The Mer- Lion (85 page)

The next five targets successfully protected their arms and took rings away from disappointed and frustrated riders. One of these was Cameron, who—on the basis of de Wynter's ride—had been taken for an easy mark; he soon proved the rider wrong. Ogilvy, in the next to last spot, also selected a previously used target, a slow-moving giant of a man, one whose arm had been badly slashed early on and who had lost considerable blood. The way Ogilvy figured it, the man had undoubtedly lost some of his stamina and probably much of his stomach for swordplay. Ogilvy was right. His sword soon added a second
X
to the man's bloodied right arm.

As was expected, the man on the zebra, who went last, could not even stay on his mount the prescribed time.

With no letup, the officials called for the second round to begin, asking de Wynter to choose his target and his act. This time the Scot picked a heavyset man whom he thought moved not too swiftly the first time round. He was right. De Wynter easily drew blood in the manner he said he would: slicing a furrow across the top of his target's left knee.

Gilliver survived this round and retained his two rings, but he shuddered as his sword slashed too deeply across the target's knee. Two riders lost their second rings. A few lost their first, including John the Rob. But most carved up their targets' legs to the satisfaction of the judges and the delight of the bloodthirsty crowd. Cameron took a slight cut on his left knee.

For his third target, de Wynter took a lesson from Ogilvy and picked the target whose right arm was badly sliced with two
Xs,
and whose left kneecap was badly damaged by an errant blade. It tore at his guts to do it, but he knew he must try to remain the leader to save his fellow slaves. There were grumbles from some of the contestants as he announced his intent to draw blood on his target's left cheek with the dagger. Most wanted to cause more damage to the targets to ensure their own success.

In less than a minute a neat nick with but the point of his dagger drew just enough blood to satisfy the unhappy judges. He could only hope that the rest of the riders would be as compassionate. And he hoped that if it were inevitable, Cameron would let the blade do its work neatly, rather than risk losing an eye or ending up with a big scar by attempting to avoid the injury.

He need not have worried. George scrambled and ducked and grabbed the bridle and pulled every trick he could think of to outlast the clock. Eventually, he took a cut on the shoulder, but won a ring. As de Wynter had surmised, the short-bladed dagger would be easier for the targets to avoid, especially against a man on horseback.

Gilliver lost another ring. Carlby his first. Angus and Ogilvy, veterans of mountain fighting that they were, had no real trouble in getting to their respective targets. The zebra-man lost his third ring, and joined the targets, the zebra being held aside to reward the first target to get three rings.

Sadly, the giant, weakened by loss of blood and hobbled by the bad kneecap, was selected by several of the riders as an easy target, while the stronger and more agile did not get picked. For while they did not have to face slashed cheeks, they also lost their opportunity to win three rings and thus gain horses.

The fourth round was marked by shouts of derision from the Arabs in the crowd and a growing disfavor among most of the other contestants of de Wynter as the leader. The judges, too, were not pleased, the pleasure of the crowd being their measure. But they had to live with their own rules, short of Aisha herself making a change.

His target selected, de Wynter called for the riders to duplicate his feat of cutting his target's skin from shoulder blade to shoulder blade with the dagger. There was open opposition now. Most of the riders were tired of what they considered child's play with grown-up toys. They hooted and shouted at their leader, who paid no attention, moving quickly on his target and chasing him madly around the large circle. When he grabbed the reins and used the gray's head to stay just out of reach, de Wynter took a calculated risk rather than let time run out on him. Vaulting from the saddle while still holding the reins, he slit the back of his surprised opponent and was back on the horse's back almost before either horse or target realized what had happened. This feat drew applause from the Berbers for his horsemanship. But the Moulay booed.

Gilliver's long arm made the di
fference as he fought gamely to
keep his final ring. Aided by a now-
tamer horse that responded well
to his urgings, he carved a bloody s
treak across a tired and aching
giant's
back.                   

Angus lost his first ring. John the Rob his second. Ogilvy and
Fionn kept their perfect records intact. Cameron was bloody but still very much alive, with two triumphs.

For one more round de Wynter could delay the inevitable, but he had not time even to consider what he would do when the rules changed to allow—nay, demand—more than just bodily harm. He knew the pressure he would be under from fellow riders, judges, and the crowd to speed up the elimination process. And who knew when the Moulay would intervene and decide things were not moving fast enough? That mad ruler was perfectly capable of dictating the very acts of violence himself.

A fifth time de Wynter selected his target and braved the wrath of the other riders by calling for a relatively harmless piece of swordmanship. He signaled that he was going to drive his sword through the fleshy part of his victim's right thigh, making it clear that the blade must both enter and exit the flesh.

Cameron's thin long legs, he hoped, would make a difficult target, while his running ability should help him escape. If he could hold out again for three minutes, he would gain a horse. But first, de Wynter wished with all his heart, let some other target get a third ring and, along with it, the zebra. Most of all he worried about Gilliver losing his third ring and becoming a target instead of a rider.

He skewered his target in short order, his stomach convulsing as he felt the sword enter and slide through flesh and muscle. No bone, no tendon, he felt sure from the feel. And in a show of friendship, he reached down from the saddle and helped his victim back on his feet to hobble out of the ring holding his punctured thigh with both hands.

Gilliver couldn't do it; he lost his third ring, and tears welled in de Wynter's eyes. For six days now they had fought, schemed and prayed that this, their physically weakest member, could somehow be spared a wretched death in this burning desert country so far away from his beloved homeland. Cameron had even begged Gilliver to select him as his target, but Gilliver had shaken his head and named a healthy one, one who had an excellent chance of avoiding the sword. Gilliver's kind heart would not let him pick on the weakest, and he had drawn a formidable opponent.

