On difficult sea voyages some bales of cloth became damaged by salt water, and were thus rendered unsaleable. They were then unceremoniously dumped alongside the warehouses. One day Hulius cut into such a bale, green silk from the east, and found that only the outer layers had been seriously damaged. At the centre of the bale he found four of the twenty-five rolled lengths of silk were in perfect condition. These he sold, creating his first profit. As the months passed he amassed ten times his salary from such items, and in doing so made valuable contacts in the local industries. One day a ship's captain saw him, late in the evening, examining a damaged bale. The man called him aside and suggested a business partnership. All merchants accepted a small percentage of loss during sea travel.
For the right sum the captain would put aside good bales, and between them he and Hulius could label them damaged goods.
It had worked beautifully.
Within the year Hulius had put down a deposit on a piece of land and commissioned a house. His wife, Darnia, had been delighted at his growing wealth. Not so his employers, who descended one day with ten soldiers from the Watch, just as Hulius was overseeing the loading of a wagon with ten undamaged bales.
The captain was also taken. He was hanged four days later. But, then, he had no friends in high places. Hulius, on the other hand, had used some of his profits to fund the political career of his wife's cousin - a man who had now risen to rank in Jasaray's government. Thus an agreed sum was paid to the employer, and Hulius was offered the post of First Magistrate in Goriasa. And now he was close to becoming rich - despite a large part of the moneys made being sent back to Darnia's powerful relative.
Yet despite his wealth, and the ease of his lifestyle, Hulius was bored with Goriasa and the interminable petty cases brought before him: broken contracts, matrimonial disputes, and arguments over land rights and borders. He longed for the dining rooms and pleasure establishments of Stone's central district, the magnificently skilled whores, the musicians, and the beautifully prepared food, with recipes from a dozen different cultures.
Hulius glanced down at the list before him. One more hearing, and then he could visit his mistress.
Three men filed into the new courthouse, bowed before the dais on which Hulius sat in his white robe of justice, then took up their positions to the right of the two engraved wooden lecterns. Hulius recognized the gladiator Rage and the circus-owner Persis Albitane. Between them stood a Gath tribesman, a lean yet powerful young man, with golden hair and odd-coloured eyes. The door at the back of the room opened and a Crimson Priest strode in. He did not bow before the dais but walked immediately to stand to the left of the lecterns. Hulius noted the surprise on the face of Persis Albitane, and felt a small knot of tension begin in the pit of his stomach.
The magistrate stared down at the document before him, then spoke. 'The registration of the tribesman Bane to be allowed to take part in martial displays for Circus Crises,' he read aloud. 'Who sponsors this man?'
'I do,' said Persis.
'And who stands beside him, to pledge his good faith.'
'I do,' said Rage solemnly.
Hulius looked at Bane. 'And do you, Bane, pledge to uphold the highest traditions of courage and—'
'I object to these proceedings,' said the Crimson Priest. Sweat began to trickle from Hulius's temple.
'On what grounds, Brother?'
'The law. It is forbidden for Gath tribesmen to carry swords for any reason, save those employed as scouts in the service of the army of Stone.'
'Yes indeed,' said Hulius, thankful that the matter could be dealt with simply. He had no wish at all to offend a priest. 'In that case—
'Bane is not a Gath,' said Persis Albitane. 'He is of the Rigante tribe, and was recommended to me by Watch Captain Oranus of Accia. As a Rigante he is not subject to the laws governing the Gath.'
Hulius felt sick, and glanced nervously at the Crimson Priest. 'Even so,' said the priest, 'the man is a barbarian, and it should be considered below the dignity of any honest citizen to employ him in the capacity of gladiator.'
'It may be argued', said Persis, 'that such employment in itself is "below dignity", but it is certainly not illegal. Therefore I respectfully request that the objection be ruled inadmissible. There is no law to prevent a foreigner being gainfully employed by a citizen of Stone. Indeed there are many gladiators, past and present, from foreign lands.'
