During the next month, the cheers shaking the stadium never seemed to quiet down or stop. A certain gladiator had managed to attract men and women like an inexhaustible treasure, and truly he was. His agility never drained under tiredness and prolonged time, his strength never withered no matter how many strikes and blows hammered upon it, and his skill always drew ceaseless cries of admiration from the audience. In that small Roman province, that gladiator became more popular and loved than the emperor of the entire Roman lands.
"It seems the people do not need our offices or services any longer, that gladiator had solved all of their problems."
A blond head tilted in boredom watching the busy crowded stadium from a large balcony. Resting his elbows at the marble edge and leaning his head on delicate arms, the governor sighed closing his eyes:
"I can't say I detest this though, it is a relief for me. Thanks to that man I can rest my head from the ridiculous complains of the commoners and the senators."
The last remark did not sit right with the other man occupying the room. His eyebrows wove into a scowl as he eyed the young blond in dissatisfaction; a governor should never elope from his responsibility, nor consider the people's complaints, his duty, ridiculous.
"The emperor have trusted you with these people, and their demands are their rights there they have to be obliged."
The man stated in a poetic tone, though his verses weren't dulcet for the blonde's ears causing him to respond by burying his face deeper between his arms.
"This was your choice after all, you have worked hard to ensure you take control of things."
The last sentence was said even more expressively, like the grand ending to a musical piece, and it did manage to stir the sleepy governor from his daydreaming. He turned his head at the counselor, their eyes speaking with deeper meanings than their words. The bright brown eyes cuddling unfathomed stares that contained a sea of emotions coated by delight and curiosity faced calm balanced dark grey eyes, while not precisely fearless, they were rather nonchalant, unable to expect anything daring enough to feel fear toward it. A loud cheer interrupted the silent dialog. It was so loud it actually reached the governor's palace like the foam of a sweeping tide.
"What did he do this time, I wonder?"
The governor turned his head to the noise direction, wondering but not with enough eagerness to care for the answer. While the main subject got his attention, he was not keen on the details yet.
"Does he interest you?"
The counselor asked taking a step into the balcony and next to his superior.
"Apparently, he is a man who knows how to indulge the people's interest so why should he not interest me as well?"
The governor shrugged, eyes still fixated on the distant stadium. His gaze implied he was processing something in his mind, more like trying to put the pieces of a puzzle all together while the counselor remarked in disappointment, ceasing the chance as the topic he had not got tired of yet sneaked itself into their conversation.
"You did give him a pardon though a murderer."
The youngster's eyes rolled in disguised displeasure. This was about the hundredth time the counselor revealed his disapproval of Claudius' trial ending. In his opinion, the entire trial seemed like a farce; it embodied justice in no sense and rather assimilated a play for the vulgar masses amusement and satisfaction.
"Just listen to their parking, they would have ripped me apart if I ordered that man's death. Even before he entered the arena, he was far more popular than I am."
The governor stated plainly, not bothering to hide the truth about how unpopular he was among his people, he could never understand them, nor did they understand him and really, these two opposite sides did not care enough to try and put some efforts into solving this problem.
"This is the law!"
This was another way of saying "your popularity matters little when it comes to justice and fairness." For a man such as Laurentius, principals and rules came before anything.
"Unfortunately, the people you wish to serve don't see eye to eye with you regarding justice. For Gods' sake, Laurentius…"
The governor shook his head while pointing at the agitated arena, his lips unfolded into a smile of amusement, a muffled chuckle lingered in his throat.
"How do you hope them to? They fill their emptiness with blood , surpass their weakness by violence, delight their senses with screams of agony. And it is not even for real…"
At the last part, the governor's tone fell into sudden melancholy. Narrowing his gaze, his eyelids slightly dropped enclosing the stadium between strange - colored irises seeping with sorrow and frustration, and fair lashes resembling the sun beams trying to shed some light upon the vicious sinful place. Embracing the scenery with his eyes like a mother embracing her fallen children, the blond went on:
"Twisted dreams, illusions of their true desires. Do you believe while watching these games that they watch them for what they are, a mere duel between different gladiators slaughtering each other with some wild beasts ripping limbs and disemboweling guts?"
The counselor, a man in his thirties who was not fond of puzzles and indirect speeches silently listened showing the regretful young man some respect for his unexplained sudden sadness, waiting the reason behind it.