Handing over his third ring to an official, he dismounted and
walked slowly into the gathering of wounded targets, not really surprised or disappointed
...
more resigned to the inevitable.

Whether or not the other riders felt pity for this quiet man with the frail frame who had just moments ago been one of them, who could tell? But somehow he did not get picked as a target for the rest of the fifth round.

Some of the crowd had long since grown bored with the competition; they were tired of sitting on uncushioned seats and feeling the sun's heat beat upon their heads. Ramlah was prepared for this. She sent Pietro, the fat and the funny and the former contestant, with a message to Ali. Soon, servants passed among the crowd with trays of food and pitchers of drink. As the crowd munched and gulped the free viands, they consoled themselves with the thought that, with the start of the sixth round, things would get exciting.

They couldn't have been more right. Aisha herself intervened. Irritated that the white-haired one, given a golden opportunity to impress the Amira and the Berbers, had thought more of the targets than himself, she decided to teach the
jamad ja'da
a lesson he'd not soon forget. Again it was Pietro the Funny who was sent with the message, this time to the head judge.

De Wynter was lined up at the edge of the circle to start the sixth round when tubas stopped him. Ibn Hudaij had the
muezzin
next to him call for silence, then announced a new rule. After every five rounds, the leadership was to change, the first becoming the last, the second becoming first.

With a
surge of his powerful stallion
, the new leader, a redhead, charged forward to the edge of the circle. Aisha bit her lip. In her anger at de Wynter she had not paid attention to who would take his place. Now, she could only pray Eulj Ali would go quickly down to defeat. He didn't need to look the targets over, he already knew the number of the man he wanted.

Why he selected George Cameron was difficult to imagine. The Scot had been barely touched by the sword and dagger, and his athletic ability had stood out for all to see throughout the day. The two rings he wore on his left hand were proof of that. Perhaps the rider's past successes made him overconfident, wanting to face only what he considered the best. "Number seventeen, I'll slit his throat." A roar of approval went up from the now revitalized crowd.

Carlby moved his horse next to de Wynter's gray and the two conversed in guarded tones. "This doesn't look good," Carlby said, trying not to move his lips and not looking directly at de Wynter.

"If she would have let me be the leader for just a few more rounds, we could have stalled this thing until Cameron won, maybe even Gilliver, if three of us sacrificed a ring."

"Not your fault," Carlby said, "and there's nothing we can do but sit here and watch. Pray God, George can stay away long enough."

The butchery took no more than two minutes. Only Carlby's restraining hand kept de Wynter from riding into the ring and slaying the man who had, in one terrible flashing moment, drawn his blade across Cameron's jugular vein, then roared in triumph as the blood spurted out in great pulsing streams. Cameron looked stunned, disbelieving, then blank as he sank to his knees, and slowly rolled over onto his side, his legs drawn up tight to his belly, full circle from the womb to the dusty floor of al Djem.

Slaves hauled his body roughly, like butchered meat, from the arena, even while the next in line moved up to the circle, looked over the targets, and called out a number. The intended victim and his fellow targets were still in shock, so monstrous was the memory of that first young, athletic body slumping to the ground in the last throes of death. Woodenly, the selected target moved into the circle. Briefly, he went down on one knee and bowed his head in a silent prayer to whatever God he believed could hear him.

Gilliver added his own fervent prayer
...
not for himself, but for the man now facing death. As an afterthought, he asked that John the Rob, who now had only one ring remaining, be granted success if the Creator could see it that way.

Another rider won. A second body was dragged away. The crowd loved it. This was what they had come to see. Soon there would be an end to the long day, and they would know who was going to marry the princess.

By the time it was Angus's turn, four more had died but two had escaped their fate for at least one more round. Three riders, including the Taureg, had lost their rings and become targets, but two of
the targets had become riders, so there were more riders than targets and the ratio was increasing with every ride.

Angus succeeded against a courageous but outmatched competitor. The next two targets took rings, but one only because the judges ruled that the slash across his lower throat and chest while bleeding profusely, did not qualify as a properly slit throat.

John the Rob seized the opportunity to pick that same man, knowing that the blood he was losing would make him vulnerable.. To the one ugly red gash was added a second that split the man's Adam's apple in half and ended his misery.

A rider lost his third ring and joined the living targets. Two more targets could not escape the flashing swords. Then it was Ogilvy's turn. He called Gilliver's number. De Wynte
r, riding next, realized instantl
y what Ogilvy was going to do. De Wynter had been planning the same thing: to sacrifice one of his three rings, that Henry might live.

"Make it look good," Ogilvy said fiercely to Henry. "We've got to show them you are a bad pick." And he winked at his friend as he wheeled and went to the edge of the circle to await the starting signal.

Horsemanship brought it off. Ogilvy always managed to have the horse in the wrong position when the target was vulnerable. Yet it looked to all the contestants, the judges, and the crowd as though his mount was being unruly. And Gilliver ran for his life. There was no faking his mad dashing back and forth, his feints and leaps to avoid hooves and slashing blade. No two players ever acted out a more desperate scene. When time ran out, Ogilvy gladly handed over a ring, the first he had lost. And Gilliver, panting and tired, but trying not to show it, mingled in with the other targets, hoping to find anonymity and a welcome respite.

Gilliver's exhaustion was apparent to de Wynter at least. It called for a change in plans. Henry, tired, would not be able to put on as good a defense -as he had playacting against Ogilvy. Whom to choose? His gaze swept the group and fell on the Taureg who wore gold rings on two fingers of his left hand. Making a quick decision, de Wynter called out the man's number. Never, so long as he lived, would he forget the fearful expression on the nomad's face, replaced,
almost immediately and by sheer determination, with a half-smile of calm acceptance.