"My apologies lady Sabina."
The counselor who revealed the emperor's stolen letter at the city hall bowed expressing his regrets to the grave woman.
"Contrary to our guesses, that arrogant kid did not kill his father. It seems he is not that stupid after all."
He admitted reluctantly. After all, losing to a brat wasn't suitable to an experienced man of politics like himself. Sabina on the other hand, did not seem that frustrated.
"Now what do we do Lady Sabina? I really feel sorry for how things ended. You worked hard to get this letter yet the plan failed…"
"Failed? That is not quite true."
The man raised his head in surprise. Sabina explained:
"It is true that we couldn't remove Germanous for now, but we have forced him to reveal his father's real whereabouts. Now everyone knows Marcus is under his protection, and if anything were to happen to the ailing man, he shall be the first to blame."
The thought seemed to her liking. Indeed, she had never lost a bet or battle because she knew how to convert defeat into an advantage and extract benefit from the most critical situations.
"You can't be thinking…"
The man questioned in hesitation, many possibilities for the governor's cousin next course of action crossing his mind, each serious and dangerous.
"You may go. I have no further need for you. You can continue playing the counselor away from me."
"What…"
But her commanding eyes left no room for negotiations. Losing his supporter, the man humbly withdrew from the room.
Sabina closed her eyes. If she wished to win, she had to act wisely and patiently. She was not being foolish for not admitting defeat, the battle was only starting.
"Lady Sabina, do you wish me to kill him?"
A figure draped in black bowed, kneeling at the room's entrance not daring to step inside.
"That old man pauses no danger. Besides, have you not failed twice already?"
Sabina stared coldly at the bowing man, her words residing in his heart like a heavy load.
"I am sorry… I…"
"First you interrupted the Celtic's mission for no reason causing unnecessary misunderstanding, and then you failed to detect the governor's true place."
"Believe me my lady, that old man was a replica of the governor! Why would
Germanous send someone to kill him?! I tried to save him and retrieve his body but it was too late!"
"You boast about your speed but you have been outran twice by the same man!"
"That lancer had nothing to do with…"
"Enough! Even if the governor had an identical double, what use to me is this information if I have no evidence?"
The kneeling man lowered his head, gritting his teeth. He had never been put in the spot of humiliation before and now since the Celtic's appearance, he kept failing in his mission.
"It is interesting that my cousin would trust the same man I trust. It indicates he still possess a pure mind like mine, discerning a man's worth easily and this does not please me."
The black dressed figure opened his mouth to object, he detested that gladiator that captured everyone's heart without even trying to do so, while he was still struggling to prove his true worth to the woman he had been in her service for years. Her words hurt him more than a hundred dagger gnashing his flesh at once, piercing his heart and ego more painfully and deeply.
"The one whose efforts was wasted is only you; Celtic."
Sabina mused to herself, she was determined to turn this shared pawn between her and her cousin into her most competent ally, hers alone by giving him to her enemy, Germanous.
***
Sextus stood in the m middle of the arena viewing the new gladiators he had bought to commence the upcoming season of games after the brief halt. Diarmuid was leaning on tree beneath the shade with crossed arms. Though seemingly watching Sextus, his mind was wandering away; after the last incident with the governor and the vulnerability the latter had displayed reminding him of Oscar, he finally decided to trust in Sextus and asked for his aid in finding Oscar, and the latter did not deny him this wish but could reach no result.
"Say Diarmuid, what do you think of them?"
Awakened from his daydreaming by the exited voice, the Celtic lazily raised his head with knitted eyebrows. Sextus repeated:
"I was saying what do you think of them? Who seems best to fight?"
"What do think I am, some nasty flesh trader like you?"
The Celtic replied curling his lips with disgust. These proud gestures he often displayed never ceased to amaze Sextus and enthrall him. Laughing, he repeated him question in a different approach:
"I didn't mean that, just imagine that your king has asked you to recruit some soldiers, whom would you choose and discard?"
"You are not my king, Sextus!"
The Celtic harshly replied before he walked away infuriated much to the new slaves' astonishment, they knew that if they were to break the line they were ordered to from, even slightly, the punishment won't be less than a lash from the whip in their new owner's hand yet that slave had just gave his back arrogantly to his owner. Sextus noticed their bold stares toward him and their stunned humming, and realized the reason behind it.
