Calgaich the Swordsman (39 page)

Quintus looked at Calgaich. “Are you ready?"

Calgaich nodded. “What does he say?"

“He wants the fighting space to be limited. Do you accept?"

“Do I have a choice?"

“I can make it so, barbarian."

The sun was blazing down. The heat reflected from the sand. Togatus would soon be stifling in his heavy helmet and armor. The fight could not be settled if Calgaich kept running from him to tire him out.

“Well, Calgaich?"

“Limit it then, and be damned to him."

Quintus came over to check Calgaich's chest wound. “He has a bad left eye," he murmured. “His vision on that side is very limited."

“Why are you telling me this, master?"

The hard eyes of the Roman briefly held those of Calgaich. “You were not to be killed this day. That was the agreement, but there can be no way of stopping Togatus to save you, if that is necessary. Besides, you've made an enemy out of Valens. You made fools out of two of his favorites, and Togatus ranks much higher with Valens than those other two."

Calgaich nodded.

Togatus rumbled in his helmet. “Let's get on with this!"

Quintus smiled a little. “He's getting hot inside his oven."

“Is that why you're stalling?"

“Who?
Me?”
Quintus looked shocked.

One of the trainers laid a long rope on the sand. It was shaped into a circle, hardly more than forty feet across. Several trainers, with whips, were stationed around the perimeter of the circle. They certainly couldn't harm the armored Togatus with their whips but they could cut

Calgaich's hide into bloody ribbons if he tried to escape from the lethal circle.

Quintus held out his arms. “A contest! Between Togatus,
hoplomachus,
with twenty-one victories, and Calgaich, barbarian swordsman, with two victories! To the death!”

Togatus took up his stance in the center of the circle. His tactics were at once apparent to Calgaich. Togatus could stand comparatively still in the center of the circle, while keeping Calgaich moving around him, but within the limits of the circle, and never more than several strides away from Togatus.

Calgaich moved to the left. He reached out with his sword and tapped it against Togatus's heavy curved shield. The veteran's reaction was immediate. He moved with startling swiftness for one of his bulk, and armored as he was. The mace swept down and put a deep crease in the front of Calgaich's wooden shield. Calgaich moved again to the right of his opponent. The mace seemed to leap out, but this time it was deflected from Calgaich's sword, just enough to make it sweep down the face of Calgaich's shield. The good iron of the Sword of Evicatos chimed musically as it was struck.

“He'll snap your sword like a twig!” Someone roared from the side of the arena. “Keep away from him, you damned fool!”

Calgaich grinned a little. There was no mistaking the voice of Lutorius.

Calgaich moved to his left again, making a semicircle about Togatus. He thrust toward the eyeholes of the helmet to see if he could make the veteran draw back from the threat. Calgaich was wrong. It was nearly a fatal mistake, for the mace crashed down with ponderous force against Calgaich's shield and split it halfway down to the metal boss.

Calgaich moved in swiftly, striking against the right side of Togatus's helmet, and then retreating before he could raise the heavy mace for another blow. Calgaich circled to his right. Togatus's reaction was slower. Calgaich battered at the helmet again. He knew he could never shear through the thick metal, but the sound of the blows ringing against it might serve to disconcert Togatus.

The sweat was streaming from Calgaich's face and body. How must it be for his opponent within that helmet with the sun’s heat beating down on it and his stinging sweat running down into his eyes?

Calgaich kept stalking like a lean hunting cat, worrying its quarry. First to the left, then a quick reversal to the right, a savage beating stroke on the helmet, and then a swift race around behind the veteran, to make him turn, and turn again.

“Stand still! Stand still and fight, barbarian!” Valens shouted. “You run around like a mouse in a pot!”

Calgaich stopped moving about. Togatus moved ponderously forward. He raised his mace and slammed it down with terrific force. It struck the split in Calgaich’s shield and hooked itself there. Calgaich dragged backward on the shield, and stepped aside. Then as Togatus stumbled toward the rope border of the fighting circle Calgaich swung his sword with all his force to strike the back of the helmet with such power that Togatus fell on his knees. atop the rope. Calgaich unhooked his arm from his shield and leaped around behind Togatus. He jumped high and then planted both feet on his opponent’s back so that Togatus sprawled belly flat across the rope. His mace was outflung from his sweating hand and it landed ten feet away from him.

