Calgaich the Swordsman (41 page)

“Morar started pacing back and forth. ‘Bronwyn, I have tried to teach you the ways with men and …”

“ ‘I have not the will to learn' " Bronwyn said quietly.

" ‘Let me stay in Bronwyn's place,' Cairenn said, coming forward from the bed she had been arranging. She stood behind Bronwyn with her hands on Bronwyn's shoulders. ‘Do not leave your sister here. I have heard whisperings in the slave quarters at night, after the screams have stopped. Things you never dreamed and I dare not say.

“ ‘You
want
to stay ?'” Morar asked Cairenn, pausing in her stride.

“ 'I want Bronwyn to go.’” Cairenn replied softly.

“‘Lady Antonia would not allow it.” Morar tore the half-finished headdress from her hair. She again began pacing the room, picking up dresses and flinging them down. She dropped a gold buckle to the tile floor. Finally she turned as if her mind were made up and hardened to what she intended to do.

“ ‘I will send for you,’ ” she said to Bronwyn. Cairenn gasped, and Bronwyn again began to cry, her hands covering her face, the powder running onto her fingers. Then Morar came and knelt at Bronwyn's feet, and took Bronwyn's hands in hers.

“ ‘Oh, don't you see. It is the only way. Valens has the power in Rome. When I am in his villa, that power will be mine. And I will send for you.’ ”

‘“It will not be soon enough.’ ”her sister said. Her tears were gone now. She heard Morar's words with a heavy heart, and it was almost as if she knew her fate had been decided in that last moment.

“ ‘You will see.” Morar said, ignoring her words. Then she stood up and clapped her hands. Immediately the slaves appeared. ‘Come!” she said. ‘Begin my hair again. I did not like it anyway.” The women rushed to their combs and paint pots.

“ ‘Cairenn, our clothes must be made ready. Take only the most recent ones. I shall have many more within a few days.’ ”

“Cairenn was helping Bronwyn from the chamber. ‘I shall begin packing when I return” Cairenn said coldly. ‘Perhaps you and your sister should say goodbye in private.”

“Morar waved her hand. ‘There is no need. I shall send for Bronwyn as soon as I am settled,’” She came to Bronwyn, ‘You see, little sister, that we have no choice, don't you?' Her eyes pleaded for forgiveness.

“ ‘You are wrong, Morar; I have a choice,' Bronwyn said. ‘And now I wish to return to my rooms.' She left and did not look back.' Fomoire stopped talking. The night was darker, and the stars shone brighter in the sky. Calgaich bowed his head. There was nothing he could do. He felt powerless that once again Morar was in control of the destiny of another.

"I will do what I can,” Fomoire said softly.

Calgaich looked up. “And Cairenn?” he asked.

“She went with Morar, to be her handmaiden.”

“And into die bed of Valens, along with Morar,” Calgaich said bitterly.

Fomoire shook his head. “Morar would not allow it. She must always be first with any man.”

“How could she stop Valens from having his way with her?” Calgaich demanded.

“She stopped Lucius from doing it.”

“Are you sure?” Calgaich asked.

Fomoire smiled. “There is nothing that goes on in the perfumed pig sty of Sextillius that I don’t know about. No, Calgaich, the Perfumed Pig never had his way with Cairenn, or with Morar, for that matter.”

“And Bronwyn? What of her, Fomoire?”

Fomoire shrugged. “Not while Morar was there, at least.”

“And Morar left her innocent sister there, in the power of that animal,” Calgaich murmured.

“Perhaps Morar will send for her soon.” But Fomoire did not sound as if he believed his words.

“It is probably too late,” Calgaich said.

“There is a power struggle going on. Valens wants to be emperor,” Fomoire continued. “Senator Rufus Arrius Niger leads the loyal faction. The Lady Antonia Claudius sits in between them, like a hunting cat, waiting to see which way the prey will go. She would have given in to Morar—if Morar had insisted. Lady Antonia is afraid of Valens and would have tried to please him. Morar should have known this.”

They sat silent for a time.

“Tell him what Valens has planned for the Games, Fomoire,” Quintus urged, to change the subject.

“Valens has been organizing a group of opponents for you and your barbarian comrades, Calgaich. The combat will be an even match. There will be fifty combatants on each side.”

Calgaich grinned. “I can hardly wait. Will we have choice of weapons?”

Fomoire nodded. “Your own.”

