'Yes, sir,' said the older woman. 'We'll work now.'
Oranus left them to it and returned to the garden, where he sat awaiting Ralis and the nurse. After a little while he heard a wagon draw up. A young army doctor and a slender, dark-haired young woman entered the gate.
Oranus stood. 'Where is Ralis?' he asked.
'He had urgent matters to attend,' said the young man, saluting. 'He has remained at his home today. Where is the dying man?'
'He's not dying,' said Oranus. 'A witch woman healed him.'
The young man laughed scornfully. 'Then his wounds could not have been as severe as was thought.'
'I saw him,' said Oranus, an edge of anger in his voice. 'He was choking on his blood.' He pointed to the bloodsoaked paving. 'That is where he lay.'
'Yes, sir,' replied the doctor, but Oranus could see the man retained his scepticism.
'He is upstairs. Examine his wounds.' Turning to the nurse he told her to prepare some food for the injured man.
'You wish me to stay with him, sir?' she asked stiffly. Her pretty face held a look of cold disdain.
'Yes I do.'
'He is a tribesman, is he not?'
'He is.'
'I am a citizen of Stone, and should not be required to tend savages. I will stay with him today, but I expect a Cenii woman to be recruited from tomorrow.'
Oranus knew the young woman. She had been expelled from Stone for illegal prostitution and extortion. Since arriving in Accia, however, she had been a model citizen, attending Temple and working voluntarily in the field hospital. 'It will be as you say,' he told her. 'I am grateful for your assistance. He is a brave young man, who fought to save two citizens of Stone.'
'Two traitors,' she pointed out.
'Yes, but he didn't know that. There are some eggs in the kitchen, and some bread. I would be grateful if you could prepare a breakfast for me also.'
'Of course, Captain,' she said, and walked away.
The young doctor returned some minutes later. 'As you say, Captain, he is not dying, though he has lost a great deal of blood.' The man chuckled suddenly. 'I heard the cleaning women talking. They believe a Seidh goddess healed him. The Morrigu, they called her. That's obviously the answer, then.' He laughed again. 'I must be getting back.'
'Thank you for your time, Doctor.'
'See that he drinks plenty of water, and eats red meat. He should start regaining his strength in a week or so.'
'I shall.'
The young man returned to the waiting wagon and Oranus walked back into the house and through to the kitchen. The nurse, Axa, had scrambled some eggs. She served them onto two wooden plates, handed one to Oranus, and took the other upstairs. Oranus sat quietly in the kitchen eating his breakfast. The eggs were good, and he cut two slices of bread, smearing them thickly with butter.
He felt different today. He had half expected the good feeling he had experienced upon waking to drift away like a dream once the day began, but it was quite the reverse. I feel strong again, he thought. Casting his mind back to the horrors of Cogden Field he found he could view the memories without terror.
Axa returned with an empty plate, and sat at the table opposite him. 'I am sorry, Captain,' she said. 'I feel I was a little harsh earlier. I will do my duty and remain with Bane until he is well.' He glanced at her, saw that her face was flushed.
That is good of you,' he said.
The cleaning women had completed their task as he returned to the bedroom. Bane was asleep again, but he woke as Oranus entered.
'I feel weak as a newborn foal,' said the Rigante.
'Your strength will grow day by day,' said Oranus.
Bane smiled. 'I thank you for your kindness. Do you know what happened to my friend?'
'Friend?'
'I was staying here with Banouin. He's another Rigante. We were travelling to Stone together.'
'No, I have not seen him. I will make enquiries.'
'Tell me, what is a gladiator?'
'A man who fights to entertain the crowds at stadiums. Some are former soldiers, some are criminals. They train daily to hone their skills. They can become very wealthy – if they survive. Most don't.'
'And it was this training that made Voltan so deadly?'
'I think he was probably deadly before it. But, yes, the training would have sharpened his skills.'
'How does one become a gladiator?' asked Bane.
A cold wind blew across the arena floor, causing snow to flurry over the sand. Persis Albitane heaved his ample frame from his seat high in the Owner's Enclosure and watched the meagre crowd snaking towards the exits. Less than four hundred people had paid the entrance fee, which meant that, with only two event-days to come, Circus Orises would make a loss for the second year in a row.
Persis was not in a good mood. Debts were mounting, and his own shrinking capital would barely be able to meet them. As the last of the crowd left, the fat man strolled up the main aisle to the small office, unlocked the door, took one look at the huge pile of debt papers on the desk, pulled shut the door, and walked along the corridor to a second, larger room, boasting four couches, six deep hide-filled chairs, and an oak cabinet. A badly painted fresco adorned the walls, showing scenes of racing horses, wrestling bouts and gladiatorial duels. Persis hated the fresco. The artist must have been drunk, he thought. The horses looked like pigs on stilts. He sighed. The fire was not lit, and a west-facing window was banging in the wind, allowing snow to drift across the sill. Persis moved to the window. Down in the harbour of Goriasa he saw three fishing boats heading out into the iron grey of the sea. Better them than me, he thought. In the far distance he could see the white cliffs of the land across the water. Two of his uncles had died there, officers serving Valanus. Another uncle had survived, but he had never been the same man again. His eyes had a haunted, frightened look.
Persis tried to shut the window, but the catch was broken and the wind prised it open once more. Several old wooden gambling tickets were strewn upon the floor. Stooping, Persis plucked one and used it to wedge the window shut. Then he went to a poorly made cabinet by the far wall. Inside were four small jugs. One by one he shook them. The first three were empty, but the fourth contained a little uisge, which he poured into a copper cup. The hospitality room was cold, but the uisge warmed him briefly. He sank down into a chair, stretched out his legs and tried to relax.
'Happy birthday,' he told himself, raising the cup. He swore softly, then chuckled. Persis had always believed that by twenty-five he would be fat, rich, and happily settled in a villa on a Turgon hillside, perhaps overlooking a bay. And he might have been, save for this money-sucking enterprise. At eighteen, with the ten gold coins his father had given him, he had invested in a shipment of silk from the east. That doubled his money, and he had bought five shares in a merchant vessel. By the age of twenty he owned three ships outright, and had purchased two warehouses, and a dressmaking operation in Stone. Two years later he had amassed enough coin to buy a small vineyard in Turgony.
Moneylending increased his fortune still further. That is, until he met old Gradine, owner of the Circus Orises in Goriasa. He had loaned the man money, and when he failed to pay Persis had taken a half interest in the stadium and the circus. When Gradine died of a stroke a year later Persis became sole owner. He chuckled to himself. Sole owner of a rundown circus with a mountain of debts and only two assets, the little slave Norwin and the ageing gladiator Rage.
I should have closed it down, he thought.
Instead, in his arrogance, he had travelled from Stone to the Keltoi port city of Goriasa, believing he could make Circus Orises into the gold mine Gradine always prayed it would be: a venture to rival the mighty Circus Palantes.