clegg to shield him from the elements. They were
joined by a third man leading a big, brown horse, who, upon closer inspection, was Wendell.

  Curious why Wendell should be present when he’d not seen the man since he’d been removed from his troop. Lor’s attention shifted when Isabail came around her horse, smiling at him as he approached.

  “Da wants tae leave as soon as possible,” she said, pointing to the clouds above. “He fears the weather willna hold.”

  Lor glanced up. “’Tis possible,” he said. “The weather has been remarkable since I arrived here. I suppose it couldna hold out forever.”

  Isabail’s smile grew. “I am glad ye impressed my father,” she said, for his ears only. “I dinna have the chance tae tell ye yesterday when he made the offer tae ye. It was quite a day. I was proud of ye, sweetheart.”

  Lor simply nodded, loving the sweet sentiment out of her mouth but unable to show it. “It was indeed a day of days,” he said. “I am glad I survived it, tae be truthful. Speaking of surviving, it seems that yer attacker was found. There were rumors of it.”

  Isabail’s smile faded as she realized what he was talking about. “I heard this morning,” she admitted, glancing at her brothers before continuing. “Ewan and Ossian were talking tae one of the guards this morning. The guard mentioned a murder, and my brothers are anxious tae leave, fearful there are murderers on the loose.”

  Lor could see her eyes glimmering with amusement about her brothers, presumably warriors for their clan, being fearful of a murderer. He then looked over at the two brothers, who were looking at him quite unhappily. Remembering that the men were advocates of the Beast, Lor suspected he would receive some animosity from them, but it was of little matter. He hated them as much as they hated him. Soon enough, they would pay for that hatred.

  They would all pay.

  Turning from the displeased brothers, Lor went to bid farewell to Clegg, who was speaking with Niall. When they saw Lor approach, Clegg was the first to speak.