“Then we have nothing to fear.”

Fomoire shook his head. “You don’t understand, barbarian. Your opponents will be all ex-legionnaires. Veterans—men who had been condemned to the galleys or the sulphur mines, even to death. They will oppose you with legion weapons and tactics. Valens plans to show the type of fighting that has won Rome world domination, as opposed to the wild, free-swinging style of you barbarians that has brought so many of you to death or slavery.”

Calgaich flushed, burning with anger.

Quintus held up a big hand. “Perhaps on your native soil you and your tribesmen can be a match, and sometimes more than a match, against the legionnaires. But here you will fight within the confined area of the arena. In addition, your group of barbarians has never fought together. The only thing you have in common is that you
are
barbarians. You have no commander. No unit discipline. You will all fight well. You will all die. There is no way you can avoid that.”

Lutorius nodded. “The Oak Tree is right, Calgaich.”

“I’ll risk it!” Calgaich snapped.

Quintus shook his head. “You can’t fight them alone, swordsman. You can’t carry the brunt of such a battle on your shoulders. Furthermore, your opponents, who are sure to be victorious, will be given their freedom and a chance to enroll in one of the state gladiator schools as freedmen rather than as condemned criminals.”

“And the defeated ones?” Calgaich asked quietly.

Quintus turned down a thumb. “There are to be no survivors.”

“Organized slaughter,” Calgaich murmured.

“Valens means to regain the popularity he lost with your victory in the practice arena,” Fomoire added.

Lutorius drained his wine cup. “I know nothing of the barbarian style of fighting, other than having fought against them myself. To send men such as myself into the arena armed and dressed like barbarians is the same as a death sentence.”

“That is what Valens intends it to be,” Fomoire said.

“Lutorius was a legionnaire,” Calgaich said quietly. “Many of the Dirty Fifty, including myself, had some training in the auxiliaries. I know this: Once the legion shield wall is broken, no legionnaires can stop the barbarian charge.”

“Aye,” Lutorius agreed doubtfully, “but the trick is to break the shield wall. It will be like fighting in the bottom of a chamberpot in that damned arena, with no room for maneuvering.”

“Lutorius might have become a centurion if he could have left the bottle alone,” Calgaich continued. It was almost as if he were thinking out loud, oblivious of the others. “We are warriors, and in excellent condition, thanks to the Oak Tree. We have a month to prepare for the combat.”

Calgaich looked grimly at the gladiator master. “If you will give us permission, those of us who have little knowledge of legion tactics can be taught them. Then, when the day of the great Games of Aemilius Valens arrives, forty of us will march into the arena armed and trained like legionnaires, die same as those who will oppose us in the fight to the death. The remaining ten will be armed as barbarians.”

“You're mad,” Quintus accused.

Calgaich dipped a finger into his wine cup, then traced two lines on the table top. “Here are our opponents. Here we are.” He drew a shorter line behind the line of barbarians. “Here, nine warriors, to be led by me, armed as barbarians. It will be up to Lutorius, commanding his forty men, to break through our opponents' shield wall. Once that is done, I can attack that break with my warriors. Once we get in among them . . .” His voice died away.

Quintus shook his head. “It's unrealistic, Calgaich. Lutorius would bear the brunt of the opening attack with his forty men against fifty of the enemy.-Forty partially trained men attacking fifty professionals. Supposing they
don't
break through the shield wall?”

“It’s either that, or death to us all, Oak Tree. By your own words, we will fight well, but we will all die. I agree to that,
if
we fight using only our own methods.”

"You realize how much I would be risking?” Quintus demanded. “My own life would be forfeit to Valens.” Calgaich smiled. “If Valens’s group defeats us, that will be the end of you in the Ludus Maximus. Valens will regain the popularity he wants, and he will have his chance at the throne.”

“You place big stakes on such an outcome, Bottle Emptier.”

“He’s right,” Fomoire put in. “The mob and the emperor put you here in this villa and made a national hero out of you, Quintus. You, of all people, should know the unstable temperament of the city mob.”

Quintus looked at the Druid. “Who are you anyway?” he demanded. “How can you know such things?”

Calgaich leaned quickly forward. “Besides, Oak Tree, it would be one hell of a joke on Valens and the mob. If the arena mob accepts it, what can
he
do?”