"What are you looking at, you miserable souls?"
He yelled striking the whip in the air to frighten them, and succeeded. He then turned following with his eyes the Celtic as he left.
Nothing seemed more admirable than a knight's honor.
***
A grand opening was planned for the new season of games, the many preparations that preceded the game and the number of gladiators gathering in the arena preparing for the upcoming combat stated this loud and clear. Diarmuid watched how the workers at the arena brought numerous shields and weapons and separated the gladiators into two groups painting different slogan on each of the groups weapons, until a giant bulk blocked his sight. The fact he had to raise his eyes three feet upward to meet the intruder's face added to his irritation as he spoke:
"Can't you see I am standing here?!"
"Of course, that's why I came!"
A loud voice matching the huge corpse rang in the Celtic's ears, loud and thumping.
"I wanted to meet the special gladiator this entire city is infatuated with."
"Could you not show more respect while doing this?"
The Celtic sneered at his fan, not feeling like starting a conversation but the man just went on despite said gladiator 's apparent lack of interest.
"I can see the reason now."
"Can you?"
Diarmuid crossed his arms and buffed his chest, entertaining the idiotic giant.
"You have quite the perfect face. It even got you away with turning your back on Sextus!"
"Obviously you wish this to be your first and final game!"
Bronze eyes glittered with deadly intentions as they stared at the giant; with his robust build and prominent muscle, he had to be a gladiator, probably one of the new ones Sextus brought. And though he possessed the body and appearance of a frightening warrior, he lacked the aura of one. Not that his appearance did not send shivers down the lookers, it was just that everything about him seemed simple with no traces of glamour or enchantment knights and warriors like Diarmuid possessed but the Celtic was still up to the challenge though his foe matched at least two of his size. This ought to be more promising. Diarmuid thought to himself, and the giant smiled understanding his intention. When he saw the Celtic's resolve, a sharp raw of teeth revealed themselves between a thick red beard.
"Sadly, we can't finish this today."
"Have you realized how tongues can be lethal?"
"This is not it. It is just that we will be fighting together today."
The giant explained as he pointed at the slogan imprinted on his weapon, a large sword along a long chain, then he turned at the two spears the Celtic kept with him when he realized they held no slogans.
"What about your weapons?"
"No one dare to lay their hands on them."
The Celtic closed his eyes and returned to his relaxed position, now that the challenge was delayed.
"I see you're truly special! But this is better, it would be an insult to such a fine piece of art."
The giant said in astonishment as stuck his face closer to the two carved shafts. Then, he stood alongside the Celtic watching the workers.
"What are they doing anyway?"
Diarmuid asked stirring a wide look of surprise in the giant's eyes.
"You don't know the details of the battle you're about to indulge in few moments later? You really care just for the kill, just like your reputation!"
The Celtic did not reply to the comment. Though unpleasant, it was true; this was what earned him the admiration of thousands of people; his keen on killing anyone, at any circumstances while making the most wondrous spectacle out of the process.
"Well, they are replaying a battle they won in the east, something like a commemoration. That is why there are two groups. Fortunately, we will be on the victorious team side."
The giant added pointing at the Roman slogan his weapon held and surely, the Celtic's presumably, bore.
"What joy is there in a battle already decided?"
Diarmuid responded to the giant's excitement adding:
"Besides, are you not from the east? How can you accept to retell your enemies
victory?"
Looking at the giant's tanned skin and eastern features, the Celtic asked angrily but he was calmly answered:
"Well at least I am on the winner's side this time… this is definitely better than being thrown with the losing party!"
The man was right indeed. The other side were not out there just to play the loser, they were to lose their life for real and hence, the other group was composed of a bunch of doomed criminals and fugitive slaves recaptured and armed with weapons. Again, this game was a massacre, and nothing else. Faced by the giant's honesty and simplicity, Diarmuid felt he had no right to judge the man's logic and remained silent, though not totally accepting his reasoning.
"So, I am looking forward to fight alongside you, then against you one day, I, Ilianus!"
After the preparations were finished, Sextus, wearing the most elegant attire he obtained, stepped proudly into the arena to greet his loyal audience and extol the glorious battle promising the spectators who were not lucky to witness the glory of that day to revive it today for their own eyes to see.
