Bane swayed in his seat, the room beginning to swim. Telors laughed. 'Better get off to bed, lad. I'm too tired to carry you up those stairs.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
Bane floated in a sea of dreams, faces and images floating across his mind, merging and changing. He saw his mother Arian, then Vorna, then the elderly hunter Parax, then Falco the Gladiator ... An endless stream of people flowed past him. He tried to reach out to them, but his fingers passed through them, rippling the images as if they were water. He awoke in a cold sweat and threw back the covers. The room was cold, and ice had sealed the shutters.
He sat up, and groaned as hot hammers began to beat inside his skull. Rising he dressed swiftly and left the room. In the kitchen Cara was helping the fat Gath woman, Girta, to clean the breakfast plates. 'You slept late,' said Cara. 'I could toast you some of yesterday's bread?'
'That would be welcome,' said Bane.
The pounding in his head eased off slightly, but a dull ache had begun behind his eyes. He sat down at the table and rubbed his temples. The veins below the skin were hard as copper wire. Girta dropped a muslin pouch of herbs into a cup and filled it with hot water. A sweet scent filled the room. She placed the cup in front of him. 'Wait awhile,' she said, 'then drink it. You'll feel better.'
Bane forced a smile. 'Do I look that bad?'
'You are very pale, and there are dark hollows under your eyes. Uisge hollows.' She grinned at him. Bane rubbed his eyes. He thought he had taken only a few swallows of uisge, but he remembered the strength of it. It was like swallowing fire.
A few minutes later Cara returned with a plate of hot buttered toast. Bane thanked her, and sipped his tisane. Girta was right. His head began to clear almost immediately. 'Where are Rage and Telors?' he asked.
'They had breakfast an hour ago, then went for a run,' said Cara. 'Telors said not to wake you, because you had been drinking uisge.' She gave him an accusing look. 'Grandfather says gladiators should not drink strong spirit. It is like poison, he says.'
'He's a very wise man,' observed Bane.
'He's not going to fight again,' said the girl. 'Not ever.'
'I'm glad to hear it.'
She looked at Girta. 'Yesterday was a terrible day, wasn't it, Girta? Sitting here not knowing if Grandfather ... It was a terrible day.'
'But today is not so terrible,' said Bane.
'Today is my birthday,' said Cara. 'I am fourteen. Grandfather and I are going into the city. He is going to buy me a horse. Not a pony! A horse. And we are going to buy more cattle. Grandfather is rich now. That's why he doesn't need to fight again.'
As Bane was finishing his breakfast Rage and Telors ran into the open ground beyond the kitchen window. Bane glanced through the window. Telors waved at him and walked over to lean on the sill. 'The young just can't handle strong drink,' he said, with a grin.
'It wasn't the drink,' said Bane. 'It was your snoring. I hardly slept a wink.'
Telors flicked snow at him from the sill, then turned as a rider came into sight. The man wore an expensive cloak edged with ermine, and fur-lined riding boots. His horse was a fine beast, well groomed and keen-eyed. Rage walked out to meet him. Bane wandered to the window. 'Who is he?' he asked Telors.
'Judging by the eagle embroidered on his tunic I'd say he's from Palantes,' Telors told him, then wandered off to join Rage.
Bane headed through to the main room and sat down by the fire. His headache was almost gone, but he felt drained of energy. The chair was deep and comfortable, and he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.
'Someone here to see you,' said Rage. Bane sat up. The visitor, a tall man running to fat, dipped his head in a short bow. Bane picked up the scent of perfume.
'I am Jain, First Slave to Circus Palantes,' said the newcomer, his voice smooth and melodious. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.'
Bane stood and shook the proffered hand. The man's grip was soft, the fingers clammy. 'I watched you fight yesterday. You were very impressive.' Bane said nothing. 'I have spoken to Persis Albitane about you, and made him an offer for your contract. In short, Circus Palantes would like to sponsor you.'
'Sponsor me?'
'They want you to fight for them,' said Rage.