"Though on the seats of spectators, in their grieve - disturbed minds, they are the gladiators and their enemies are the losers. Just like the many elite warriors before him, that Celtic slave became their hero, the man to exact their unreachable dreams, an image of their desired selves. Winning despite a disadvantaged state, against numerous foes, wielding a single dull weapon then carrying on while ignoring deadly wounds he successfully embodied their perfect beings, their wishes, the shadow they hope to become, the light they can never be."
Laurentius glanced at the stadium then at the man staring at it with sadness – laden gaze, unable to tell who was more deluded, who was more indulged in his unreachable dreams, the commoners or their governor.
"They were hypnotized by him because he reflected their reality in the various disadvantages he was facing, he proved their surrender to be fragile and easy to soar over, as he emerged victorious all while maintaining a beautiful elegant image pouring with pride and resolution and that's the difference between him and the gladiators proceeding him, that's why he gained their affection quickly, and that's why were he to err, he shall be doomed worse than their actual enemies"
While sighing his entire speech, feeling sorry for the miserable souls of his people, the last thought seemed to bring some sort of misplaced delight to his mind that did not hesitate to show in a wicked smile. Was the image of that gladiator losing a fight then ripped and scorned by the people who adored him dominating his thoughts with pleasure? Laurentius wondered without believing it was unfair to assume he was correct.
"And you honestly want me to serve the likes of these with an affectionate heart?!"
The sad eyes staring with pity just instances ago at the stadium in an attempt to bring warmness to that dark place vanished with the same quickness they pitied with, pupils dilating like a beast jaw devouring that building with their looks of disgust and contempt.
While partially agreeing with the young governor, the last comment he was unacceptable by the devoted counselor. Despite correctly demonstrating the nature of the people he was responsible for, still failing at comprehending this nature Laurentius could not approve the solution the governor had found to satisfy his people, whether his words were meant for real or were just a distasteful joke and although he wanted to express his disapproval, seeing the young man before him drowning in his own thoughts and fantasies preferring not to argue further, realizing it would be futile now. Still, since he was a man capable of handling any responsibility assigned to him, he could not but feel somehow offended by the current governor's demeanor though his facial expression showed nothing, as usual. The pair of grey eyes residing on a dull face where solemnness took much of its handsomeness seeing through everything, but reflecting nothing in return, even during the most critical situations. However, this did not mean that the man was immune to governor's sudden shifts in mood or behavior, as he, startled, took a step backward leaving proper space between him and the blond head that suddenly tilted in his direction, approaching the other man's forehead in an uncomfortable closeness.
"We shall reconsider our judgment and determine whether that man deserves our kindness or not."
The counselor raised an eyebrow in incredulity at the use of "our" by the young governor in reference to himself, a gesture went ignored but not unnoticed by blond as he went on with a playful tone:
"I would not want to upset our trusted counselor. After all, you were very dear to my father, and thus you are very dear to me as well, Laurentius."
Between any other two men, these words would convey much respect and trust, but Laurentius was not a fool falling easily to the governor's teasing, the truth of his words were dubitable as the speaker's intentions. Even if the governor was to redo the trial, the counselor doubted it would be done in the proper way it is ought to.
"Chiba !"
The hall's door opened. The counselor did not leave his spot, sighing in frustration as his suspicions were confirmed. The governor on the other hand jumped excitedly across the room in the same way a man rushes to meet a beloved one. But as everything was different and weird when it came to the governor's choices, this beloved was vastly different from a charming maiden or a trusted friend though he held the same charm and offered the same trust according to young blond standards. The governor embraced within his fragile hands a giant head blazing with a mane thick and lustrous adorning the savagely majestic beast, whose tongue smoothed down the blonde's pale skin affectionately and soothingly despite the vicious fangs that huge mouth revealed and the earth – shaking growl it released upon seeing the governor. The later Leaned his head on the top of that flaming mane, slipping an arm under the warm fur taking as much as his arms could environ of that moving hulk which surprisingly accepted the intruder's hug sinking into it peacefully, hidden claws now boldly manifesting to protect the frail being indulging his cold skin in the warmness of his furry friend whose golden eyes furiously pierced the surroundings of the blond man including his counselor, threatening any impending danger with certain unpleasant demise.
"Since you always say justice should be an inborn quality Laurentius, then men are the worst judges ever. Therefore, let this creature deaf to the tunes of civility, untainted by its hypocrisy, still living according to his pure instincts be our judge tomorrow!"
***
He handled any weapon given to him in the same dexterity and comfort.
He killed professionally and slowly to sate the audience taste, and did not hesitate to present death to anyone who opposed him at the arena.