Hulius would have loved to rule against Persis Albitane, but all his rulings were written down and sent on to Stone, and this was not a matter of a magistrate's judgment - which could be bought at a price - but of the law of Stone. Hulius sat silently, his mind whirling, seeking some way to accommodate the priest. But there were no subtleties to the issue, no grey areas to exploit. The case was simple.
Hulius looked into the fat face of Persis Albitane. Perhaps there was still a way out. 'I would think that a loyal citizen of Stone would accede to the wishes of the venerable order of Crimson Priests,' he said smoothly. 'You are quite right when you say that the Rigante are not under the jurisdiction of Stone, but equally they are Keltoi, and the spirit of the law is what -I believe - concerns the brother.' Surely Persis would understand what he was saying. No-one wanted to come under the scrutiny of the Temple. Hulius looked at the man, and saw he was sweating. Then Persis spoke.
'With respect, Magistrate, there is no such creature as the spirit of the law,' he said. 'The laws of Stone are drafted by intelligent, far-seeing men - among them the senior priests of the Crimson Temple. If you believe the law to be carelessly drafted, then you should write to the Council forthwith. However, as has already been established, my request today does not break the law, and I once more submit the name of Bane.'
In that moment Hulius understood the true joys of boredom. To be bored was to be free of danger, far from perilous activities. 'I agree,' he said miserably. 'We will continue with the pledge.'
The Crimson Priest said nothing more, but stalked from the room.
Hulius Marani listened to the pledge, signed the necessary document, added the wax seal of Justice, and rose from his chair.
The day had soured considerably, and he had no desire now to visit his mistress.
Stadium Orises had never looked better, thought Persis, as he strolled out across the fresh sand to the centre of the arena. For two weeks -much to Norwin's disgust at the expense - carpenters and workmen had been labouring to repair the more run-down sections of the tiered seating areas. The stadium had been hastily constructed eleven years earlier, mostly of timber, supported on stone columns. The original owner, Gradine - a man of limitless ambition and little capital - had not been able to afford the normal embellishments -statues, fresco-decorated areas for the nobility, dining halls, and public urinals. Stadium Crises was, at best, functional. The arena floor was two hundred feet in diameter, surrounded by an eight-foot wall, beyond which were twenty rows of tiered bench seats. Many of these were warped and cracked. Shading his eyes Persis watched the carpenters at work on the last section. The new benches gleamed with linseed oil.
Norwin trudged across the sand to join his master. 'Well, once more you have managed to battle your way to poverty,' he said. 'I have completed the accounts. With most debts paid, half wages for the gladiators throughout the winter, and - assuming we get around three thousand people for the games, with a further thousand in revenue - we will be coinless by the first day of spring.'
'Spring is a long way off,' said Persis happily. 'Look at the stadium, Norwin. It is beginning to look very fine.'
'Like a seventy-year-old whore, with dyed hair and fresh face paint,' said Norwin. 'Anyway, the carriage is here. I told the driver to wait. Are you ready?'
Persis glanced at the sky, which was clear and blue. The day was cold, but not overly so. 'We should get a good crowd at the Field,' he said.
'Of course we'll get a good crowd,' said Norwin. 'It is a free day, and you have spent a fortune on fire breathers, acrobats, jugglers, and food. Of course p
eople will come. But they would have come anyway. Palantes have brought an elephant.'
'An elephant? Ah, what it must be to have unlimited funds. Can you imagine how many people we could draw if we had an elephant?'
Norwin shook his head. Then he smiled. 'You are a good, sweet man, Persis, and I love you like a brother. But you lack foresight. How many times does one need to see an elephant before one is bored? If we had such a beast the crowd would come once. After that we would be left with enormous feeding costs. Then there would be trainers and handlers, and special housing for it. Then, with debt collectors stalking us like rabid wolves, I would urge you to sell the creature. You would say no, because you had grown to like it.'
'True,' agreed Persis affably. 'But an elephant!'
'Let's go to the carriage,' said Norwin, 'before I find a club and beat you to death with it.'
