GIRL GLADIATOR (6 page)

Sharn felt the rage begin to bubble up but he struggled to control himself.

The guard surveyed him sadistically. “Why don’t you Celts admit when you’re beaten? – like that sister of yours.” There was something in his tone Sharn found disturbing.

“Lucky Crassus, is all I can say,” the guard sniggered.

Crassus, the centurion? What had he got to do with Cumbria? Sharn puzzled.

“She must have got sick of barbarian men and wanted to try something classier,” and the Roman guffawed at his own wit.

“Do you know where my sister is?”

The guard suddenly lost interest in Sharn. “I’ve got to finish this report. Go away or I’ll lock you up for the night.” And he returned to the despatch in front of him.

Sharn stumbled out of the watchhouse blinking in the westering sun. The days were now solstice short and the sunbeams were horizontal at this time of afternoon. He headed to the Roman officers’ quarters.

He approached a sentry at the gatehouse. “I need to speak to someone from Crassus’s household.”

“What about?” the sentry said.

“I’m looking for my sister, Cumbria.”

The Roman smirked knowingly and despatched a runner. While they waited the Roman pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. “How can you savages stand this cold?” he asked.

“Nobody’s asking you to stay.”

The sentry shot him a dirty look as the runner arrived back with one of Crassus’s servants, who led Sharn off.

The first thing Sharn noticed when he entered the house was how warm it was. He’d heard that the Romans had devised some way of heating buildings from under the floor but this was the first time he’d felt its effects.

The servant called to a woman who was on her knees scrubbing the tiles in the atrium. “There’s someone asking after you.”

The woman rose and turned. It was Cumbria. Now a servant of the Romans!

C
umbria smiled at Sharn. “I was coming back to Ryant tomorrow to explain things.”

“I can see why you were putting it off,” Sharn said scathingly.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Working for the Roman who put da in prison!”

Cumbria grabbed Sharn and hustled him away from the atrium and down a corridor, across a cobbled yard and into a small sleeping chamber.

“Yes, I’m Crassus’s servant. It made sense. I need to be near da to make sure he’s properly fed.”

Sharn dropped his eyes. His sister had always been the practical one.

Her tone softened. “And maybe getting to know the Roman system will help us when his trial comes up.”

Sharn nodded dully as his eyes strayed around the bedchamber. He marvelled at how solidly constructed Roman buildings were. On the stone wall above Cumbria’s bed was painted a stylised depiction of a fish.

“What’s that?

Cumbria looked a little bashful. “I’ve become interested in the new religion of the Christ … and Crassus is a believer. We got talking about it when I visited da.”

It was worse than Sharn thought. “So you’re turning your back on your own people now?”

“Listen, Sharn, nothing is like it was before. I didn’t ask for things to change … but since they have I’d be a fool not to try to keep up with them.”

“So you don’t really believe in that?” Sharn asked, waving at the effigy of the fish.

Cumbria dropped her eyes. “Crassus read me some of their teachings and it seemed like I’d been waiting all my life to hear it. It is only love that can save us, Sharn. Without love we’re all damned.”

Sharn could tell from the way her eyes kindled that she really meant what she said, and witnessing this strong new feeling in Cumbria, made him realise how hollow he felt, and his shoulders slumped.

Cumbria glanced more closely at her brother. “What’s wrong, Sharn? You look terrible.”

“Fritha’s disappeared.”

“Where?”

“Back to her folks, I think.”

Cumbria frowned, “But she loves you, Sharn. I can’t think why.” She finished off with a joke to try to cheer him up.

“I reckon I drove her away.”

“Then you should go to Cirig and get her back. She’s worth it.”

Sharn shrugged. “But why would she come back? She left because I was so mean to her.”

“A woman can change her mind.”

Sharn nodded slowly and gave Cumbria a grateful hug. Why hadn’t he listened to her advice more in the past? She was always right when it came to people.

S
o, before dawn the next day he found himself on the road north to Cirig. He was walking, not riding, because the Romans had confiscated all their horses, as part of the punishment. By that evening as he neared the Pictish village, thirsty and footsore, the wisdom of Cumbria’s words seemed to grow less compelling. All he could visualise was Fritha greeting him coldly and treating his apologies with contempt. His steps grew slow and he almost turned back, but as Cirig came into sight, something caught Sharn’s eye. He blocked out the sun with his hand to get a better look at the bent figure walking from the village straight for him. Sharn watched and waited. It was soon apparent that it was an old man approaching. He came to a halt in front of Sharn and looked him up and down.

