Midnight Falcon

'You are Bane,' said the slim, dark-haired youngster. 'I saw you fight Dex.'

The older man moved in closer and peered at Bane. 'Aye, you have the look of a swordsman,' he said, his voice less friendly.

'Is it true you are to fight Voltan?' asked the youngster.

'Aye, it is true.'

'I hope you make him die slowly!'

'That is enough!' roared the old man. 'I don't want to see any man die slow, not even foul creatures like him. There has been more than enough killing already.'

'How can you say that?' asked the young man. 'He was one of those who murdered our friends, took them for burning. He deserves a painful death.'

The older man sat down on the fallen tree, pulled clear the leather cup which covered the stump of his left wrist, and scratched at the scarred and puckered skin. He glanced up at Bane. 'As I said, our thanks to you. Do not let us keep you from your training.'

Bane stood for a moment, then ran on, heading back up the slope, and off onto an old deer track. As he reached the higher ground he saw the city below him, glistening in the early light. His legs were tired now, his calves burning.

The bathhouse at Circus Occian was open, though the water was not yet heated, and Bane moved through to the new open-air training area, designed by Rage. Several of the younger gladiators were already there, hoisting weights under the supervision of Telors. Bane stretched out his aching muscles, then did some light work on the climbing ropes, hauling himself up to the top of the frame and down several times.

Telors joined him. 'Not too much now,' he said. 'Save something for tomorrow.'

'You think I am being foolish?'

'It is not for me to say. Men do what they must. Personally I'd have asked the emperor for a mountain of gold and my own personal whorehouse.' Telors shrugged.

'You've seen him fight,' said Bane. 'Rage does not believe I can take him.'

'Vanni regrets saying that. He wouldn't have wanted to say anything to make you doubt your abilities. He was hoping he could talk you out of the contest.'

'What do you think? Give me the truth.'

'I can't give you the truth, Bane, only opinion. I once saw a big soldier, fully armed, with breastplate, shield and sword, brought down by a boy carrying a makeshift wooden spear. When a man fights anything can happen.' He gave a rueful smile. 'And I'm not going to stand here and tell you how good Voltan is – not the day before you fight him. I can tell you how good you are. You are a match for almost anyone. You have the speed, the strength, and most importantly the heart. I'll be with you tomorrow. I'll put a fine edge on your sword, and your breastplate will gleam with oil.'

'Breastplate? It is a death bout.'

Telors looked uncomfortable. 'The emperor has suspended the usual rules. Voltan will fight without armour of any kind.'

'Then so shall I. It is to be a duel, not an execution.'

'I thought you'd say that,' admitted Telors. 'It does you credit. Rage would have said the same.' A servant called out that the water was heated, and Bane moved back inside.

The bath was sixteen feet long and nine feet wide. Steam was rising from the surface of the water, carrying the scent of lavender. Bane stripped off his clothing and slipped into the water, ducking his head and swimming to the far end, where he sat on a ledge, resting his head on the rounded brass rail surrounding the bath. Tension eased from his muscles.

He lay in the water for some time, then towelled himself dry and wandered to the massage room, where an Occian slave rubbed oil into his skin, and worked on the muscles of his legs and upper back. Bane dozed for a while. When he awoke he found he was alone. The slave had placed warm towels over his body, and had left him sleeping. Rising he went to his locker, put on a fresh tunic and leggings and walked barefoot back into the bathhouse. Leaving his training clothes with a slave for washing he tugged on his boots and walked out into the sunlight.

It was a beautiful day and he strolled along the avenues back towards the villa. Most of the celebrations were over now, but there was still an air of elation over the city. At the villa the gardeners were at work, weeding the flower beds, and Bane saw Cara, dressed in a pale green dress, walking among the roses. A dark-haired and handsome young man was walking with her. Cara saw Bane and waved. He strolled over to them. 'This is Maro,' said Cara. 'He is the son of the general Barus.' Bane shook hands with the man. 'He has come to see Grandfather,' continued Cara, 'but he is still out on his run.'

'He must have taken the western route,' said Bane. 'I have not seen him today.'

'Maro and I are to be married,' said Cara.

'If your grandfather agrees,' put in Maro.

Bane smiled. 'I am sure he will – if that is what you desire, princess. However, I am hurt. I always thought you would save yourself for me.'

'You are too old,' she said, with a mocking grin. 'And not handsome enough.'

Bane put his hand over his heart. 'Women are so cruel. Be warned, Maro!'

He bowed and walked away. Cara ran after him, taking his arm. 'You and Grandfather should end this quarrel,' she told him.

'We have not quarrelled,' he said.

'You do not look me in the eyes any more,' she said suddenly. 'Why is that?'

'Nonsense,' he said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes were bright blue and pale. Voltan's eyes. He looked away. 'Your guest is being neglected,' he added.

'Have I done something to offend you, Bane?'

'Not at all.' He felt awkward standing there.

'Are you still planning to fight tomorrow?' she asked him.

'Yes.'

'I met him, you know. Voltan. I met him in the marketplace. I liked him. Oh, I know people say he is evil, but I saw him at one of our meetings. The Veiled Lady touched his head and blessed him. So he can't be all bad.'

Bane sighed. 'I do not know if he is all bad. He killed someone I loved. He will die for that, not for some… political intrigue.'

'He will die anyway, Bane. We all do. It is a shame that you cannot forgive him.'

'Some things cannot be forgiven.'

'I do not believe that.'

'That is because you have never suffered,' he said, a note of anger in his voice. 'It is so easy for people like you, living in luxury, servants attending your every need. What is there to forgive? A cook makes your porridge too thin? Oh, I forgive you. But the women of the Gath who saw their babes plucked from their arms by Stone soldiers, their little heads smashed against the walls of the houses, they know what suffering is. Do they forgive? I saw Voltan plunge his sword into the heart of the woman I loved. He laughed as he did it. And you ask me to forgive? Look around you! Everything you have here – everything in this city – is built on the blood of slaughtered people. Maybe one day they will forgive you. But I doubt it.' Furious now, he strode away from her.

As he reached the front of the house he saw two men walking along the gravel path. 'Persis!' he shouted, and went to meet them. Both were dressed in filthy clothes, which stank horribly.

'It is good to see you, my boy,' said Persis wearily. 'Is there somewhere we can cleanse ourselves of this dungeon aroma?'

'Of course. Follow me.'

Persis was too large and Norwin too small for any of the clothes in the house to fit them, so while they were bathing Bane sent a servant to the market to purchase fresh garments. Cara and Maro, who had seen the men arrive, came to Bane as he waited in the east-facing main living room. 'Was that Persis?' she asked.

'Yes. They were freed yesterday, but with no money and no friends here they sought us out.'

'I am glad that they did. I shall get the cook to prepare them some food.' She moved away and Maro remained. Bane gestured him to a chair.

'I know a friend of yours,' said Maro. 'Banouin.'

'He is not a friend. He is someone I once knew.'

'Oh. I did not realize. He speaks of you fondly.'

'I have always preferred fond deeds to fond words,' said Bane. 'How is he?'