B007IIXYQY EBOK (125 page)

Two sure hands seized her from behind and turned her around.

“Marcus?”
she whispered, facing a tall man in a hooded cloak. Within, she saw eyes that burned too brightly, revealing feelings ruthlessly reined in.

“Yes, it is I,” came a reassuring voice.

She held to him for long moments, languishing in rich, warm silence. The comfort she took from him dismayed her, for it was a reminder of how comfortless she was at most times, and she did not want to know it.

“Listen to me,” he said, his cheek still fervently pressed to hers. “It’s madness for me to be here, but I’ve been given more vile news. Auriane, you must give this up! They conspire against you. You cannot win.”

She listened tensely, body braced to object. He looked swiftly round once to see if they were watched, then went on.

“I have here a poison compound. It induces vomiting and will make you ill for a day and a half—long enough for you to escape the morrow. No physician will be certain of the cause of your sudden sickness. Take it now, with this meal, and if fortune is with us, the school’s physicians will conclude it’s the unaccustomed richness of the food given you this night.” He pressed a terra-cotta pot into her hand. “Take it and live!”

“Marcus, no. I still am bound—”

“You must. Aristos’ ruffians mean to tamper with your equipment. They’ll see you dead before you ever get near him. Erato cannot control them very well—Aristos has too many confederates among Palace officials. Do this for now, and I’ll have another escape plan readied before you’re made to fight again.”

Auriane broke her gaze away once to look at Harpocras. He still stood unmoving.

“Marcus, I cannot be saved. You must let the Fates have their will of me, and trust this thing to my wits. Be at rest. There is nothing god or man can do.” She put the poison back into his hand and said hoarsely, “Do not think I am not grateful!” She looked away, eyes moist with suffering.

He caught up her hand and cradled it in his own. “It is fiendish how clever the gods are at putting us into the very circumstances most impossible for us. I do not know what to do
with a person who spurns all aid. You’ve managed to render me more helpless than I’ve ever felt.”

He turned her face to his and said with resignation, “If you will not do this thing, then guard well your life. Erato means to let you select your own sword right before your time. You’ll go into the armory yourself. After that, do not take your eyes off your sword, not even for a moment. The bearers will be walking before you as you enter, so this should not be difficult. Not even for the time it takes to take a breath, do you understand? Exchanging a sword is an old, tried trick, and they are very good at it. And I do not have to tell you that if your sword breaks in your hand, that’s just your foul luck. You’ll get no pity from the crowd, and you’ll be given no quarter by your opponent.”

Numbly she nodded, ensnared in his look—so like her own—of a proud creature determined not to be too hurt by the world. In spite of his words she felt slightly drugged by the sound of his voice; it gathered her up and securely held her.

“Erato claims you’re astonishingly skilled. I am not much surprised, you are ever a source of wonderment. You’ve a good chance, I believe, if you’re kept safe from treachery. Now, when you stand before the Emperor’s box, do not look at me. Domitian is strangely jealous of all that I love. And do not look at the Emperor—don’t provoke him in any way. Try to look overwhelmed and…chastened,
if you have it in you.” He smiled, softly stroking her cheek. “I have trouble imagining that look on your face. But you must do it.”

“I know his nature well. Have no fear, I will not provoke him.”

“Auriane! This could be the last time we look upon one another.”

“I will not die, Marcus.”

“It is uncanny…. When you speak those words, I believe them. I wish I could hold to this. But for me, belief is such a fragile thing…. It does not survive dusk, much less the long night.”

“It is because your people keep your gods locked up in stone houses,” she said, with the beginnings of a smile. “If you allowed them out among the people once in a while—”

But he drew her to him and cut her words short with a disconsolate kiss, finding himself suddenly overcome; as he held her, he marveled that her body had that same curious mixture of vulnerability and strength, of softness and firmness, as did her whole nature.