'Five hundred in gold upon your signature, and a guaranteed two hundred each time you fight. Your lodgings and personal expenses will also be paid by the circus, and we will supply you with armour and weapons.'
Bane looked at Rage. 'Is this a fair offer?'
'Yes, but no more than that.'
'What do you advise?'
'Think on it,' said Rage.
Bane looked at the man from Palantes. 'I will give you my answer tomorrow,' he said.
'You won't get a better offer,' said Jain, holding his smile in place.
'Tomorrow,' Bane repeated.
'Yes, yes, of course. Well, as I said, it was a pleasure, and congratulations on your duel.' He turned to Rage. 'My congratulations also to you, sir. We all thought Vorkas was destined to be Gladiator One. You showed us the error in that judgment.'
'Good-bye,' said Rage, opening the door for him.
The man left the farmhouse, climbed on his horse and rode away.
'As I told you,' said Rage, 'Palantes do not grieve for long. There is always another fighter waiting to be sucked dry.'
'I did not like the man,' said Bane. 'Yet his offer takes me closer to my ... quest.'
'Aye, it does that,' said Rage. 'They are a disciplined circus, with good trainers and fine facilities: their own bathhouses, masseurs, surgeons. They even have a whorehouse purely for the gladiators and owners. They will rent you a house, and pay for up to four servants and a personal trainer.'
'You make it sound very tempting,' said Bane. 'Now tell me why I should refuse them.'
'No reason I can think of, boy. You dream of revenge. This will help you to prepare for that day. Either that or you'll die on the sand.'
'Circus Palantes wanted you dead,' Bane reminded him.
'Aye, they did. But there was no malice in it. No passion whatsoever. Merely a cold desire to make money. Such people do not warrant hate, merely contempt. Were I young again I would not fight for them. We are not, however, talking about me, but about you. You have no reason to despise Palantes. They do what they do. That is their nature.' Rage moved towards the doorway. 'Now I need to bathe and get ready to take Cara into the city. You think about what I have said. Discuss it with Persis. I don't doubt he'll be here within the hour.'
Two hours later, as Bane returned from a run over the hills, he saw two horses tethered outside the farmhouse. He slowed to a jog and stood for a while, stretching, allowing the cold winter wind to chill the sweat on his skin. Salt from the sweat was stinging the stitched wound in his shoulder, but his headache had cleared. The events of the night before kept returning to haunt him. Why had the Morrigu appeared to him? What was her purpose? But above it all he felt a great sadness for Rage. In the weeks he had known the ageing gladiator Bane had come to regard him highly, had seen him - despite the occasional flashes of bitterness - as a contented man. Now he knew Rage carried an enormous sorrow.
He shivered as the cold cut into his cooling skin and stepped into the kitchen. Girta was there, preparing food for the evening meal.
She gave him a smile and nodded towards the main room. 'You have two visitors,' she said. 'How popular you have become.' Bane went upstairs, removed his clothes and towelled himself down. Pulling on a fresh pair of leggings and a clean shirt, he tugged on his boots and returned to the ground floor.
Persis Albitane rose as he entered, his fat face beaming. Striding forward he shook hands with Bane. 'You are looking well, my friend,' said Persis. 'Allow me to introduce you to Horath, who is here representing Circus Occian. He was at the stadium yesterday.'
The man was in his early twenties, slim and dark-haired, his brown eyes deep-set. His clothes were expensive: a shirt of heavy grey silk that shone like silver, and black leggings of good wool, edged
with glistening leather. At his hip he wore a jewel-encrusted dagger with a golden pommel. Bane accepted the man's handshake, which was firm and brief, then moved to a chair by the fire. 'Horath came to see me this morning,' said Persis. 'He was enquiring as to your contract with Circus Crises.'
'I am much in demand, it seems,' said Bane.
'Indeed you are, Bane,' said Horath, returning to his seat. 'The crowds in Stone would flock to see a Rigante warrior.'
'What are you offering?'
Horath smiled, and there was genuine humour in it. 'Whatever Jain offered, plus one gold piece,' he said.
'And I suppose Circus Occian will value me highly and treat me like an honoured son?'
