A peerless elegance met the lancer's eyes, radiantly blazing and fearlessly threatening. Like a blaze flaming from heavens, its origin, still a shallow yet beaming gold, was poured into a short shaft, then as it grew into a bright red glow it spilled creating another longer one, both radiating with equal divine and splendor.
Side by side, the two spears were laid on a velvet red pillow embroidered with golden threads matching their radiance.
"Your wish has been granted."
The governor proclaimed, majestically presenting the gladiator's looted weapons, taking the time and trouble to honor the triumphant warrior with a second meeting, something the counselors justified as the beginning of a new whim after that lion's death.
Bronze eyes stared calmly at the lost weapons. They were still in good shape, without any scratched or damage. Longing just few days ago for their touch, the lancer's hands still did not move. They were his weapons indeed, but the last fingerprints they carried were not his, the last blood they had drained was not his enemies', they may have even assaulted his own people. The feeling of the carved lances brilliance turned into disgust and nothingness and in an instant, the Celtic's importunate wish to retrieve his lances diminished. Really, Sextus had offered him an endless supply of various weapons, so why did he have to wish for this specific pair? Maybe he should have asked for something else to be granted.
His thirst for them was quenched unpleasantly left a sore lump on the dry throat.
Reading the Celtic's thoughts, the red - eyed governor remarked, as if seeking to sooth the warrior's lament or perhaps merely waiting for his generosity to be appreciated:
"These are priceless weapons indeed. So elegantly forged and beautifully handled. Nothing can tarnish a piece of art but the misinterpretation of ambitionless people."
The governor ability to read his thought easily and correctly wasn't pleasant nor comfortable for Diarmuid but he was still encouraged to grasp the two lances that carried his glory as a fighter and his pride as a knight.
They made him acknowledged as a knight, and he would never repay their reward with betrayal.
They were his loyal friends, always protecting him and those he loved.
They were his, no one else could claim them but him.
Feigning respect, the lancer uttered a thank. The hatred saturating his words not latent to anyone in the hall.
Such persistent pride! The governor smiled pleased with the Celtic gladiator.
"I hope our generosity won't be wasted. I expect nothing less from a warrior wielding such weapons than winning the next season of games even more brilliantly than the way you won this one, Celtic."
While meant as a praise, it sounded disdainful not just because of the governor's tone, but also because the entire games tournament meant nothing for the Celtic lancer, a disrespectful method to reach a much higher goal, winning these games held no glory or honor.
"Speaking of which, please my lords…"
The governor stood motioning to his counsels and Sextus, who was an honorary guest. Pleasing the province people's by the brilliant games he arranged, the governor invited him to a banquet along with the winner and although the latter was the center of the event, he merely stood behind Sextus at the dining table without participation. He still had a high hill to climb.
Despite the frivolous reason behind the lavish banquet, everyone enjoyed themselves; the counselors except for the sad looking one, ate and drank to their full. They joked about meaningless things, laughed at practically nothing hilarious. As if happiness was something rare, they didn't waste the chance to rejoice during this an unreasonable celebration. Monitoring while standing, the Celtic realized the governor was no idiot. He did not joke, but laughed at every joke, carefully considering his words while drawing his guests into revealing their characters. This entire farce was so that the governor could interact closely with his counselors, shorten the gap between them, and understand their interests.
Bored, the Celtic turned his face away from the table. He had no desire to get involved in the Roman's politics. His eyes roamed the decorated ceiling and walls. The two spears in his hand, the sight of the Roman's gods and legendary heroes statues brought him memories of his homeland heroes and his own adventures. The recollection, painful as it was, still brought ease to the lancer's heart. He shall never forget who he truly is. The feeling of the carved British metal flew his body with passion and warmth; the companions of the lone knight never failed to enlighten the starless sky he ventured under and dispel the storms he raced through. Entrusted with various missions and dangerous tasks in his king's name, these two blades always had answered to their wielder's trust, complied to his wishes and reassured his doubtful heart.
His fingers tightened around the metal enclosing the twin spears while staring at the revealed sky through the open balcony. A gesture that immediately caught the governor's eyes.