The first group, the decided victors, entered the arena accompanied by applaud and cheers as if they were the real battalion back then, while the second group composed of condemned prisoners had none of the warm welcome, but scorn and disdain aimed to deepen their despair.
Swords clashed within seconds after the commencement signal, the losing part struggling and fighting back as they were ordered, tempted with the illusion of surviving.
As in every battle, the two spears of red and yellow did not fail to astonish the crowds, ripping and piercing like a thundering beams. The new giant also lived up to his words, proving to be a merciless fighter bashing five in every single stroke of his big sword. Enraged by the humiliation of defeat, the prisoners waged in an all or nothing assault, though it was more of a nothing assault, all considerations taken. Their first target was the lancer who seemed easier to get than the herculean red - bearded gladiator but they were mistaken for the dual spear wielder continued to scatter their blood and inners alike. However, the unmatched number still turned against him, and the other gladiators did not interfere, finding the opportunity to get rid of the rival who excelled them all. Ilianus, while eager to help the Celtic was hindered by the few struggling prisoners who decided to attack him.
Through the dire situation the lancer found himself entangled in, a third spear shone.
Encircled by three spears, two red and a yellow, they took care of ambushing desperate group slaying them one by one. The new red long shaft attacked without differentiating between foes and allies, missing the Celtic's neck at one point by a hair. On another occasion, while Diarmuid was fighting against one of the prisoners, the flashily thrown spear skewered his enemy, it appeared like an act of help but in reality, the Celtic had to jump back so he would not be skewered instead of the enemy.
Diarmuid's two spears immediately formed a cross after their wielder regained his balance and trail of thinking, facing the third spear not in attack format yet not in a defensive one either. Diarmuid merely stared at the new spear wielder whose face was hidden behind a helmet, waiting his next move. The third spear was lowered, it was never openly directed at the Celtic yet the small gaps it left between him and the real enemy were either that of a professional self - assured lancer or of a false savior.
The third spear moved, but at an enemy who was targeting him now. Separated by the ongoing battle, the two lancers returned to the positions they were first in.
While the real battle lasted a whole day, the commemoration lasted only three hours during which not a single man of the condemned remained alive or dead in one piece. Germanous, forced to attend the grand event so he would not be considered a traitor, had to prepare a speech in the honor of the true warriors of the glorious battle then award the pretending ones and the organizer of the whole event. His act as a governor still felt awkward among the people after the recent incident but the festive event washed the people's suspicions and uneasiness. A single man did not matter at this day for it was a day for the entire empire.
After the celebration ended, Sextus gathered his gladiators to praise their performance himself and encourage them to shine more in order to gain their freedom. Fed by promises, the Celtic left and Sextus shortly followed him.
"You need not hear words of my praise. You were the center of attention as always."
"And still I gain nothing but more words."
"Patience, Diarmuid."
Sextus, with his honest sadness compromised his warrior who shrugged. Besides, for today's battle, this was not the main matter.
"Are you upset because you got help? It doesn't shame your skills. You were the star
today without a doubt."
"Don't be a fool Sextus."
"Diarmuid, don't you think you …"
Sextus tried to confront his favorite warrior regarding his demeanor with him in front of the rest of the servants, but Diarmuid cut him sharply:
"I need to know who that lancer was. I am no fool, and neither you are!"
The Celtic said conciliating the arena's owner without humbling himself or apologizing for his previous insults.
"I will see to it."
Sextus could understand the lancer's fury and excuse it because what was performed by the new lancer was nothing but a poor imitation.
"It seems your skills got you admirers outside and inside the battlefield."
A loud voice thudded behind the musing spear-man, after Sextus had left.
"You think so?"
"I was utterly astonished by your distinctive style of fighting, but it wasn't just me. That lancer too… I'd say he was copying you! He left his back open to aid you as well!"
"You believe this, Ilianus?"
"Why not? Wasn't it obvious?"
Yes, the mysterious lancer who didn't belong to Sextus but to one of the many other slave owners who participated in the grand opening, was copying his style indeed yet trying to leave his prints, and to everyone's eyes, he was a savior who helped their beloved hero but that wasn't how the Celtic viewed it. Maybe he was overthinking the matter, but his instinct had never failed him; the spear that appeared to everyone as an aid against his enemies, was in fact the true adversary.