This time Horath laughed aloud. 'There will be those who will tell you exactly that,' he said. 'The reality, as I am sure you are aware, is that you will be a valuable commodity and treated as such. When you win you will be lauded and admired, and Circus Occian will become richer. When you lose your body will be cast into a pauper's pit and you will be forgotten within days. I will then be despatched to find another fighter to replace you.'
'You make it sound very tempting,' said Bane. 'I especially liked the reference to the pauper's pit.'
'I despise deceit,' Horath told him. 'I have little appetite for pretty falsehoods and insincere flattery. I do it, of course. In the higher circles of Stone it is required practice. But not when I can avoid it. I think you would be a valuable addition to our Circus, and you will certainly help to fill the stadium.'
'They will come to see the savage barbarian?' asked Bane.
'Indeed so.'
'What is your view?' Bane asked Persis.
The fat man spread his hands. 'There are only three major circuses, Palantes, Occian and Poros. Two of them want you. Both are highly respected, and both offer you a chance to become a good - and rich -gladiator. You must decide, Bane.'
'What of Circus Orises? Do you want me to stay?'
Persis smiled. 'I will have no more death bouts. It was good to see the stadium full, but I hated watching men die for the joy of others. No, I have other plans. You would be most welcome to stay, but I have to say that, with the money I shall receive for your contract, I can expand the circus into other areas. In short, I am the wrong person to ask for advice, for I will profit greatly by your departure.'
He chuckled and turned to Horath. 'Damn, but this honesty business is infectious.'
Bane leaned back in his chair. In order to kill Voltan he needed to learn to fight as well as the Stone Knight. There was no better way of doing that than to join a major circus. Finally he looked at Horath. 'If you hire Rage and Telors as my personal trainers I will accept your offer. If they refuse then I refuse.'
'Your services do not come cheaply,' said Horath, 'but then nothing good ever does. Very well, I shall speak to Rage. I have to say that Circus Occian would be delighted to have him.' He rose from his chair, and swung his cloak round his shoulders. He and Bane shook hands, and the three men walked out into the weak sunlight. Bane swung to Persis.
'So, what will you do with all this money you are making?' he asked.
'I intend to buy an elephant,' said Persis happily.
Rage was uncomfortable, and shifted uneasily in his chair. Telors was sitting on a couch, his long legs stretched out before him. 'What do you think?' said Bane. 'Would you be interested?'
'I'm interested,' said Telors, glancing towards the old gladiator. 'What about you, Vanni?'
'I don't know. I'd like to see Stone again, and it would be good to enrol Cara in a good school, prepare her for life in the city.'
'But?' said Telors.
Rage gave a tight smile. 'I want to do it for the right reasons, yet deep inside I see it as a way of making Palantes pay.'
'Nothing wrong with revenge,' said Telors.
'It darkens the spirit,' said Rage, looking directly into Bane's eyes. 'What will you do if I refuse this offer?'
'I will stay here, and hope that you will continue to train me. I believe you to be the best, and I will learn more from you than any other man.'
'That is not so, Bane. Training can only carry you so far. The reality of combat will teach you much more. Let us understand something from the outset: you are a gifted fighter, with good heart and natural speed. It could be that you have the potential to be great. I don't yet know whether that is true. What I do know is that you are a long way from being able to ... fulfil your quest. If I do agree to train you I want your promise that you will not seek that which you desire until I say that you are ready.'
'I'm not sure I can promise that,' said Bane.
'If you cannot, then we must part company.'
'Would it be easier to talk if I wasn't here?' asked Telors. 'You both seem to be skirting around something.'
Rage looked at Bane and said nothing. Bane turned to Telors. 'A man from Stone killed a woman I had come to love. I was there. I watched his sword cleave through her ribs. It is my intention to hunt this man down and kill him.'
'Understandable,' said Telors. 'So what is the problem?'
‘The man was Voltan,' said Rage.
'Oh. I see.' Telors scratched his black beard and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.
'I know he's good,' said Bane.
Telors laughed. 'He would have to lose half his talent to be merely good. Have you considered walking up behind him and plunging a knife into his back?'
