GIRL GLADIATOR (9 page)

“I recognised you as Cumbria’s brother. That was one thing. And it’s not my habit to put the wounded to the sword.”

The conversation lapsed again, Sharn noticing the chafe mark under the centurion’s chin from the rubbing of his helmet strap. Sharn looked around Cumbria’s room, as he tried to think of something to say. But then a bugle sounded in the distance.

“I’ve got to attend evening fall-in,” Crassus said as he stood up.

“Crassus!”

Crassus pivoted round surprised that Sharn had used his name for the first time; and Sharn was a little surprised also.

“Cumbria says she loves you … so I suppose you should get married.”

Crassus looked relieved. “With your blessing?”

“With my blessing,” Sharn nodded.

Crassus reached out and shook his hand warmly. “I hope you’re up and about soon, Sharn,” he said, then walked out with a much lighter tread than he entered.

When he had gone, Sharn started to think about Fritha. With his strength returning, he could feel how big the hole was that she had left. He pulled the blanket over his head to blot out the pain.

C
umbria was married a fortnight later. It was a very small affair because the new religion was frowned on in army circles.

Sharn listened to what the priest had to say, although he found much of it rather mystifying. At the meal afterwards, Cumbria glowed with joy and even Crassus lost some of his sternness, but Seth wasn’t happy.

“Why do human beings have this fatal attraction for hocus-pocus?” he groaned, pointing at the priest.

Sharn tried to smile but he had been missing Fritha terribly that day and his mood was very low.

“I sincerely hope that Cumbria – a young woman I have formed the highest opinion of – will not soon be cavorting under a full moon casting spells.”

Sharn struggled to summon up another smile but it was a poor attempt in the end. Seth looked at him keenly. “I’ve noticed a change in you over the past day or two, Sharn.”

“I think I’m due for one of my moods.”

“How can you tell?”

“I miss Fritha badly and the nightmares hang around even when I wake.”

“I will mix you up a potion,” Seth offered. “I’ll be back shortly.”

When all the guests had gone, Cumbria came to Sharn as he was taking the evening air in the garden. She thanked him again for not giving Crassus the cold shoulder. Sharn smiled weakly. He did it mostly for her, not for the Roman.

“Will you do something else for me, Sharn?” She reached inside her tunic and took out a gold cross strung on a chain. “Will you wear this?”

Sharn stared at the amulet dubiously.

“I can see how lost you are at the moment.”

Sharn reached out his hand for the cross, twisting in the light of the brazier, not because he believed in it, but he did not want to disappoint his sister on her wedding day. He slipped it around his neck – and then quickly hid it in the folds of his tunic as he saw Seth approaching.

After Seth had given him the phial of medicine, Sharn returned to his sleeping cell with dragging steps. Seth had planned to stay with him, but some wounded legionnaires from an ambushed Roman patrol had just been brought in and Seth had to hurry off to see to them.

Sharn had never had thoughts about killing himself before, but without Fritha, life just seemed futile. It had no shape when she wasn’t with him to greet the day and close it at night. Time was just like a big empty box. And maybe there was some point to missing her if he was going to see her eventually, but if this was never going to happen, then one day passing didn’t mean one day less before the pain ceased. It just meant another day of emptiness, with the sameness of waves pounding on a beach.

And that’s why Sharn started thinking seriously of a way out. It did have its drawbacks. He didn’t much like the idea of not being around at all, leaving this world of sunshine and birdsong forever, but the black void inside him – he couldn’t take that any more.

Sharn stared at the phial of Seth’s potion, and lying next to it on the small table, his knife. He would go and lie down near the furnace which heated the barracks, and with its warmth he would not last long after he opened his veins.

He stared and stared at them – the knife and the phial, the phial and the knife. He felt as if his life was hanging by a thread. But as hope drained out, something else took its place.

In his mind, he heard the lilt of Fritha’s laughter and tasted the flavour of her mouth. And saw her again on that dark night at the foot of the wall. He remembered how she did not surrender her life as he was planning to do – it had to be taken from her. Outnumbered and surrounded, without hope and at bay, she did not give up – she stuck it out to the end.

