The Gladiator Prince (35 page)

The Ethiopian grabbed the crested golden galea from his partner and handed it to Thane. Holding it in both hands, he frowned at the back of it. The faces of his familia seemed to gleam back at him from the highly polished bronze. When he looked closer, it was only his own reflection. The man staring back at him looked old, worn out, defeated.

With ceremonial precision, he placed the heavy bronze on his head but did not close the visor doors. One man then secured the heavy scutum to his bare arm, securing the band hidden behind the shield to keep it on his arm. The metal clamps dug into his arm, one drawing blood. Thane relished the pain. When they placed the
gladius
in his hand, he was startled; it was his own.

“How?”

“A man must go to battle with a friend.” The Ethiopian slurred the words, but Thane understood him. He nodded once and the two gladiators left him alone to warm his muscles, adjust to the cumbersome metal and prepare his mind for the fight ahead. Despite his focus, his concentration, his years of conditioned experience, Thane’s heart was gone; he approached this game empty.

When he heard the gate open behind him, he was surprised. Gladiators were never interrupted before a fight for any reason.

He turned, and for a split second, he was not certain what or who he was looking at. When he recognized her, he pulled in a startled breath and stepped back in horror.

Bahar stood proudly before him, a clean red loincloth wrapped around her privates, held by a wide leather belt, but no other clothing. On her left arm extended to encompass her shoulder was a padded
manica
like the one he wore. Across her chest, a net had been tied diagonally in gladiator style so it could be unfurled quickly. The tall gilded trident in her right hand dwarfed her. He searched for the knife she should have and found it tucked neatly into the belt. The gear of a
retiarius
fighter should have seemed awkward on the young woman, but instead it enhanced her figure, the curve of her back and blooming breasts. It intensified her femininity, showing not the gangly girl he had trained, but a woman, well muscled, strong and confident. The conspicuously missing helmet was replaced by a crown of dark hair piled upon her head in Roman fashion with curls that lingered along the side of her face and at her neck in several places. They had painted her face in Roman style with bright lips and red rouge. Thane could not get his mind to comprehend the incongruity.

“What… what are you doing here?”

Someone pushed her into the cubicle and the gate snapped shut behind her. Thane heard the click of the lock. The only way they could exit now would be out into the sand of the arena.

He rushed to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Abella,” he hissed. “He did this.” She would not look at him, and he shook her. “Answer me.”

“Yes. Abella did this.”

“It is not legal. He would not risk his permit for this. It is insanity.”

Bahar lifted one eye to him. “Do you think he cares?” She shook her shoulders out of his grip.

“The editor will not allow this!”

“He already has,” she said fiercely and moved past him to examine the arena from behind the bars.

Thane stared at her back for a long time, trying to figure out what he should do. Before he could say anything, Bahar’s hands gripped the bars tightly and she trembled.

“You have to kill me,
Doctores
.” The words were low and firm.

“What? I am not killing you, Bahar. We will give the crowd such a show they would not dare call for your blood…”

“You do not understand. We fight to the death,” she whispered as Thane watched gooseflesh cover her arms. “My death. It has already been announced.”

“How can they…”

She turned her head, and Thane saw tears streaking her face. “I am so sorry,
Doctores
. Abella has had me condemned as a criminal. You go to the arena to execute me.”

Thane stepped back, but could not get words out of his mouth.

“Be merciful,
Doctores
. Make it swift.”

“No,” he said firmly. “You must kill me.”

The light chuckle escaping Bahar’s throat was startling. It was as if she had aged overnight. “They would only slit my throat afterwards.” Sliding her hands up along the bars, she bent her head to rest it between two of them.

“You must live. You have to live,” she said with passion through her teeth. “You have to stop Abella before he burns my sister…” She turned her head back to him. “Please,” she begged. “Please.”

Before Thane could respond, the outer gate flew open to the deafening roar of a thunderous crowd. Behind him, the loosened wall began to move, pushing them out into the arena.

The blaze of thousands of torches dazzled Thane’s eye as he left the gate. Despite his circumstances, the cheers of the crowds still thrilled him. When he turned, two towering gladiators escorted Bahar to the center of the arena. The roars of pleasure melted into pelting screams of derision.

The gladiators behind him used their spears to get him moving. When he came fully into the light, the boom of the masses went insane. The sand danced at the sound. The repeated cadence of
Thane, Thane, Thane
caught like fire around him, swelling as he approached the center of the arena.

When his eyes caught Bahar’s across the sand, he knew, come what may, she would not die this night. He took in a deep breath to calm his stretched muscles, his confused mind, his broken heart. Thane would do what he had to, no matter what it cost him.

Chapter XLI

“Do you understand what you need to do?” Phaedra asked him placing the last wick at the top of the small ball. Two more sat finished on the table, each wrapped in linen smeared with the black bitumen.

“Aye,” Hasani replied lifting one of them carefully into a bag over his shoulder. “The river side of the Circus would be the best spot. Less people and more exposure. Are you certain these will work?”

Phaedra shrugged and helped Hasani get the last one in the bag. “I hope so.” She sighed and brushed her hands. “Try to get them as close to the bottom of the structure as you can. That’s where the worst of the rot will be.”

“Are you ready?”

Phaedra glanced back at the mess on the table where piles of sulfur and bitumen still formed little mounds of brown and yellow. “Yes.”

She only hoped she was ready. When they left the building, Hasani grabbed the torch and led her through the streets quietly.

As they approached the arena, a thunderous cheer filled the air and Hasani stopped.

“That would be for your gladiator, I wager. We have very little time. This way.”