Auriane was sharply aware of how the swell of her breasts was flattened against his chest, of the fact that but two thin pieces of cloth separated their bodies. This is cruel past bearing, she thought miserably. A part of me wants to turn my back on all my labors, to steal off from this place and lie with him tonight.

He seemed to hear these thoughts, for he held her gaze firmly, and said, “I will find a way, some day soon, that we may pass at least one night together before we perish. I promise it.”

She shivered, feeling pleasantly vulnerable, gently paralyzed by the desire so evident in his eyes. Misery and joy surged up in her throat and choked off all words.

“All you have to do is stay alive,” he said with a playful smile that concealed a savage sadness beneath. “A small thing to ask, I think.”

He then saw Harpocras give the signal. “Nemesis.
Go quickly!”

She held to his gaze as long as she dared; leaving him felt like tearing off a limb. “Forgive me what I do to you,” she said, and fled off down the passage.

CHAPTER XLVI

A
URIANE WAS ROUSED BEFORE DAWN BY
the remorseless pounding of a drum, resonant with dark urgency. Still half in dreams, she thought it the celebration drums of Eastre.

It is the morning of the Blessed One’s rising. Baldemar awaits on Marten Ridge—I need to hurry if we’re to watch together the lighting of the bonfires. Soon now, Thrusnelda will be climbing the hill of sacrifice with a live hare in a sack
…
.

She saw a line of dancing children following a high wind ruffling the pines, marking the passage of Fria herself as Light Bearer, her fiery raiment creating the dawn as she led first the young children, then all her people to the place-of-no-sorrowing. The earth-quickening pulse of that drum was her great, compassionate heart.

Then Auriane was awake. With a lurch of terror, she remembered.

That drum meant death, not life. It accompanied the raising of the
velarium,
the vast awning of sailcloth that would shield the spectators of the Colosseum from the midday sun. To the beat of that drum, a thousand sailors drawn from the Roman fleet at Misenum turned engines that unrolled great strips of canvas onto the network of ropes that stretched over the seats of the amphitheater. The crowds who came to watch her people die would not be forced to squint in the sun.

As she arose and splashed her face with water from the wooden trough at the back of the cell, each throb of that drum seemed a blow from a hammer in the hands of their savage sun-god, pounding her into bloody mud, pushing her farther down into the lightless caverns of Hel.

She stopped her ears.

Sunia! Do you hear? Do you know I saved you from that drum, or do you despise me still?

She moved to the narrow window so she could see a strip of sky, and placed a hand over the runic sign of Tiwaz that scarred her arm, while striving to feel the fiery ghost of the war-god. But the sky was barren today. She fought against the first small pricklings of panic.

A guard loudly flung open the cell door. Motioning with his javelin, he ordered her to follow him. On this day the whole of the passage was lined with guards, most of whom were unfamiliar. She was taken to a vast holding cell by the school’s entrance and put in with two hundred and more novices. None spoke; all were locked into their private prisons of fear. After a few moments she found Coniaric and Thorgild in the murky, greenish gloom; they seemed distant, as if they still dreamed. When she saw Celadon, he refused to meet her gaze. Though yesterday he had seemed settled and confident, on this morning terror owned him, and it filled him with shame.

A dozen guards briskly searched them for sharp implements—a brooch, a stylus, or paring knife—to forestall the inconvenience of last-minute suicides.

As morning progressed, the whole of the
Ludus Magnus
began to awaken to life; Auriane observed it all from the holding cell’s barred window. Armory workers and assistants hurried past at a half run, carrying weapons and equipment. Shouts reverberated off stone as disputes erupted between trainers and physicians. Ceremonial chariots were drawn up and readied for the grand entrance of the highest-ranking men of the First Hall, who appeared shortly after, decked in purple robes and finely embossed helmets of gold affixed with peacock plumes. As the hours crept on, her tribesmen began to approach her singly or in twos, to put a hand on the amulet of sacred earth—all they had left of their home ground—while begging her to pray for them. Auriane stayed near Celadon, plying him with questions about all that passed, hoping to pull him out of the miasma that had settled over him. Thorgild seemed to find a store of strength at the last. But Celadon did not, for, as she learned, he believed he was matched with a better man.

