"I am glad to see you in one piece, Celtic!"
Sextus welcomed back the two gladiators completely disregarding one of them to which the giant pointed later, when the two returning heroes were left alone.
"Well, Sextus truly likes you Diarmuid. He regards you highly... not that you don't deserve it but still…"
The red haired giant finished his sentence with a pealing laugh devoid of any envy or ill intent and Diarmuid knew this well.
"But more importantly, lancer… about these two hooded men we met…"
Ilianus ended his loud giggling with a serious frown as he went on:
"I ran after that man, but I couldn't catch him… I shamefully admit I couldn't even keep up to him! Call me crazy, but he literally vanished into the air and no trace was left of him!"
"He jumped into the ceilings in a pretty lithe manner. These persons are either very skillful warriors of very agile clowns."
"So the same happened with you… I see."
Diarmuid remained silent unwilling to wade in unnecessary details as he believed. He had yet to unveil the meaning behind that masked man's words. Was he inviting him to join them? And why him of all people? Had similar gladiators been confronted the same way? But asking was dangerous, if someone was known to have any connection with these people they was arrested on the spot, now that drastic measures have been called for.
"Say, lancer… shouldn't we tell Sextus about it?"
"If you find that necessary then do it. But prepare to hear a harsh admonishing for not catching them."
Diarmuid replied, but he was wrong. As soon as Sextus heard the story from the Greek slave, he was a little infuriated for missing the opportunity to catch the culprits but then his brief anger was quelled by an intense worry. He kept repeating to himself for ten minutes the same refrain:
"Then again, I don't know if this is a good thing… did anyone see you? I don't think it is wise to tell anyone… Now that things have fell into the ambassador's hands, he is taking measures I would call crazy more than drastic or needed! He is arresting everyone who is suspected of having any kind of association with the gang, even the victims! He is calling this an efficient policy!"
"And what is the governor doing?"
Diarmuid asked, gaining a curious gaze from Ilianus.
"That arrogant blond isn't in a favorable state after these events! Even after the heroic act he had put things didn't improve... He is now a name more than an act more than ever. Well, he deserves it…"
Diarmuid didn't comment, a feeling of compassion and guilt stirring inside him for reasons he couldn't discern. The image of the blond confined in his own palace, left all alone with nothing but dullness to meet his blazing eyes, extinguishing them slowly seared his imagination. Looking at Sextus after hearing his last statement, sudden but short lived hatred for the arena's owner filled him then faded as well.
After all, this wasn't Sextus' fault… But was it his own?
***
"Will you help me build this province and be my shield, Diarmuid? Just till I finish this mission…"
The governor wasn't humiliated by seeking help, his authority didn't weaken speaking openly, and his graciousness didn't dim by the act of humble asking. Standing there at the balcony, the night wind racing through his golden locks, made him seem vulnerable to any outsider, yet this very vulnerability emphasized his majestic nature. Diarmuid bowed his head, his two spears close in his hands while pondering at the grave request offered to him in simple words.
A knight must be honest to the end, taking a task greater than him is an act of foolishness not bravery, a humiliation to the honorable task before his own honor.
"I am deeply sorry, but I must decline. I can't be part of such graceful plan. I cannot nor do I have interest in the task you are asking of me."
Diarmuid answered quietly. Surprise was apparent on the blond's face, if anything it seemed that this polite yet insistent refusal wasn't expected at all, feared and unwanted. For a moment the sanguine eyes turned desperate, their vision that usually travelled the skies now seemed running along an edge, their only rope the man bowing his head humbly in their imperial presence. The edge was cracking and the rope was sundered piece after piece.
That oath of chivalry to "Serve and protect forever" was something the lancer was no longer willing to offer.
The look of hopelessness that Grainne bore and which changed their destiny was a gaze the lancer was no longer willing to sympathize with and allow it to twist his fate again with more shame and humiliation.
He will offer no loyalty, he will offer no love.
Breaking promises was something he was never going to do again. If anything was left of his honor as a former knight, he wouldn't risk it for frail promises and transient feelings.
Contradictory, his honor dictated that he admits helplessness when it was true. It was the honorable thing to do. So before the governor could say a word or deepen his betrayed reaction, Diarmuid excused himself leaving the man alone in the balcony.
Germanous did not call him back. It was useless, he knew. Diarmuid was well aware what the blond was feeling; abandonment. But he was still ready to offer it to him instead of frustration and betrayal.
It hurt both less.
***
As no single house of that roman province seemed to escape the shadow of the furious gang, soon, the dreadful bleakness of it began creeping into Sextus' house. Surely, the terrifying plague of torment and death had to befall that single house sooner or later, why not and it openly and repeatedly, piled up gold and fortunes by sacrificing gladiators and helpless unfortunate victims?