He led her around the massive rounded building where the streets were much smaller and nearly deserted. The few people they saw quickly disappeared into the shadows. This was a very dangerous part of town, and Phaedra hoped they would be able to finish their task. As if to punctuate her concern, Hasani pulled out his sword.

“Stay close,” he whispered. Eddying tides of cheers and taunts accompanied them to the back of the structure. The irresistible desire to run into the arena to see what was happening overwhelmed her. Each time the fluctuating noise rose, she had to fight to stay behind Hasani.

When they reached a spot that appeared completely deserted, Hasani sheathed his sword and carefully pulled the bundle off his back. Setting it on the ground, he opened the bag and pulled out one of the blackened balls.

“How close do I need to be?”

“Not too close… At this mixture, they will be very powerful. I’d say as far as you can and still strike the building.”

They moved back several feet, and Hasani handed the torch to Phaedra. “I hope to hell this works or we will both be in the witch’s pyre tonight.”

Blowing out a quick breath, he lifted the bundle up, and Phaedra touched the wick with fire from the torch. It sputtered and groaned at first, but caught fire very quickly. Pulling back his arm Hasani threw it toward the arena with all his might. When it hit the cobbled road a few feet from the building, it burst into a flaming conflagration that spread out on all sides instantly. The flames reached up to the sky well over their heads, but the fire did not reach the building. It was short by several feet.

“Closer,” Phaedra shouted above the roar of the bonfire burning brightly on the pavement.

They moved a few feet closer, and Hasani grabbed the second ball. When Phaedra lighted it this time, the wick exploded in fire, and Hasani had no time to take aim. His throw was true, if awkward; in the great thunderous explosion, the fire burst against the cement structure, blowing out a section of the wall and catching the substructure instantly. Black smoke roiled toward the darkened sky filling the air around them.

“Hey, you!” The shout came out of nowhere. When they turned around, two Roman soldiers had their swords drawn running toward them.

Hasani shoved the last ball into Phaedra’s hands and pulled his sword, then grabbed her arm to propel her in the opposite direction.

Choking on the gagging bituminous mixture, Phaedra stumbled through the black cloud of smoke. She could feel Hasani’s hand pulling her forward, but that was all. The smoke turned the night black around her. When they cleared it, she threw a look back, and to her dismay, though the smoke was thick and gushing into the arena, the soldiers were quickly getting the fire under control. The diversion would never be enough.

“Stop!” she shouted at Hasani. “We have to try again.”

“Not on your life, princess. We are done here.”

She struggled to get her hand out of his, but it was useless. “Please, Hasani. I have to…”

“Not here,” he shouted back. “We did it your way; now we will do it mine.”

He did not elaborate but merely pulled her past the countless entrances of the arena, each arched and glorious. Phaedra looked back one more time, and the fire was out.

Chapter XLII

Thane pushed his sandals into the sand, twisting the toe to get purchase against the slippery material. The air was cold around him, but sweat trickled from every pore. The helmet occluded his peripheral vision; the crisscrossed mask segmented Bahar into nine squares. She stood still, statuesque across from him, not even in ready stance. One of the two gladiators assigned to her smacked her back with the lash of a whip, and she shuttered but did not move.

“Move,” the man shouted at her back, pushing her toward Thane. She stumbled forward but caught the trident on the ground to maintain her footing. Rumbles of displeasure poured from the thousands suspended in the stands surrounding them.

Thane rushed toward her with his sword, hoping to provoke her into action. When he reached her, she put her trident up and presented her chest to him. He had to fight to keep the blade from piercing her heart. Instead, it nicked her naked left arm, leaving a flowing stream of blood.

Stopping just on the other side of her, he grabbed her from behind and threw her to the ground. The trident went flying, and the net came loose when she hit.

Kneeling next to her head, he grabbed her face and squeezed it hard until she winced. “Get off your back, gladiator!” he bellowed. “Fight me, damn you! You dishonor me, you dishonor your oaths and you dishonor your familia! Or do you want to die like a swine, wallowing in the bloody sand beneath you.”

Where the sandal came from, Thane did not know, but it caught him on the chin and sent him sprawling backward. Before he could get his bearings, Bahar was up and rolling toward her trident, then on her feet in a twinkling charging, point first, toward him. He twisted out of the way at the last moment and flipped himself to his feet. She flew past him but caught herself quickly and brought the trident under her arm to stick him. Swinging his sword down, he barely deflected it away from his belly in time. The crowd went wild.

Bahar’s face was stern, concentrated, and it made Thane’s heart sing. There would be no more posturing; she would fight.

Swinging the trident over her head several times, she stepped back, watching, examining, waiting for him to approach her. In a single flick of her hand, the net unfurled in a graceful arc, the weighted edges whistling through the air. She took one end, wrapped it around her trident wrist then twirled the other into circles at her side.

The net snaked out of her hand so quickly Thane nearly lost his sword. It wrapped it three times. The pull was hard and strong. Had she been larger, he would have lost it. Instead, he pulled back and caught the net in his fingers, but it whisked through them leaving blisters. The net flew back to its mistress.

Bahar rolled it around her chest and actually smiled back at him. Thane blew on his damaged fingers and gave her a half smirk as they circled.

In the thousand torches, he watched her moving like a cat: sleek, easy, slow. Hefting her trident into her hand, she suddenly ran toward him. Thane caught the trident with his sword. White sparks flicked over his skin. He grabbed at it, but the metal slipped from his fingers. She twisted quickly to the right to get behind him. Without warning, she jumped on his back and pulled the trident handle around his throat. He had to drop his
gladius
to use both hands to pull it away. In one jerk, he forced her from his back and over his head. She landed awkwardly on her side, and Thane heard the distinct crack of a rib breaking. It was the first time Bahar let out a cry. The crowd went silent after a startled
oh.