Persis laughed and the two men walked across the sand to the western Gladiators' Gate, on through the darkness of the Sword Room and the Surgeon's Ward, up the stairs and out once more into the sunshine.
The 'carriage' was a converted wagon, drawn by two sway-backed horses. Persis climbed the steps to the rear and sat down. 'I should have brought my cushion,' he said, as Norwin moved in alongside him. 'And didn't I ask you to hire the gilded bronze chariot from the garrison?'
'Aye, you did. But Palantes were there before me. Which I thank the Source for, since the cost was obscene.'
'You should not mention the Source so publicly,' Persis rebuked him.
Norwin nodded. 'It was a slip of the tongue. But it hurts me to be so secretive. I sometimes feel that I am betraying the Source by not speaking out, by hiding my faith.'
'They are burning heretics in Stone,' whispered Persis. 'Or casting them into the arena to be torn to death by wild animals. Yours is a perilous religion, my friend. Your faith could kill you.'
'That's true. It frightens me sometimes. But last night I went again to listen to the Veiled Lady, and she filled us all with the power of spirit. And she healed a man, Persis. Laid her hands on him, and all his sores vanished. You should come and hear her.'
'I can think of nothing I would rather do less,' said Persis. 'One day soon the priests will come in force to Goriasa. I do not wish to become kindling for their fires. Have you seen Rage today?' he asked, changing the subject.
'No, but he'll be there.'
'It is to be Vorkas. I had rather hoped the rumours were untrue.'
'Rage made the decision, not you, Persis. He is his own man.'
'I fear he is angry with me over Bane.'
'Rage doesn't get angry. And, anyway, the news that a Keltoi is fighting a gladiator is already the talk of the city. It should draw in a good crowd.'
Out on the open road the wind was more chilling and Norwin pulled a woollen cap from the pocket of his heavy coat. Tugging it over his balding head he glanced at his master. 'Bane has more chance of surviving than the man he replaced. And Bane himself was delighted to fight. He is a Keltoi. They live to rush around with swords and butcher one another.'
As they reached the high road the wagon moved more slowly, for the road was packed with people moving towards the Field. From the highest point Persis could see the tents and food stalls below. Already there were more than a thousand people gathered there, most of them crowding the eastern section. 'There it is!' said Persis, pointing. 'There's the elephant!'
'I have seen elephants before,' Norwin told him.
'It is really big.'
'That's a novelty,' said Norwin. 'I thought maybe they'd bring one of those famous small elephants.'
* * *
Kail Manorian had only ever taken part in two death bouts, the first against a young criminal sentenced to fight in the arena, the second against a fine young gladiator from Circus Poros. Kail still felt a shudder go through him as he recalled that second fight. The man was more skilled, faster, and Kail had seen in his eyes a blazing cruelty and confidence that chilled him to the bone.
The fact that Kail still lived was down to the carelessness of an unnamed circus employee who did not adequately cover with sand the blood from the previous fight. Kail's opponent had slipped, just as Kail attacked. He literally fell sideways onto Kail's blade, which lanced up under his chin strap, slicing his jugular. Kail had made an offering to the God of Stone - and walked away from the arena.
Often in the intervening years he had suffered nightmares about the fight. Now, at thirty-seven, he had walked away again. When Rage first told them about the offer from Palantes Kail had volunteered. In part this was to test his courage, but also - if he was being honest with himself - it was because he had believed more of the others would step forward, and Rage would not choose him. But the others had not volunteered in sufficient numbers and Kail had gone home that night in a state bordering on terror.
Three days later he had secretly visited Persis Albitane. He had intended to lie about being called back to Stone, following a family bereavement. Instead he had found himself blurting out all his fears. In his shame he had begun to weep. He had always held fat Persis in faint contempt, but on this day he found the man to be more than considerate. Persis had risen from his seat behind the desk, walked round and patted him on the shoulder. 'You are a good man, Kail,' he said, 'and a brave one. You proved your courage in the arena. Now calm yourself. It is no disgrace to know one's limitations.' Persis poured him a goblet of wine, then perched himself on the edge of the desk. 'I do have a plan. I believe the young man, Bane, would like to fight. I shall ask him today. If he agrees I shall tell Rage that you are being replaced. I will not tell him you requested it. No-one need know of our conversation.'