"Tell me, Celtic…"
The governor began shifting his gaze from the lively dining party to the silent gladiator.
"Is it true that you keep the heads of your enemies and use them as pieces of decoration after preserving them?"
"Yes."
The Celtic answered briefly, prompted by Sextus cautious stares.
"Why?"
This was a stupid question for the proud Celtic.
"Enemies heads are a warrior's pride, a proof of his strength and capability."
"Then your knights compete by the number of heads they have chopped?"
This was true, Diarmuid himself had taken part in many of the boasting competitions that brewed during celebration and banquets and which often turned into fights and quarrels but still held a refreshing ardor from days that were so distant now.
"Savages barbarians, what do your priests say about this?!"
A counselor remarked in contempt looking with scorning eyes at the muscular Celtic. Prompted by another look from Sextus, Diarmuid knew he had to answer. The man was probably important and ignoring him wouldn't pass without troubles.
"We believe one can obtain the dead's wisdom through it"
The Celtic calmly replied disregarding the continuous disgusted stares of the counselor.
"If this is true, what was the greatest wisdom you have come upon?"
The governor asked like a curios child, he appeared way to thrilled by the gruesome topic for a man who initiated his rule by banning brutal games.
"That a king is as insignificant as a peasant when his head is mounted on my wall."
The lithe fingers needn't tighten their grip around the two lances, the menace the golden eyes pinned the assembly with needed no extra back up. Sextus turned pale and agape, ready to prostrate here and now to ask for forgiveness on the behalf of his impudent slave.
"How dare you…"
Another counselor dared to open his mouth, and Sextus pulled at his remaining hair excepting the man to be impaled by the next second but his fears were eased when the tension that took over the merry atmosphere was dispelled by a loud laugh.
"This is indeed the wisest thing I have heard today, an undoubted truth."
The young blond took a long sip of his drink, amused by the Celtic's unwavering attitude. He then glanced at the man with bright eyes.
"I would like to see you mount a king's head on your wall."
The Celtic raised an eyebrow, he was familiar with royal courts and scheming kings. Were he in the service of the blond, he would have interpreted the governor's answer as a hidden message to slay the counselor, but since he had used the word "king", was he referring to himself? Was he so entranced by the unmatched pair he was wishing to be skewered with them?
"Who wouldn't love to see a warrior such as you fighting?"
The blond kept looking at the lancer with a sly grin, absorbing the latter's anger with sincere admiration mixed with the absolute authority his eyes contained. Faced by these red eyes admiration, the lancer tensed shoulders couldn't but relax, his unconscious unwillingly admitting to the power in the blonde's eyes.
Ignited in an instant and extinguished in another, the incident was forgotten and the banquet proceeded as if nothing had happened.
***
After two hours of celebrating and drinking toasts, Sextus excused himself bowing deeply and respectfully. The counselors also prepared to leave.
Knowing his humble place, Sextus stood aside while the more important counselors left then bowed again and left followed by the Celtic who was stopped by the governor. The blond male had left his chair to face the lancer. He stared at the twin
spears as if to bid them goodbye. Scrutinizing the blades, his eyelids heavily dropped down like petals overladen by dew. He touched the two pairs, lament invading his meticulous features. He stroke the shorter spear remarking.
"It saddens me to see the red spear with the crimson color that we encounter every day in many objects, beautiful and ugly, longer than the golden beam we can never reach to…"
In reality, the woman who had gifted Diarmuid this exotic pair did not explain why they differed in length, but it was part of the technique the lancer had created, and eased the pressure of balancing two long heavy lances but the way the governor addressed the matter, a poetic approach, brought ugly memories and lasting regrets to the lancer's mind once again, spoiling his joyful reunite with his precious weapons. Raising his head and meeting the Celtic's disturbed expression, the governor smiled sadly as if apologizing to him then motioned at Sextus and his warrior to leave.
The Celtic thought, as he laid one last glance at the young boy.
Was the governor eccentric? No, he seemed a bit complicated, and someone who could find sadness in the most trivial things to his misfortune.