Ashamed, Sharn brushed the sharp little knife onto the floor with a clatter and reached for the phial.

It was like somebody was combing out the tangles in his mind. All the problems that seemed to have no solution evaporated and the whole universe grew quiet – and he slept.

He knew nothing more till, an eternity later, he blinked and opened his eyes. Cumbria and Seth were gazing down at him. “I see you took the potion. How do you feel?” Seth enquired.

Sharn blinked again, because the light seemed brighter than before – no, not brighter, warmer. He didn’t feel sad any more.

“I must have got the mix just right,” Seth said with a smile of self-congratulation.

Cumbria bent down. “I prayed for a miracle and my prayers were answered.”

Seth erupted. “It wasn’t prayer!”

Cumbria reached into Sharn’s tunic and pulled out the cross she had given him. “It just seems a little more than coincidence that his health improved after he started wearing this.”

“That,” Seth said jabbing his finger at the cross, “is mumbo-jumbo.” “This,” and he brandished the phial, “is science.”

Cumbria smiled at Seth’s vehemence. “I pray that you receive the gift of faith as I have.”

“Oh, please, Cumbria, I would rather be boiled in urine.”

“Well, what do you think did you the most good, Sharn?” Cumbria asked.

Sharn looked from his sister to Seth, and back again. “Er … well … maybe they both played a part.”

“Oh no!” Seth howled. “Religion has turned his mind to mush,” and he stomped out of the room.

W
hile Sharn was convalescing, Seth began to teach him to read Latin. Seth was afraid he would fall under the spell of the Christians without ‘the antidote of reason’, as he called it, so if he saw Sharn spending too much time with Cumbria, he would immediately suggest a Latin lesson.

Spring had broadened into summer before Sharn walked without a limp. And not a day went by when he didn’t think of Fritha, but gradually the sharp stab of loss became a dull ache.

One day at lunch in high summer, Seth announced that he was going back to Rome. His tour of duty in Britain was up and anyway he missed being at the centre of things, where new ideas arrived from the far corners of the Empire.

“I’ll really miss you,” Sharn lamented.

Seth looked at him with his knowing smile. “Ah, you’ll get by. You’re physically mended and your mind is mended too, thanks to my skill as an apothecary. You speak good Latin and beginning to read it. You’ll find something to do here in Damnonium – if you can swallow your foolish pride and accept the Romans.”

Sharn drew circles on the table in some spilt wine as an idea formed in his mind. “Could I come to Rome with you?” he said suddenly.

Seth fixed Sharn with a penetrating look. “Do you know how far it is?”

“Y-e-es,” said Sharn unconvincingly.

Suddenly Seth snorted. “Cumbria didn’t put you up to this – to find more about this Christ nonsense?”

Sharn shook his head. “I am interested in exercising my intellect, as you have taught me, and I think Rome would be a good place to do that.”

“You do speak good Latin, I must say,” and Seth scratched his nose as he thought about it. “Well, I will need someone to fetch and carry my medical material. Would you be prepared to train as my assistant?”

“Of course,” Sharn smiled.

“And you swear this is not some religious expedition?” Seth probed.

“I swear … as God is my witness.”

Seth was about to explode until he saw Sharn’s cheeky grin.

“Don’t mock your betters.”

S
harn had no idea the world was so big. They left Damnonium and travelled on horseback day after day, labouring through woods and fields, meadows and marshes; cresting a rise then down the other side, then another rise and another descent. It took them over two weeks, braving all kinds of weather, to reach Londinium. The final part of the journey was much easier because they travelled down the Roman road which was paved with stone and as straight as an arrow, leading directly into the bustling heart of the big town on the Thames. Here hundreds of dwellings stretched into the distance on either side of endless tracks, churned to mud by all the traffic. Sharn had never seen so many people, all hurrying around as if they were being chased.

And the wharves were even more crowded and frantic: men, animals, carts, wagons – all trying to get past each other. Big cargo ships were tied up, disgorging goods from all over the world: wine, olives, fruit, oil, spices, pottery, marble. And the empty ships were being filled with goods to take back: ingots of tin, bales of wool, hides, salt, cloth, hunting dogs in cages, dried fish.