The relief had been total.
But now, sitting in the Armour Tent, Kail felt wretched. The other gladiators were putting on their armour, ready to share the Warriors'
Cup, and several of them had approached him, commiserating with him, telling him how they believed Persis had treated him unfairly, striking him from the team.
Kail sat in the corner, nursing his shame. He saw Rage buckle on his breastplate, and strap his scabbard to his hip. Rage glanced across at him, his face expressionless. Kail looked away. Rage was an old man, and tomorrow he was going to die. But he had not walked away. Even when he had learned he was to face Vorkas. Kail shivered.
He had seen Vorkas a few moments ago, walking with other gladiators from Palantes. The man looked like a lion among wolves. Palantes had said they were bringing no Names - no fighters listed for next season's Championship. Technically this might be true, but there was still a month to go before registration was needed, and there was no question that Vorkas would be among those listed. Seven successful death bouts, each of them apparently won with ease. People were speaking of him as a new Voltan.
Kail stared down at his hands. 'Walk with me,' said Rage. Kail jerked, for he had not heard the big man approach. He rose and followed Rage out into the weak sunlight. Crowds were everywhere and Rage led him to the rear of the tent. 'You want to talk?' asked Rage, tying his red silk scarf around his head.
'What about?'
'About what is troubling you, Kail.'
Kail closed his eyes. 'I wish I was more like you,' he said. 'But I'm not. Never was, never could be.' He drew in a deep breath. 'But I do not like to deceive my friends. Everyone's been telling me how sorry they are that I have been so badly treated. I wasn't badly treated, Rage. I went to Persis and told him I was too frightened to fight. There! It is said!'
'Aye,' whispered Rage. 'It is said. You think yourself a coward?'
'I am a coward. Have I not proved it?'
'You listen to me, Kail, and be sure you understand what I am saying: you are not a coward. If I were beset by foes I would be more than relieved to know you were by my side. And you would be by my side, Kail. For you are a man of honour - a man to be relied upon. But this . . . this farce is not about honour. It is about money. Palantes want their young lions to taste blood - to taste it without too much risk. They
have spent huge sums promoting these warriors, and they expect to make - eventually - a hundred times their outlay as a result. Now stop punishing yourself. You hear me?'
Kail nodded. At that moment the young barbarian, Bane, strolled round to the rear of the tent. 'Persis is asking for you,' he told Rage. The old gladiator swung on his heel and walked away. Kail looked at the tribesman, noting his new armour. It looked expensive. Kail had never been able to afford such a breastplate and helm.
'Do you know who you'll be fighting?' he asked.
Bane shrugged. 'They told me a name. It means nothing to me.'
'What name?'
'Someone called Falco.'
'Three fights,' said Kail. 'Never been cut.'
Bane seemed uninterested. Then he leaned in towards Kail. 'Why are we meeting them today?' he asked. 'And why are we dressed for battle?'
'Did Rage not tell you?'
'He said we were to share the Warriors' Cup. That we were to drink with our opponents. Why should we drink with people we are going to kill?'
'It is a ritual,' said Kail. 'It shows the crowds that we honour each other, and that there is no hatred in our hearts.' He smiled. 'It also helps sell tickets.'
'Ah,' said Bane. 'That I understand.'
Together the two men walked back to the tent. Out on the Field a trumpet sounded and the crowd fell silent. Two men climbed to the back of a wagon. The first man's voice boomed out, in Turgon, welcoming the citizens. The second spoke moments later, in Keltoi, repeating the message. Then they introduced the first gladiator from Circus Palantes. The warrior, in magnificent armour, strode from the Palantes tent, to stand before a long table upon which were set sixteen golden goblets, filled to the brim with watered wine. Then Polon's name was called out.