'No. I want to face him.'
'I have seen hundreds of fighters,' said Telors. 'Good, bad, mediocre. Some were even great. But I have only ever seen two men whose talents were god-like. One is Vanni, the other Voltan. Men like them are rare, young man. They are the stuff of legend. Some years ago Voltan was due to be fighting a young pretender. Someone managed to poison his wine. Voltan almost died. Two days later, having lost ten pounds in weight, his body weakened by fever, he stepped out into the arena and killed his man.'
'I don't care how good he is,' said Bane. 'I will kill him when we meet.'
Telors spread his hands, and glanced at Rage. 'What do you think?'
'I'll accept the offer - if you make the promise,' Rage told Bane.
'How soon will you know if I can beat him?'
'A year. Perhaps two.'
Bane sat silently for a moment. 'Very well. I promise to wait a maximum of two years. After that I will make my own decision. Is that sufficient?'
'It will do,' said Rage.
'I have missed Stone,' said Telors. 'There is a whorehouse off the
Avenue Gabilan that is second to none. Paradise could not be more satisfying than a night spent there.'
'Then it is agreed,' said Rage. 'We will go to Stone with you.'
Banouin left the Great Library and wandered along the tree-lined white gravel path leading to the artificial lake. Once there he settled himself on his favourite bench of curved stone, set beneath a tall weeping willow. The branches trailed all around him like a green veil, the tendrils caressing the grass. It was a place of quiet beauty, and Banouin experienced a dream-like state here, a freedom from the cares and worries of this alien world. For years, as a child among the Rigante, he had pictured himself in this place of calm and tranquillity. In the depths of his despair he had thought of this park. When Forvar and the others tormented him, he had dreamt of escaping them all and coming here. And still - almost two years after his departure from the lands of the Rigante - the Park of Phesus remained a special place of harmony. He never tired of the park, even in winter, when the lake was frozen, and snow covered the ground. He would wrap up warmly and come to this bench, and sit and dream.
And yet. . . ? Truth to tell there was something missing. Banouin was, he realized, mostly content, but never happy. As with the Rigante, he had not made friends here. There were people he liked - like old Sencra, his history tutor, and Menicas the Keeper of Texts -but no young people. Banouin knew the names of many of his fellow students, and would smile and exchange greetings with them. But none had invited him to thei
r parties and gatherings, nor sought greater intimacy with him. Banouin had come to the realization that Bane was probably right about him. He was a loner, and people recognized this - and avoided him. Yet this alone, he knew, was not the reason for his lack of happiness. He could sense that much. The real reason, however, was one that he did not wish to analyse.
The two years in the city had been kind to him. The letters of introduction from Appius had allowed him access to the university, and, through the goodwill of the general Barus, to apply for Stone citizenship, which was granted. Then his tutor, Sencra, had offered him employment as a copier of text. The payment was not great, but it enabled Banouin to hire a suite of rooms close to the university. Luckily he did not have expensive tastes, nor desire to frequent the eating houses, theatres and stadiums. Banouin was content merely to study, to copy ancient texts, and to wander the city, marvelling at its architecture: the broad roads and avenues, the colossal structures, the magnificent statues and parks.
Often he sat alone in the Antiquities section of the Great Library, and this solitude puzzled him. For here were stored the histories and philosophies of many ancient races. Yet few Stone scholars bothered to study them. Banouin had found a map of the stars, the parchment so brittle it almost cracked under his fingers. He copied it with great care and replaced it in its niche. There were other maps, of far distant lands, and parchments written in languages none could now speak. He pored over them, trying to make sense of the glyphs and strokes. What knowledge was contained here? he wondered. Sencra had chuckled when Banouin brought one such parchment to him. 'It is probably just a tale of magical heroes,' he said. 'Of no importance.'
'How can we know that, sir?'
'Quite simply, my boy. We know that Stone is the greatest city ever built, and that our culture is the finest the world has seen. Therefore we will find little of consequence in ancient writings. Our own philosophers are far in advance of any in the ancient world.'