The gladiator master rubbed his square jaw. He drained his wine cup and refilled it. He then looked up at the rising moon and murmured something to himself. “You win,” he said quietly. “But it will have to be done in the greatest secrecy. I can bring them here in units of ten for the initial training, then it will be up to you, Lutorius. It’s a risk. The greatest of caution must be taken. If Valens gets one word of this
...”

“Is it agreed then?” Calgaich asked.

Quintus extended a hand. Lutorius, Fomoire and Calgaich placed their hands upon it. They nodded together.

Quintus stood up. “Well? Are you ready for your women, barbarians? They are ready for you.”

The good wine was working well within Calgaich. The thought of a woman was good. He had bedded a number of the professionals who had been brought to the Ludus Maximus once every week. They were faceless now, only shadowy figures in his unlit cell, and when he had awakened from a drunken sleep they had been gone.

Quintus began to tick off on his fingers. “There is Lepida, the cook. She’s getting along in years, but she is broad in the beam and heavy of breast and you’ll be comfortable in the saddle with her. There is the wild Syrian; and Lyra, the Iberian housemaid, is as slim as a trout, but she knows a few tricks that might arouse your interest. Ah! Julia, the milkmaid! Young and unskilled, but as tight as a clenched fist. Help yourselves, Lutorius and Fomoire. Only leave the Nubian alone. She is not to be touched, you understand? Not by
anyone!
”

"What about me?” Calgaich asked as he walked toward the house.

Quintus smiled mysteriously, "We have a surprise for you, barbarian. She waits in your room.”

Fomoire looked after Quintus. "Can he be trusted?” Calgaich shrugged. "As much as anyone in this manure pile they call Rome. Still, he may be trustworthy, but he isn’t doing all this just for our sakes, priest.”

"You sensed that, too?”

"I know men, Druid.”

"Whatever he has in mind, it will not harm you or Lutorius.”

"
If
we survive the arena.”

"Some of us will have to die to help the others to survive.”

Calgaich nodded. "For what purpose did you really come here tonight? Does the Perfumed Pig allow his personal slaves to move freely about Rome? Surely you did not come here only to tell us about Valens and his plans for the Games.”

Fomoire shook his head. "There is a woman waiting for you.”

Calgaich stood up. "Who is she?”

"I can’t tell you that.”

"Whose idea was this?”

"Hers.”

Calgaich started toward the house. "Is it Morar?”

The Druid looked mysterious. "Why don’t you go and see?”

Calgaich paused outside the door to his room. He listened but heard nothing. He pushed open the door. The room was dark. The window-hanging had been drawn closed.

She stood with her back to the window, a tall, shadowed figure. She moved slightly as Calgaich entered. The scent of her exotic perfume drifted to him. .

“Calgaich?” she queried, her voice soft and low.

“I am Calgaich. Who are you?”

“Does it matter, warrior?”

“I like to know who is going to be in bed with me.”

“You'll find out that it doesn't matter, once we
are
in bed, warrior.”

“Let me be the judge of that, woman.”

“Do you make love as stirringly and as passionately as you fight in the arena?”

Calgaich grinned. “Better.”

“Conceit!”

He shook his head. “Confidence.”

“Then show me, Calgaich.”

Calgaich kept his hand on his hideout knife. Rome was a place of intrigue and sudden death for the unwary.

“Undress me, Calgaich,” she requested sweetly.

Calgaich kicked off his sandals. He stripped his tunic from his body and dropped his loincloth onto the floor. He moved so swiftly toward her she had little chance to evade him, or to tease him, had she wanted to. He passed his hands up and down her lightly clad body feeling for a weapon.

“I am unarmed,” she whispered. “Did you like what you found?”

He unfastened the clasp that held her girdle up beneath her breasts. He removed the gown from her body. It was feather light and seemed to whisper between his hands as he handled it. He stripped a thin, knee-length tunic from her. Her breasts were upheld by a band of the finest of soft leather. He unfastened it and threw it to one side. Then he knelt before her and passed his hands down her smooth thighs and slim legs to her ankles. He undid the latchets of her tiny sandals. She stepped free of them to stand completely naked before him.

Calgaich passed his hands up along her body and cupped them under her full breasts. He teased her nipples to harden them. She pressed close to him and passed her hands down his body to his crotch where she grasped him firmly. Gripping her hair with one hand, he drew her head back so that he could kiss her smooth throat and her full, parted lips. She thrust her loins hard against his. Calgaich picked her up and placed her on the bed. “Wine?” he asked.