Suspicious movements were heard near the mansion as suspicious people were seen but not caught. The fever of fear stroke Sextus before anything happened for real, not that attacking the mansion could be easily done. Unlike the previous victims houses, though guarded by soldiers, this mansion had its own gladiators in addition. Aside from the one who had already escaped and joined the gang to Sextus woe, the remaining ones were meant to defend the place, whether bound by fears or loyalty.
The whole mansion was alert, like a battalion on the border of an enemy nation. No servant was allowed to rest, all distributed over the mansion entrances and exits. The gladiators were in their battle attire, holding to their weapons for the first time outside the training or show hours. Diarmuid, at Sextus's pleading, accepted to guard his private room along with Ilianus. When asked why does he need the giant, the lancer casually answered:
"Then who will keep my company? You don't expect me to stand guard talking to myself at your room's door."
"That's cruel for you to say… Diarmuid…"
A frustrated Sextus commented, while collapsing on the coach like a bag of crisp rocks.
"I am not your watch dog guard, Sextus. I am not staying in the same room as you, monitoring everything you do and every open corner. Get a dog to do this."
"All right… I get it! I get it!"
Sextus nodded brushing his shaggy graying hair back.
"You made this clear since our first agreement."
He added in a lower sad tone.
"And one more thing…" The Celtic went on, "Get a hold of yourself, Sextus. I didn't expect you to have no backbone at all."
Seeing the full half of the glass, Sextus felt no insult hearing his slave's commentز nsult from his slave comment, s, Sextus felt no insult from his slave comment, r show times.. Instead, he tracked the slight honoring the statement held; the part about him having a backbone, though a small one.
Before he left the room, the Celtic lancer threw one last look at the man, aging faster by the harsh sudden interruption of his income than by years. Now his very life threatened, despair cast his shadows upon him. The man curled on the couch like an insignificant belittled creature having every reason to be afraid. Unspoken pity was all what the lancer could offer the man, no promises of survival or pledges for protection.
"Anyway…" Sextus said before the lancer exited the room "Just put your heart to it, Celtic." To which the latter smiled.
Already bored by the lack of work, the nights even seemed longer for the giant Greek stuck at watching the most secluded and furthest room to be reached. Sitting at Sextus' doorstep, he flipped his big weapon humming a melody along the movements of his hands, while sighing every now and then.
"Don't start you too…"
Diarmuid said referring to Sextus daily complaining which he had the biggest share of.
"Sorry, I can't help it!" The giant groaned. "But why did you drag me here with you? I was better left guarding the front door, or the stables."
"Do you really think anyone will attack?"
"You don't know. These are things no one can anticipate, they always come surprisingly."
"Just like the day you lost?"
The lancer asked, guessing correctly where the sudden sadness ending Ilianus's reply came from.
"You're absolutely right but…" the Greek digressed quickly "You definitely have Sextus' trust, telling you out alone aside from everyone else to guard his own room. "
"Perhaps he is just a fool."
"No one can really tell, I guess."
Ilianus giggled at the joke to which the Celtic lancer smiled wickedly, and just when the Greek giant was about to comment how this smile doesn't suit the straightforward knight, he realized how devilishly charming his watch mate was, and in an instant he understood well the reason the innumerable crowds hailed his name and adored his presence. Such diabolic smile in beauty was capable of alluring men and women alike, seizing the hearts and imaginations of individuals and crowds the same.
"Now you really scare me, lancer."
Ilianus found himself saying, swirling the glass in his hand and gazing at the wine circles inside it.
"I bet you lured hundreds of girls with this delusive smile, commoners and princesses alike."
He added cutting the lancer's laughter short and replacing it with a solemn smile. Diarmuid could never tell who lured the other, did he lure her with his godlike beauty or was it her helplessness and aspiration what lured him? Whatever the answer was, it did not abolish the act.
"I did indeed."
The lancer answered casually, much to his own surprise, words slipping easily on his tongue.
If reason doesn't abolish the act, perhaps time takes its regrets away.
"Any still waiting?"
"I can't tell."
Deep in his heart, he knew Grainne was waiting, praying every night and day for his return. The answer left his lips disguised in lies. He was certain she was waiting just as he was certain he will never love a woman other than her. He may refuse now to make any new vows but that did not mean calling off old ones.
The vow to never doubt one another was made for eternity upon a transient terrain.
"I am sure there is one, though."
Diarmuid added after a short pause, pushed by guilt at his previous answer rather than certainty.