The cell’s only sounds were murmurs, whimpers and prayers.

As dawn passed into hazy morning, the common people massed into the wide way that separated the
Ludus Magnus
from the Colosseum. Ruffians from the Subura pressed against perfumed nobles, Palace freedmen, cobblers and fishmongers, cabbage farmers from the country about Rome, workers in marble, keepers of shops, and travelers from places distant as Rhodes, Anatolia, or the banks of the Euphrates. Above this human sea swayed the occasional senatorial litter, seeming to float on it like some ivory and gold pleasure boat. Slaves were prohibited entry to the arena contests, but not a few infiltrated the throng anyway, hoping to steal in undetected and take a place in the top tier, where standing room could be purchased for two coppers.

Most made their way at once to the ticket stalls, where they secured tickets of flat round bone, on which was inscribed their seat and row. From here they crowded into the marble stairways located under every fourth arch of the amphitheater. Once inside, they were taken in hand by efficient attendants, who quickly seated them in the section and row reserved for their rank. Some paused by the stands built against the wooden barricade set up round the base of the Colosseum to help control the crowd; here they bought programs, rented cushions to soften the marble seats, or purchased sausages, meat pastries, boiled eggs and spiced wine so they could have their midday meal inside and miss none of the show. A knot of people pressed about the betting stalls, arguing the merits of the favorites as they placed their wagers. By the second hour, seventy thousand citizens had crowded into the Colosseum, for even though they had been denied Aristos, much interest was excited by the promised reenactment of the battles of the Chattian war. “What
battles?” came the frequent objection around the betting stalls. Others insisted it would all prove worth it to witness the droll spectacle of Domitian attempting to transform a few skirmishes in the woods into the battle of Actium or the siege of Troy.

When the Emperor and his entourage were settled in the imperial box, a horn fanfare commanded silence, and the day of games began. As was the custom, the morning was given over to animal-baiting. The people were first given a contest between two elephants. The beasts were goaded with fire-darts until they attacked one another; their regal trumpeting could be heard beyond the city gates. The victorious elephant then kneeled before the imperial box as it had been carefully trained to do. This was followed by a pairing of a rhinoceros and a white bull with spikes affixed to its horns, then a battle of bears, tied together to make them more vicious. After this came an exhibition of mounted Thessalian bullfighters—thirty bulls were released into the arena, followed closely by a troop of horsemen, who galloped alongside the bulls, grasped their horns, then twisted their necks, bringing the beasts to the ground. The pace was never allowed to flag; before the last bull was brought down, the animal trainers drove in two dozen giraffes, to the delighted murmurs of the crowd. Then skilled archers entered the arena, and a swift slaughter began. Finally the officials of the games had to call a recess so Numidian slave boys could drag off the accumulating carcasses with iron hooks and ropes. When this uninspiring sight began to draw hisses and catcalls, a Mesopotamian lion was released to mollify the crowd, which grew quiet as the animal was slain by a brightly garbed Ethiopian woman armed only with a hunting spear.

By mid-morning the crowd had become impatient with this endless parade of beasts. But Domitian’s director of shows had not exhausted his supply: Next came a mock chariot race—the charioteers were monkeys, driving miniature cars. Then, to whet the appetite for what was to come, the people were given an exhibition of monkeys battling with small javelins. The crowd’s laughter was halfhearted. A low, cautious warning chant began to issue from the plebeian seats—“Give us Aristos!”

At the fifth hour, in the twilight of the holding cell the captives were brought bowls of barley gruel, which they ate listlessly under the guards’ probing stares. Auriane wondered, Do they think we will try to choke ourselves with the spoons?