“Are you Sharn?”

“Yes …” Sharn replied.

“I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” the old man said.

“How do you know about me?” Sharn asked.

“Alpin has mentioned you a number of times – well, more spat your name when he was shouting at Deadra.”

“So she is here?” Sharn said.

“Alpin ambushed her and dragged her back kicking and biting.”

Sharn felt waves of relief wash over him. She did not leave of her own accord! “Are you a friend of Fritha … I mean Deadra?”

“I am Bredan, the warrior master – or I was when I was a bit younger. Deadra was in my warrior circle.”

“A girl in the warrior circle!” Sharn exclaimed. Suddenly a lot of things started to make sense to him.

“She’s a born fighter, that one,” and the grizzled old man chuckled.

“I know nothing about her, Bredan … “

Bredan suddenly turned on his heel. “Follow me and we can talk as we go.” Sharn fell into step with the old warrior. Bredan drew a deep breath and began to relate Fritha’s story. “Deadra was abandoned as a baby at the gates of Cirig. Malcolm, the headman, and his wife Vola took her in. Because she was such an odd looking creature, tiny and dark and wild, none of the servants liked her, so she spent a lot of her day playing with the animals among the rushes on the floor.

“Malcolm kept a blind wolf bitch to breed hunting dogs. Deadra would happily go to sleep nestled into her flank, and one day Vola found her suckling at the teat of the she wolf. When she started making the same whimpering and growling noises as the wolf, Vola wanted to expose her on a hillside, thinking she was possessed. I told Malcolm that wolf milk would make her a great fighter … and I took her in myself when she was grown.”

The mud and wattle huts drew nearer. Even though he was intrigued by what he was hearing, Sharn’s heart was beginning to hammer against his ribs at the thought of facing Alpin. After all if he had kidnapped Fritha he was hardly likely to hand her over without a fight.

“Could I lean on you for the rest of the way, son – otherwise, I’ll never finish my story. My old body is giving up on me.” Sharn allowed Bredan to put his arm around his shoulder and they started off again.

“She became more and more aggressive as she grew. She feared no one, not even the bigger boys, driving them off with her slashing fingernails. When she was approaching womanhood, she asked to be tattoo-ed with the marks or her totem, the wolf; and I accepted her into the warrior circle. She became my best pupil – not by virtue of her strength – all the boys were stronger than her – but by her speed and cunning. And something else, her patience in waiting for exactly the right moment to strike. That is the hardest thing for any warrior to learn. But she had the courage to wait and wait, until her assailant thought he had her at his mercy, and then she would strike like a snake.”

Sharn’s head was spinning as the puzzling pieces were beginning to fall into place. But he needed to ask Bredan something else. “How did she come to have her tongue cut out?”

Bredan sighed and scratched the grey stubble on his chin. “That is something I do not know. What I do know is that about twelve moons ago she disappeared. I’ve always thought the Romans grabbed her – a legion passed by Cirig that very day, but Alpin tells me that you discovered her in a Celtic village.”

“Yes, we did.” Sharn frowned – it looked like he would never find out who cut her tongue out.

Bredan had come to a halt outside the most imposing dwelling in the village. “I think it’ll be better if you go in by yourself.” Sharn thanked the old man for his help, squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

Fritha sat grinding corn under the watchful eye of a bat-faced woman. This must be Vola, the headman’s wife, Sharn concluded because of the richness of her dress. The small millstone was making so much noise Fritha did not hear Sharn’s first call.

“Fritha!” Sharn called again.

Fritha’s eyes flew to the doorway where Sharn stood diffidently. She spilled the corn all over the floor, as she leapt to her feet. She ran to Sharn and hurled herself into his arms.

“Alpin! Alpin!” Vola raised the alarm.

Fritha was covering Sharn’s face with joyful kisses when Alpin burst in to see what all the fuss was about.

“What do you want?” Alpin barked at Sharn, as he dragged Fritha away from him.

“I have come to take Fritha back.”

