Authors: Bertrice Small
He was a man of medium height, powerfully built, and bald but for a horsetail of dark hair sprouting from his skull and tightly wrapped with a leather thong. He strode around the ring, accepting what he obviously considered his rightful due. While he did so, the groundskeepers ran forth, two of them dragging the lifeless body of the Thracian from the arena out through the Death Gate, the other two sprinkling fresh sand atop the blood and raking it vigorously.
Cailin was stunned. “It was so quick,” she murmured. One moment the Thracian had been valiantly defending himself, and in the next instant he was dead. He had not even cried out.
“Gladiators are not usually cruel to one another,” Aspar said gently to her. “They are generally friends or acquaintances, for they live together, eat, sleep, and whore together. Death matches are rare today, and Justin Gabras must have paid well for them. Or perhaps these gladiators are just desperate men who do not care. Some are like that.”
“I want to go home,” Cailin said quietly.
“You cannot go now!” Casia cried. “The last match of the day is about to begin, and it is the champion himself. The Hun is an amateur compared to the Saxon. If it becomes too bloody, you need not look, and we will just gossip, but you must see him without his helmet. He is a god, I tell you!” Casia enthused.
Aspar laughed, and turning to Basilicus, said, “I think I should be worried about Casia, my old friend, if I were you. She is obviously quite taken, nay, fascinated I think a better word, by this gladiator.”
“He is beautiful to look at,” Casia replied before the prince might say anything, “but I have usually found that beautiful faces and bodies are all men like the Saxon can offer. There is nothing else, neither wit, nor culture. After one has enjoyed a good romp in Cupid’s grove, it is nice to lie back and chatter, is it not, my lord?”
Basilicus nodded silently, but his eyes were twinkling.
“Ohh, look!” Casia said. “Here are the combatants. I should hate to be the poor fellow fighting with the Saxon. He must know he has no chance.”
“How sad for him,” Cailin answered her friend. “How terrible to know that he is facing his death on this beautiful bright day.”
Casia looked discomfited, but then she said brightly, “Well, there is always the chance that he just might get lucky and beat the champion. Wouldn’t that be exciting? At any rate, they will put on a good show for us, you may be certain.”
The Saxon and his opponent were both armed in the Samnite fashion. Each man wore a helmet with a visor. Each had a thick sleeve on the right arm and a greave on the left leg only. The men’s waists were encircled with a belt. They carried long shields and short swords. Their combat would be a very close encounter. Saluting the emperor and their patron, they immediately began to fight. In spite of herself, Cailin was fascinated, for this match seemed more even than the previous one.
Metal clanged upon metal as the two men thrust and parried with their weapons. Cailin soon realized that the battle was not so evenly matched after all. The Saxon’s antagonist was not his equal in skill. The champion jumped and twirled in a series of maneuvers deliberately executed to please the crowd. Twice the other man left himself open to attack, but the Saxon feinted to distract attention. Finally the crowd began to catch on, and they screamed with outrage.
“There’s few his match,” Basilicus noted. “He’s but tried to give them a good show, but they want blood. Well, they’ll get it now, I think. The Saxon should have been saved for the final day instead of having him fight two days. Gabras obviously wanted his money’s worth.”
The combat took a different turn now, with the Saxon attacking his opponent vigorously while the other man fought desperately to save his life. The champion, however, refused to draw it out any further. Relentlessly he drove the other Samnite across the ring, his opponent getting few blows in
and striving to protect himself with his shield. The Saxon rained blow after blow upon it, until finally the man fell back, exhausted, his defense falling from his hand. The Saxon swiftly and mercifully pierced the other gladiator’s heart with his sword. Then he walked across the ring to the cheers of the spectators and saluted the emperor with the bloodied weapon.
“Remove your helmet, Saxon,” Justin Gabras said loftily, “that the emperor may see your face when he congratulates you on your victory.”
The Saxon removed his helmet and said, “There is no victory against a weaker man, lord. In two days’ time, however, I will fight the Hun. I will bring you his head upon a silver salver, and then I will accept your congratulations for a battle well fought.”
“You do not fear death?” the emperor said quietly.
“No, majesty,” the Saxon replied. “I have already lost everything I ever held dear. What is death but an escape? Yet the gods have willed it that I must live for now.”