He accepted to wear a light armor though still reluctant to the idea of protection; a true warrior fights fearless of wounds and bodily damage, accepting them as tokens of honor and proof of courage. But after few battles he realized that if he were to survive and win unharmed to go on to another dozens of battle, he had to rely on the aid of the leather armor Sextus had given him. After all, these battles were not fought for his personal glory, they were fought for an equal purpose, perhaps even more important, so he shall consent to that act of cowardice for now.
He loathed the man he had become, but that man received cheers and admiration more than his previous self-had ever received.
He had engraved of himself a heroic statue in the eyes of the people.
But would he be viewed the same in the blue of his younger friend's pure eyes?
Now Diarmuid, the Celtic lancer, had become a gladiator at the Romans' arenas and with every battle he won, the people's love grew rapidly. They cried out his name and threw flowers, as bright and red as the blood he shed for their entertainment.
It had been more than a month since he started fighting continuously, during which he took the same number of souls he had taken through his five years as a knight of his tribe and king without feeling guilt no matter how much he wished to at times, he had to step on that feeling, he had to abolish any fragments of it no matter how many times it came together trying to assemble a picture of an endless abyss of self - loathe and regret, because he was certain that if he were to fail in his true mission he will be hunted by an even greater guilt, a truly unforgotten one. So, for his friend's sake, he shall bear all of this without complaint, he won't admit to his suffering, to his wounded knightly pride believing a reward greater than the sacrifices he was making is awaiting him; seeing his little apprentice smiling again without fear, chasing with his kind eyes a free sky, saved from the chains of slavery. This thought was his only solace.
"Diarmuid!"
Sextus called upset. The gladiator, still in his blood soaked armor, answered roughly by slamming his lance down the ground.
"I don't know if this is good or bad news."
Guessing the conversation won't be a short one, the gladiator started taking off his armor finally overcoming the nausea brought by the ugly scent diffusing out of the blood and residues of organs and skin stuck to his leather armor.
"The governor had sat a game for you, he wants you to battle his most prized soldier."
Diarmuid turned at the owner, towel in hand, the topic finally catching his attention. The number of people who attended the matches he participated in increased every day, his fame dragged men and women like a magnum but two persons did not show up after his first victory at the trial; the woman who had challenged him to fight and the governor who had pardoned his grave crime. While the first one absence had no justification, everything Diarmuid heard about the second person confirmed the rumors about the latter not liking this kind of sport, and just attended the battles associated with major social events such as Claudius' murder trial, so why was he challenging him now?
"What's the bad news in this?"
Turning back to wiping the sweated tainting his body, the Celtic asked failing to see the problem.
"It is that you may die, and probably will."
A disrespectful chuckle was the answer.
"I mean it, Celtic! No one, not the mightiest wrestlers survived their fight with him, they all failed miserably and died torn to pieces."
Sextus spoke frustrated by the possibility of his dreams ending a little too soon but Diarmuid attitude did not change.
"You still underestimate me, Sextus."
The Celtic turned at the arena's owner and was surprised to see him truly upset about the possibility of his death in the upcoming battle without thinking about the positive side of this matter. Such match is guaranteed to drag thousands of spectators, meaning another fortune in the owner's hand but the latter was not prepared to lose "his most prized warrior" yet. His discontent eyes implied real worry, unprofessional one, something the Celtic couldn't understand.
"You should have more faith in me."
"I swear I can't understand that man's thinking!"
The owner walked back and forth shaking his head in utter dissatisfaction about this inconvenience erupting from nowhere.
"He rarely involves himself in such events preferring to refrain from attending and now to my luck, he sat a game as if to spite me!"
The man murmured mostly to himself, cursing his luck and the governor alike. Diarmuid was laughing at the importance Sextus had assigned to himself, but he also wondered in curiosity, his blood boiling with anticipation, was this appointed foe truly that dangerous? The Celtic asked loudly bringing his master back to reality.
"Of course he is!" The man shouted, pulling at his hair. "I told you no one won against him, no one stayed alive after confronting him!"
"I will."
The owner looked at the gladiator, the latter's confidence putting his doubts to shame. He approached the man, putting his hands on his shoulders and spoke, as if commanding.
"You have to, Celtic!"
"You do not have to tell me."
Diarmuid smiled proudly at the arena's owner then left the room. He didn't know why he was happy, this challenge thrilled him in the same manner the fighting invitations he got from his fellow knights back at home had thrilled him. Maybe it was the opportunity he waited to shove the governor's smugly given mercy back in his face, killing his most prized warrior. His right hand twitched already feeling the shaft of his spear shattering the opponent's heart.