Calgaich beat a devil’s tattoo atop the huge helmet of Togatus. He stepped back and thrust the tip of the blade into Togatus’s rump, where it was unprotected by armor. Togatus screamed hollowly within his helmet.

Calgaich stepped backward to the center of the circle and rested his sword tip on the sand.

Togatus tried to get up, like a turtle who has been placed upon his back. His powerful legs churned at the sand. He dropped flat again. His body was heaving with his exertions.

Quintus Gaius forgot who he was and where he was. “Kill the son-of-a-bitch, barbarian!” he yelled. “Don’t let him get up!”

The spectators were excited and blood hungry.
“Verbera! Verbera! Occide! Occide!
Lay on! Lay on! Kill! Kill!” they roared. They began to stamp their feet in unison with their bloodthirsty cries.

Calgaich looked at Quintus Gaius. The gladiator master nodded. The spectators beneath the awning were like animals howling in the wilderness as they closed in on a quarry that someone had wounded and would soon kill. He saw Morar amidst these human animals. She was standing. Her fists were clenched and pressed up tight beneath her full breasts. Her chin was outthrust and her eyes were wild with the blood lust. The only spectators who were not crying for the blood of the defeated Togatus were Valens, whose contorted face betrayed his feelings, and the gray-haired man who sat alone in the brilliant sunlight. His eyes met those of Calgaich, but there was no expression on his seamed face.

“Occide! Occide! Occide! Occide!”
the crowd chanted.

Calgaich thrust his sword tip into the sand. He gripped the fallen Togatus by his ankles and dragged him, belly downward, within the fighting circle. He rolled him over onto his back. Togatus lay still. He knew the score.

Calgaich removed the heavy helmet from Togatus’s head. The veteran’s head and face were streaming with perspiration. His face was beet red and his mouth was squared as he fought for breath in great wheezing gasps. His eyes met those of Calgaich. Calgaich pointed toward the spectators.

Togatus knew the formalized ritual. He looked toward the spectators beneath the awning. He raised his head and held out his right arm with clenched fist and one finger raised, the sign for mercy.

Almost all of the thumbs were turned down.
“Iugula!
Slay him!” the cries beat down upon Calgaich and his stricken opponent.

Togatus looked up at Calgaich. There was no fear in his eyes. He was a longtime member of the cult of dying. There should be dignity in it. “Make it quick, barbarian,” he requested. “You’ve killed men before.”

Calgaich drew his dagger. He looked at the spot on Togatus’s throat where a little pulse showed, beating steadily. That was the place. One sure, hard thrust would do it.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” the mob chanted.

Calgaich threw the dagger on the sand. He picked up his sword and carried it from the circle. He handed it to the waiting Crates. He turned his back on the howling mob and walked toward the baths.

Sandaled feet beat on the hard earth behind Calgaich. Lutorius came puffing up behind Calgaich. “By the gods!” he yelled. “I've never seen anything like it! Are you mad! They'll have the skin off your back for that, barbarian!” Calgaich shook his head. “No, they won't, Bottle Emptier.”

Lutorius fell into step beside Calgaich. “I've always thought there was a madness in you, barbarian. Now, I am sure.”

“Think what you will.”

Calgaich looked back toward the arena. “Who was that gray-haired man who sat alone back there?”

“You don't know!”

“I would not have asked, had I known.”

“Rufus Arrius Niger, once tribune
legatus legionis,
now a senator of Rome. Your maternal grandfather, barbarian—Old Give Me Another!”

It was the evening of the weekly visit of the whores to the deserving students of the Ludus Maximus. In the anticipation and the bawdy excitement, none of the guards or the inmates noticed that Calgaich and Lutorius were not making their selection of the “girls,” as they had done in the past month since Calgaich had won his astounding triple victory in the practice arena.

The sprawling villa of Quintus Gaius nestled in the hollow of a hillside covered with the grayish-green leaves of olive groves. The villa was not far from the city walls and overlooked the yellow flood of the Tiber River on its way to the sea. The sun had died, leaving a purple dusk over the countryside and the city. A cool wind had begun to blow from the sea. The evening wind blew across the garden of the villa and drifted a fine cool spray from the fountain across Calgaich's face and hair. It reminded him of the sea mists of his own country.