“You are not a Christian, Saxon?”
“Nay, majesty. I worship Woden and Thor. They are my gods,” came the reply, “but the gods, I think, do not concern themselves with little men like myself, else I should have had my heart’s desire.”
Cailin stared at the Saxon as if mesmerized. She could not hear what was being said, but she knew he was speaking, for his lips were moving.
It could not be
. He looked like Wulf, but it simply could not be. Wulf was in Britain, on their lands, with a new wife and child. This man could not be Wulf Ironfist, and yet.… She needed to hear his voice, to see him up close.
“I told you he was a glorious creature,” Casia purred in smug tones. “Even covered in sweat and dirt he is beautiful, is he not, Cailin? Cailin?
Cailin!”
She tugged at her friend’s sleeve.
“What? What is it, Casia? What did you say? I was not listening, I fear. You must forgive me. I was momentarily distracted.”
Casia giggled. “I can certainly see you were, and by what.”
Cailin smiled. “Yes, he is a beautiful fellow,” she replied, regaining control of herself, “but despite it all, I do not like these gladiatorial combats.”
“My lord Aspar?” A guardsman had entered the box. “The emperor would speak with you a moment.”
Aspar hurried from the box. When he returned several minutes later, he said to Cailin, “There are emissaries here from Adrianople. It seems the peace there grows more fragile with each hour, and fighting is threatening to break out again between the religious factions. I am going to try and mediate this here in the palace with Leo tonight. Do you mind going home alone, my love?”
Cailin shook her head. Actually she was relieved. She needed time to think. The resemblance between the Saxon and Wulf was amazing, though his hair was lighter than Wulf’s corn-colored locks had been. “Keep the litter,” she told Aspar. “Whatever time you come home, you will need transportation. I will go with Casia to her house, and then her litter will bring me to Villa Mare.”
“Of course,” Casia agreed. “Cailin is ever practical, my lords. Basilicus, my love, you will join me for supper?”
“I cannot,” he said regretfully. “My sister insists I keep her company this evening, for she is entertaining the patriarch. Perhaps I shall come late, my sweet. Would it please you?”
“No,” Casia said, “I think not, my lord. If you cannot come to supper, then I shall take the time to catch up on my sleep. I do not seem to get a great deal of it when you are with me,” she added suggestively, thus tempering her refusal. Rising, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Come, Cailin. It will be difficult enough getting through the crowds, with the arena emptying itself like a full wine cup.”
“Good fortune, my lord,” Cailin told Aspar.
He bent and, cupping her face in his hand, touched her lips softly with his. “When I look at you, my love,” he told her, “I find my devotion to duty growing weaker and weaker.”
“You do not fool me,” Cailin said with a small smile. “The
empire is your first love, and I well know it. I am willing to share you with Byzantium, my dearest love.”
He smiled into her face. “You are without peer among all the women I have ever known, Cailin Drusus. I am fortunate to have your love.”
“You are fortunate to have his love,” Casia told her as they departed the Hippodrome in her large and comfortable litter.
“Why did you refuse to allow the prince to come later?” Cailin asked her friend. “I believe he truly loves you.”
“I do not want to cling to Basilicus like some dreadful little vine,” Casia said. “Nor do I want Basilicus to ever presume upon my love for him. I am his mistress, not his wife. I will not accept part of an evening at his discretion. I want an entire evening. Surely he knew beforehand that he would be with his sister tonight, but he did not tell me. He presumed that I should be there for him, but I am not, now am I?”
When Cailin did not answer, Casia focused upon her friend and said, “Have you heard a word that I said? What is the matter with you, Cailin? You are suddenly so distracted.”
Cailin sighed. She needed to confide in someone, and Casia was the only friend she had. “It is the Saxon,” she replied.
“Aye, he is gorgeous!” Casia agreed.
“It is not that,” Cailin answered.
“Then what is it?” Casia demanded.
“I think the Saxon is Wulf Ironfist,” Cailin told her friend.
“
Your husband in Britain?
Are you certain? The gods!”
“I am not certain, Casia,” Cailin said nervously, “but I must know! We wed because he was tired of fighting and he wanted to settle down. My lands were what drew him to me. I have thought Wulf Ironfist to be in Britain, on those lands, these months past. I even decided that he must have taken another wife and had a child by now. I have to know if the man they call the Saxon is he! I must know one way or another.”