"I see… I know I had a wife and children back home. What have become of themو at have become of them. ck home. ty. made for eternity upon transient terresitan.ll.like.foawrd knight, , that I don't know."
"Are you not saddened?"
Diarmuid asked taken by the causality the Greek introduced the subject with.
"Of course I am."
"You don't show. Since it is a wife not a mere mistress or a lover… "
"What's the point in keeping raving about them? If this was ought to deliver me to them, I would think of them in every moment. Bonds are made by vows presumed only death can end. Well this isn't true, they are ended by whims, greed, authority, wars, imprisonments, enslavement in our case… ceremonial and informal the same. Fate doesn't differentiate, it separates married people and lovers alike."
"Yet you still won't mourn?"
"My woman can easily find a new husband, I am not irreplaceable."
"This is low for you to say."
Diarmuid answered with a spark of judgment in his voice. He felt offended in place of the poor wife.
"Oh, Have I fallen from the gallant knight's eye? Well, sorry if I have disappointed you, lancer. But some lost things can't be regained and wasting my life trying to is sheer stupidity. I shall lament certain misfortune, and I might even weep or curse, go on frenzy for moments but that's all. Anything beyond this is a waste of precious life."
"You speak dearly of life, yet you chose the path of a soldier?"
"Born at a time of war, there was no other choice. Valuing my life is my key for surviving every battle. It is in our instinct to seek survival, so why do you disdain a natural tendency thus?"
"Still, there is some boundaries that cannot be trespassed! Seeking survival over honor is just despicable! What do survival grant obtained by despicable methods but humiliation? At similar choices, death is the easiest!"
Diarmuid spoke in a harsh tone. Ilianus could understand where his fellow gladiator was coming from, in the end his friend was knight molded by battles and he was a mere peasant drafted into war. What he failed to realize was that the lancer was attacking him with words so viciously because he was in reality attacking his own self. The way Ilianus had disregard honor and chivalry was a mirror in which he saw himself during his bloody surviving battle at his trial. The battle that pushed his skills and strength to transcend those of gods, yet reduced his soul and heart at the same time into those of a mindless beast.
"Choosing a set of ideals to defend and risk your life for, like honor and virtue, is a way of living, but anything that leads to obvious waste like unguaranteed fights is meaningless. It leads to nothing but one's own destruction. Time mercilessly walks on squashing everything under its steps."
The giant mused, acknowledging the lancer's path of life yet pointing its short comings at the same time. He went on without paying attention to the darkening golden orbs.
"If you die in battle, no matter how glorified you were or became, it remains nothing but a loss. You've died, there's nothing else you can do, you lost… it's that simple, it's the truth that will outlive your gained glory."
"Are you denying the heroic acts and sacrifices of those who actually did something, Ilianus? Some acts forever subsists!"
"It is only the lamentation of those left behind that lives on. The glory you speak of is enlivened by the tears shed by those forgotten beings existing at the same time as the "hero"."
Diarmuid fell silent. He had so much rage he wanted to vent on his idle companion but the words he longed to scream and yell into an infinite space, to be forever surrounded by its echo, to be forever compelled and assured by its resonance, were suddenly seized in the cage of reality, just like his soul that was entrapped in the chains of slavery. The Greek's words were true. A fallen knight, his tale had already been tarnished with treachery, and now only Grainne's tears revive his name back at his home, only her longing and suffering maintain his image, pure and untainted.
But for how long?
Did the princess's suffering justify his sought glory?
Was not her agony a high price for his enchained being?
Ilianus poured a cup of wine to his friend that failed to reply to him, and seemed taken by a sad reminiscence or realization. He took a gulp from his cup, emptying half of it in one go, and went on trying to patronize the knight in front of him.
"I know what you are getting at Diarmuid, but not everyone is meant for greatness. Gladly I shall strive for it, yet not carelessly die for it. Life is very short, whatever opportunities it opens to me I shall grasp without hesitation but I shall not chase after illusions. Just like a garden filled with perfumes and poisons. I shall savor the perfume but avoid the poison, it is the wisest way to live."
"It amounts to cowardice."
The lancer quietly murmured, trying to maintain his values, at least through this conversation.
"We are not immortal, we are not invincible. Whether by man or god we are doomed so why rush things and chain our souls in sorrows and regrets? I have had my moments of sadness and distress but I have also had my share of happy blessed times so why cling to one side? Capable to choose between the two, I freely and contently choose the latter. I want to taste every pleasure there is, I want to savor every happiness I can get. Living the moment, currently as a slave, is all I can do to enjoy my life."
"Have you no regrets at all?"