“Oh, really. I didn’t see your army out there,” Alpin scoffed.

Sharn had rehearsed what he wanted to say on his long walk. “I want to ask your tribe for permission to marry Fritha. I will pay a fair bride price for her.”

Fritha strained towards Sharn nodding her approval of the plan. Alpin scowled, “I’ll see what my father has to say about this.”

Alpin led the way to the village meetinghouse and spoke to his father, Malcolm. “The Celt wants to take Deadra to wife,” he said with one hand firmly on Fritha.

Malcolm, a short, self-important man, grinned. He was delighted with the proposition. It would be a relief to get rid of the crazy, tempestuous girl, permanently this time.

“Do you have any objection to the marriage, Alpin?”

In fact Alpin had grown tired of Fritha’s headstrong behaviour and constant moodiness, but he caught sight of Sharn beginning to smile, and another man delighting in what used to be his, changed his mind.

“If this boy wants my woman, he will have to win her in a fight to the death,” Alpin declared.

Fritha shrieked in protest, as she tried to pull away from Alpin.

Malcolm was bemused. “Are you sure? It hardly seems worth the risk.”

“There won’t be any risk to me,” Alpin bragged.

And to look at Alpin and Sharn standing next to each other, he was right.

A
s sundown cluttered the yard with shadows, Alpin showed Sharn an array of weapons – a dirk, a dagger, a Roman sword and the heftier Celtic sword – and asked him to make his choice. Sharn realised the bigger the weapon the more tiring it would be to wield, so he chose a dirk and a small shield. Alpin nodded. His choice was a dagger and a larger shield. He waved Sharn out into the centre of the yard. Fritha tried to reach out to Sharn to wish him luck, but Nectan, a friend of Alpin with very long black hair, shoved her roughly aside.

Sharn stepped out into the arena formed by twenty or thirty Picts sitting around in a large circle, gesticulating in the direction of the two fighters, arguing and making bets.

Fritha was made to stand behind the ring of spectators so she could not interfere. She filled with dread as Alpin and Sharn shaped up to each other. She knew the strength of both fighters and this made her fear for Sharn.

At a signal from Malcolm, the bout began. Sharn moved around in a wide arc figuring his best chance was to keep moving – he did not have the body mass to withstand a charge from his bulkier opponent if he was standing still. Alpin kept his eyes riveted on Sharn, searching for weaknesses.

Sharn thought he saw an opening and lunged forward with his dirk but Alpin buffeted the weapon away easily with a push of his shield. Sharn was now off balance and Alpin tried to stick him in the stomach with his dagger. Sharn was just able to swivel to one side, but even so Alpin’s blade came so close it cut the fabric of his tunic. They fell back to get their breath, then they sprang in again and there was a swift flurry of thrust and counter-thrust, neither blade drawing blood. They disengaged once more, panting with exertion.

Then Alpin rushed forward and tried to swamp Sharn with his superior strength. Sharn had to retreat, dodging and jinking to escape the darting point of Alpin’s dagger.

Hemmed in with his back to the ring of spectators, Sharn sensed rather than saw Alpin gathering himself – Alpin’s brows set and his shoulders bunched as he lunged forward with all his might.

Sharn parried with his shield but he was still bowled over. Sharn went down heavily and Alpin clubbed Sharn’s dirk aside with his shield. Sharn’s belly froze with fright. Surely he would now feel the point of Alpin’s dagger.

But Alpin no longer held his weapon because it was imbedded in Sharn’s shield. Alpin made no attempt to retrieve it, but instead jumped on Sharn and started to strangle him with his bare hands.

Sharn tried to break his grip by digging his thumbs into Alpin’s wrist tendons … but he simply did not have the strength. Sharn could feel his senses fading, as his breath clotted in his throat. Alpin brought his face close. “I’m going to kill you, and then I’ll kill your girlfriend.”

Sharn’s mind fluttered and darkness fringed his eyes. Then he heard Fritha’s cry of despair from across the yard, and he summoned new strength. He had not come all this way to die and leave Fritha on her own to fend for herself. He became aware that Alpin’s pulsing jugular vein was only inches from his face. He opened his mouth and bit hard on Alpin’s neck, sinking his dogteeth in as deep as he could. Alpin screamed and took his hands from around Sharn’s windpipe.