“Maybe I risked too much in inviting you and Bottle Emptier here, barbarian,” Quintus suggested as he lightly watered his good Falernian wine.

Calgaich shrugged. “Why? You’ve told us more than once that there is no chance of our escaping from Rome.”

“It’s not the thought of your escaping that has been bothering me. Valens has not forgotten your triple victory. It put a big dent in his ambitions to get control of the mob in the city. By the gods! We made him lose face, barbarian, and to a man as vain as he is, that can be the equivalent of a death sentence for us. Valens can’t stand to lose face! Ever since the emperor left Rome three months ago to put down a revolt in Cyrenaica, Valens has been ruling the city. If the emperor had any idea of what his beloved cousin and favorite was doing here he'd damned well get his ass back to Rome.”

Calgaich looked curiously at the gladiator master. “You mean?” He left the thought unspoken.

Quintus nodded. “The emperor is no fool, but he thinks he can hold his throne better by fighting barbarians along the frontiers of Rome, when in reality his worst enemies are right here in the city. Valentinian is a soldier, and a good one, but he is no politician. Why he left the city months ago to go to Cyrenaica, with the political struggle for power that has been going on here ever since Valens became procurator of the Games, is beyond me and every one of his loyal subjects. He will believe no evil of Valens.”

“And you say you are one of the loyal subjects of the emperor?”

Quintus nodded. “He personally appointed me as gladiator master and gave me this villa. I tell you this, barbarian: If the emperor had seen you perform that day in the practice arena, he might have pardoned you.”

“For what crime?”

“I warn you, Calgaich, your pride will undo you. Without a pardon, you can't escape the arena!”

“You yourself just spoke of loyalty to your emperor. Do you Romans think that loyalty is a virtue only of yourselves?”

“If you and your countrymen enter the arena to fight in the forthcoming Games planned by Valens, you are doomed.”

“You're very sure of that.”

Quintus nodded. “I
know!”

They eyed each other like a pair of combatants trying out each other's defenses.

Quintus suddenly turned his head. “Paetina!” he roared. “Have wine and food brought here! Find that damned Bottle Emptier!”

Paetina came from within the house to the garden. She was tall and slender with naked, cone-shaped breasts capped by large nipples. Her breasts were outthrust like shield bosses. Her bluish-black hair covered the top of her head like the curly fleece of a ram. Her eyes were immense and set in a face that tapered almost sharply from her chin to her high cheekbones. Her skin was a velvety bluish-black in color with a soft, oily sheen to it. She walked noiselessly on bare feet with a sensuous feline grace. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years old.

Calgaich eyed the beautiful black woman. "By the gods,” he murmured.

"The food is being prepared, master. Will you have the rich Cyprian wine, or perhaps the good yellow Chios with the meal?” Paetina asked.

Quintus grinned. "Bring them both, Paetina. Where is that damned Bottle Emptier?”

The faintest trace of a smile passed across her face. "He was chasing the Syrian through the olive groves, master. He slipped in some goat dung and she got away, leaving her gown in his hands.” She turned her head to one side and stifled her laughter.

Quintus lightly slapped her rounded rump. "Go and get him then! Mind you don't let him corner
you,
Paetina.”

She grinned. "He can't find me in the shadows.”

"Wait until moonrise,” Quintus warned.

"By that time he'll be so drunk he won't be able to perform.”

Calgaich smiled. "You don't know the Bottle Emptier very well, Paetina.” He watched her leave the garden. "Who is she?” he asked quietly.

"A Nubian. The daughter of a great king. She was given to me by the emperor himself.”

"A black slave!”

Quintus shrugged. "More like a hostage, barbarian. She was sent here many months ago. Aemilius Valens then, as now, was in charge of the city and the government here at home. He felt that he should have taken charge of her. You know what that would have meant.”

"I've heard he likes them young,
very
young, and untouched by other men.”

"That was why the emperor sent her to me instead of that whoremonger. Valentinian had given his word to her father that she would not be ‘touched. Even though he trusts Valens with almost everything, he knew better than to turn Paetina over to him. She has been here ever since.”