“Ohhh, Cailin, you are opening a Pandora’s box,” Casia warned. “What if this man is Wulf Ironfist? What will you do? Do you still love him? What of Aspar?”
“I cannot answer you, Casia. I have no answers. I only know I must learn if it is he, or if my eyes have been playing
tricks upon me.” She looked so distraught that Casia’s heart went out to her. “Ohhh, what am I to do?” Cailin asked, and she began to cry.
“Well,” Casia said briskly, “we will simply have to satisfy your curiosity, won’t we?” Pulling the curtains of her litter open, she leaned out and called to her head bearer, “Go to Villa Maxima, Peter!”
Cailin gasped. “Oh, Casia, no! ‘Tis madness! What if I am seen? Especially now that I am to be married to Aspar.”
“Who will see us?” Casia said. “Jovian and Phocas have closed Villa Maxima to their regular clientele while the gladiators are in residence. I will go in while you remain in the litter with the curtains tightly closed. I will seek out Jovian, and he will know how you may learn if the Saxon is your Wulf Ironfist. We will be discreet, and you will be safer than if you were in your mother’s house again,” Casia promised. “Then you can go home and feel foolish, for it is very, very unlikely that this gladiator is your man, Cailin Drusus.”
“But what if it is Wulf?” Cailin fretted.
Casia’s face grew serious. “Why then, my friend, you are going to have to decide just what it is you want—a beautiful but savage Saxon who is obviously penniless, and willing to risk his life in the ring; or the cultured and wealthy First Patrician of the empire. If it were me, Cailin Drusus, I would order this litter to turn back, and I would return to Villa Mare this instant. If a man like Flavius Aspar loved me, I would thank God each morning when I awoke for the rest of my days. I think you are mad to tempt the Fates so. Let me tell Peter to turn back. I will come home with you and keep you company this night. The Saxon cannot be Wulf Ironfist.”
“I must know, Casia. Seeing him, even from a distance, has filled my mind with doubts. If I do not resolve these doubts, how can I ever pledge my faith to Aspar? What if the Saxon is not Wulf, but someday in the future Wulf does appear upon my doorstep? What if I still love him?”
“The gods forbid it, you foolish creature!” Casia exclaimed.
The litter made its way down the Mese and then through a
series of side streets. The two women had grown quiet. Casia twisted the rich fabric of her gown with her slender fingers. She was already regretting her impulsiveness. It was not Cailin alone who was opening Pandora’s box. She drew a deep breath. Nothing was going to come of this. Cailin, having a fit of bridal nerves, was seeing ghosts. The Saxon would turn out to be no one she had ever known. Still, Casia started nervously as the litter was set down and her head bearer, Peter, drew back the curtains to reveal that they were in the courtyard of Villa Maxima. Cailin reached out, touching Casia’s arm encouragingly.
Casia nodded. “I will find Jovian. Remain here, and whatever you do, do not open the curtains. Let them think the litter is empty.” She stepped from her elegant vehicle. “Peter, let no one be aware that I have a companion with me. I will not be long.”
“Yes, lady,” he replied.
Casia hurried into the magnificent atrium of the villa. A servant came forward and his eyes widened as he recognized the visitor. “Good afternoon, Michael,” Casia said. “Will you fetch Master Jovian to me, please? I will await him here. Were you at the games today?” she inquired brightly. “Was the Saxon not wonderful!”
Michael allowed himself a small grin. Casia had a fine eye for the gentlemen, and it was apparent she had not lost it. He bowed politely. “At once, lady. Shall I have refreshments sent to you while you wait? It is hot for autumn. Some iced wine, perhaps?”
“Thank you, no,” Casia returned. “I can stay but long enough to speak with Master Jovian.” She sat down upon a marble bench, watching as the servant went off, and wondering how long it would be before Jovian put in an appearance. The gods! Why had she ever suggested coming here?
Jovian came into the atrium, but to her intense distress, he was not alone. She silently cursed herself for a fool.
“Casia, my pet!” Jovian kissed her upon both cheeks. “What brings you here this day? I am quite surprised to see you.”
“Indeed, Casia,” Justin Gabras purred. “I, too, am surprised. I wonder if Prince Basilicus would be also?”