Seth handed his military pass in at the watch-house and berths were assigned to them on a naval trireme leaving the next day bound for Rome.

If Sharn found the big city and its noisy tide of humanity daunting, he found the open sea even more so, as they hugged the coast of Gaul and sailed south to the Pillars of Hercules. The featurelessness of the water and the pitch of the waves shuddering up through the deck made Sharn feel sick.

They passed through the Pillars of Hercules and into the Internal Sea, Sharn shedding some of his clothes as the weather grew hotter. “I’m not sure I like this,” he said to Seth, wiping beads of sweat from his face.

“The further south you go, the hotter it gets.”

“How do the people stand it?” Sharn asked.

“You get used to anything if you have to.” Seth said.

Sharn nodded. He supposed he was getting used to being without Fritha and this caused a pang of remorse. Would he forget her altogether one day?

A pair of dolphins suddenly broke the surface of the water, two sleek arcs of shiny grey muscle, before slicing back into the sea. They repeated this trick once more, their mouths set in a jolly smile and then disappeared into the green translucence.

“Cumbria tells me you loved that girl.” Seth said.

“Yes, I did. And I believe … we met for a reason.”

Seth shot him a curious look. “Science has reason, but our lives don’t. Like those two dolphins arriving – it’s all just blind chance,” Seth said.

“You don’t know that for a fact, Seth. It may have a purpose which is unclear to us.”

“Ah, Sharn, my friend, I fear you are a romantic. Rome will fix that.”

And Rome almost did – because it was a hundred times bigger than Londinium. The sheer hubbub of the city swamped Sharn’s brain: the clash and clamour of the traffic, the babble of strange languages, the riotous markets. And the titanic scale of the buildings – the Circus Maximus where the chariot races were held; Caesar’s Palace, tier after tier of walls, like waves of marble lapping up the Palatine Hill; and the Coliseum, one circular arcade perched on another, defying gravity gracefully. And all the mansions and tenements and workshops and public baths and administration offices and temples and warehouses and wine shops; all crammed together, trying to shoulder each other aside to get at the sun.

Sharn enjoyed exploring the chaotic district where Seth lived: it was full of tanneries and abattoirs and dye-works and depots where carts from the countryside unloaded their fruit and vegetables. Sharn loved wandering through its narrow streets, poking his nose into everything.

One day he happened on a little Christian chapel. He entered the cool shadowy space where an altar was illuminated by two candles and the sweet smell of incense hung heavy in the air.

A priest noticed Sharn hovering and went over to him. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you a believer, my son?”

“Er … I’m just trying to get the hang of it … ah … before I make a decision,” Sharn stammered. This was not quite true and Sharn wondered whether it was worse lying in church than out in the street.

“Is there anything you would like to talk about?”

Sharn hesitated – there was something that intrigued him. “Can you pray for someone who’s already dead to try to get their soul into heaven?”

The priest observed Sharn for a moment and then a look of amusement crossed his face. “This dead person, is it by any chance a girl?”

Sharn coloured slightly. “Er … yes … it is as a matter of fact.”

“So your scheme is to carry on in heaven something tragically cut short on earth?” the priest boomed.

“Yes, that’s … pretty much the plan.” Sharn glanced around for the nearest exit, as other worshippers peered around to see what had provoked the priest. “I better be going I think,” he said as he scrambled to his feet.

“What is your name?” the priest’s voice boomed out again, as Sharn made for the door. Sharn turned and told him his name.

“And what is the name of your girlfriend?”

“Fritha,” Sharn replied.

“I will pray that you and Fritha meet again one day. Go in peace, Sharn.”

Sharn smiled as he walked out into the noisy street once more, colliding with a grape-seller, as the glare of the sun blinded him. Sharn bought the squashed bunches of grapes from the angry hawker to shut him up and walked home, spitting out the pips.

T
he next day while Seth was supervising Sharn’s reading lessons, a messenger arrived with an invitation.

“Good old Axis. Still outrageous after all these years.”