"I surely regret defeat and my enslavement, but who could have predicted it? Given the chance, I would never allow it to happen but since I can never undo it, I shall accept it, and that doesn't mean I submit to it. For my freedom I
will strive and work hard, resort to deceit or lowliness even perhaps. Or it may be granted to me by another fluctuant whim of destiny. But to stop at a certain point of time, regretting and lamenting is out of choice. So is recklessly throwing my life to obtain my freedom. It will give the act no meaning then and simply kill the goal."
Diarmuid with a frown struggling against a frustrated expression, couldn't answer. Not because of his trembling lips, but because of the cruel revelation that suddenly blew his heart. Was Ilianus right? Absolutely he was, yet the Celtic lancer could not just give up and follow his fellow's words. Doing so meant obliterating an entire life, baring it of every meaning or taste, rendering it a story devoid of any moral, an example without wisdom, a song without a melody.
"You know Diarmuid, I liked having this chance to talk with you so casually, but am afraid our idle chat must stop here tonight, you know..."
The Celtic turned his gaze at Sextus' door and listened carefully when he realized what the Greek was trying to convey.
"You're absolutely right."
Taking his two spears in his hands, Diarmuid smiled his usual confident battle grimace showing the Greek that nothing of his prattle could affect his moral. Ilianus took his sword as well, and together they pushed down the room's door and were greeted by Sextus, rushing toward the door, screaming. He was carrying a sword but he knew well it would do him no good in the face of four hooded men in black.
"So the vermin have arrived."
"And still not daring to reveal their faces."
Ilianus added to the lancer's insult his own, but both statements didn't seem to provoke the enemy, fixed on one goal; killing the arena's owner and delivering a harsh blow to one of the symbols of enslavement and authority. As if nothing had changed in the scenery, the four men still dashed at the old man ignoring the two gladiators' entrance. Sextus stumbled on his back, leaving the scene for his protectors. A swing from the gigantic sword was enough to bring two men to their feet but the nimbleness with which he was avoided left the giant astonished. Nimble himself despite his large size, Ilianus had never encountered something similar. Lighter than a spring breeze yet sharp as a summer scorching gust; one man managed to leave a scratch on the giant's arm while jumping off him but was unable to deepen the wound while hindered by Ilianus waving his arm in defense. As for the other two, the two spears successfully blocked their attack, leaving one of them dead.
"Try not to kill all of them, we could interrogate some of them later…"
Sextus said, almost whispering in fear of both, his protectors and his assassins. He wished neither to disturb his warriors fight nor to provoke the killers contempt.
Faced by the red spear, the second assassin fighting the lancer could tell easily his opponent wasn't going to heed his master's command. Looking so immersed in the ongoing fight, the assassin knew that the tip of that spear was longing to darken its redness and would not stop unless satisfied. He also knew his tricks were not of use in front of the snaky blades. Unlike his giant companion, this lancer proved smarter and easily predicted his foe's next movements and blocked them with a matching litheness.
"I really have no luck in front of your spears, Celtic!"
"You're…"
Having met him only once, Diarmuid still recognized the voice of the hooded man he encountered in the alley and who spoke mysteriously. Wasting no time, the red lance immediately moved while the man skewed his body like a spiral, sacrificing getting a wound but successfully aiming two daggers at the quivering man behind the lancer. His grin of victory was turned into a gasp of surprise when an iron grip pulled his leg down like a steel chain discording his accurate aim.
"Easy now, friend."
The man muttered a curse under his breaths, answering the giant's unexpected interference. Glancing quickly beyond the bulk of flesh, the hooded man saw his two friends in an unfavorable situation; one dead and the other gravely
wounded. Incensed at the sight of his defeated friends while Sextus remained alive and breathing, he roared like a maddened beast, pulling his leg from the Greek's grasp leaving another flesh wound with his dagger in the giant's hand then throwing the rest at Sextus in a desperate yet still skilled move. It was bound to be a successful throw if it weren't for the red shaft swirling in the sun - kissed lancer's hand, and deflecting the five daggers briskly. Shielding himself by retreating steps against the two lances chasing him, the man couldn't but admit defeat. Depleted of his weapons, like a snake shedding her skin, the man wreathed his torso escaping the giant's hold on his black cape, still careful to hide his face, and in the same quickness of a frenzied trapped bird , he retreated leaning his injured friend on his shoulder, and together they leaped into the darkness they appeared from.
"Dia, you were…"
The compliment that was to be uttered didn't matter much to the man whom it meant to appease, as the lancer followed the two assassins, jumping as well from the window and running after them determined not to let that man escape him again.