What Sextus thought to be a persistent impairment to his work and a seemingly long halt in his fortune gathering, suddenly proved quite different. The crisis that laid heavily on the city finally proved profitable for the arena's owner. A man who easily got depressed by almost anything that interrupted his work and income, now jumped in excitement and relief after reading the message he was delivered this morning. Running down the corridors of his house, Sextus invaded his top gladiator and arena's hero's privacy, his joy making him forget his place as a master, rushing to his slaves chambers instead of simply calling them to his presence.
The two men present at the room raised their heads in surprise at their owner sudden burst into the place; Diarmuid resting his muscles after a hard morning exercising with Ilianus, who was also there at the room bragging about how longer he had lasted than the number one fighter.
"I have just received the greatest news in a while now!"
"It should be, judging how excited you seem compared to your ritual morning whining."
Diarmuid commented at Sextus exhilarated appearance, his cheeks dyed red from happiness.
"Indeed it is! We will be going back to work soon"!
"Finally, these fellows here has really gotten numb and bored!"
The giant remarked puffing his muscles and sharing his master's excitement while Diarmuid remained still in his position, eyes dimming at the unexpected and unwelcomed news.
"How did this come to be?"
The lancer asked and Sextus had never been so delighted to answer any question before, as if he had not worked for years and his unceasing depots were running out.
"This is in part thanks to you! After your last battle against the thugs, those who were captured will be executed at the arena!!"
The news suddenly did not sound that thrilling anymore to the two gladiators. This was not a game or even a just execution, it will be a one – sided massacre.
"The capital ambassador desires to make an example of them and so he ordered us to handle their execution with a show worthy of Roman glory!"
Sextus sighed in relief, cooling his sweating face with a wet handkerchief like an excited lady as he murmured multiple prayers to the gods in gratitude, then added:
"It seems the ambassador's efforts were more fruitful than the governor's…"
A saddened expression took over the lancer's glowing face, he opened his mouth then closed it. He had no right to defend the blond governor, if he had pledged his service to him, then maybe some of that night's glory would have rang to his name but Ilianus did not hesitate to express what the lancer was thinking, though for different reasons, commenting when Sextus left the room to make the adequate requisite preparations:
"To think our efforts got no attention and that damn soldier embraced all the glory!"
Ilianus said with a long sigh, scratching the inner of his ear with his small finger in an irritating habit, like a cat's paw wilting a pole. To that, the Celtic shrugged in indifference, dragging out the annoying side of the Greek that loved to tease the dual wielder.
"What is it, lancer? You seem troubled, although your blades are soon to dance again?"
"This is not how I desire my blades to be used."
"None of us wants this too, but it is the bread we live on. To fight is now our life motto, so we will have to adhere to it were we to survive."
Diarmuid knew this a long time ago, and even his absolute refusal to the gladiator's life turned into mere reluctance, especially now that he had to survive more than ever after he had found Oscar.
***
Deprived of working for more than a month, Sextus finished his plans for the grand show faster than expected from an idle man. His choices were obvious, his Celtic hero was on top of the list, even without the strict recommendation from the governor for the latter to head the show, and which once the lancer heard of from Sextus, was left in surprise and doubts. Why would the governor stress on having him after their last conversation? A stupid thought crossed his mind, that maybe Germanous wanted him to feel guilty about how his state was deteriorating without the Celtic's help that he sought and the latter refused to offer.
Hungrier than ever, the arena opened its door to the largest crowed it had witnessed, accommodating double its capacity. Not only did the province favorite place reopen after nigh two months of temporal closing, it was also a national celebration; another occasion to prove the glory of the Roman empire and the Roman citizens.
"I can't imagine how fast are the people of this town to forget their fears and move on quickly."
"They want to see divine revenge exacted on that vicious band."
"You would think they have captured the entire band, but I do not believe so."
"They want to rejoice, get revenge on them. After the match, fear will seize them once again."
Ilianus replied on the wondering gladiator, swirling his shoulder and his giant club as if it was an extension of it, warming up for the battle ahead, or the divine revenge as he had described it, although a massacre was the more suited term for the event. The caught men, armed with mere knives analogous to their original weapons, stood at the arena's walls chained from their down to their wrists. Their nimbleness couldn't save them today from the iron grip of the citizens. Already beaten up by the headsmen and the incensed audience, their power was drained, they were just waiting for the final blow by the gladiators hands. Noticing this, Diarmuid boiled with anger at the event.
"Are we going to fight them while they are chained? Such victory these Romans proclaim!"
"At least they will not be able to jump around and fly like monkeys, I am sure the soldiers made sure to weaken their legs before anything else!"
Ilianus remarked, either ignoring on purpose or not understanding the Celtic's cause of indignance.
"This is a farce! Though sly and evil, they still possessed enthralling skills... To have
them end in such a manner… I can't be a part of this!"
"Some fine and mastered skills they indeed had but remember for what they used them! If their actions were limited to the rich men and soldiers, I wouldn't be that infuriated, but they chose kids and women before men, they raped and disfigured them, then sent them back to their lamenting families in the most horrible method."
Diarmuid turned his face away, he needn't hear this. As a knight, no, as human being before all, he couldn't overlook such acts of vice but he still held to his protest:
"I get it, I am not pitying them! I just can't site any dignity in this proclaimed victory! The unfairness and cowardice of this game makes the victor and the vanquished stand in the same swamp."
"If this is what the ambassador wants, then we don't have a say… we are forced to obey his commands. Why worrying about it when it is not our choice?!"
Ilianus replied wearied by the lancer's dignity, not that he had none, but it was just as he said. They weren't acting according to their will; given the choice he would not take a part in this humiliating show. But since it was Sextus' decision and Sextus had the power over his will, then he didn't have qualms, placing them on Sextus and easing his regrets with this simple yet somehow true explanation. Diarmuid was at loss of how his friend could find calmly the right justification to his burdened conscious. He did not know if it was a skill or a lazy acceptance.
The lancer knew, just like Ilianus, that he wasn't acting of his own accord. And even if were to ask Sextus to exempt him from fighting today, the latter wouldn't listen. For Sextus, this was business, he had nothing to do with the government victory or the criminals vileness. He was after one thing; running his business successfully after a long break, and for that he needed his number one fighter. So Sextus wasn't entirely to blame or detest in hindsight.
But that man, what about that man who promised him not to defile his spears no longer?
Was he to blame?
That man knew the beloved dual wielder was certain to participate in Sextus's big show, so why insist on him treading this battleground to wave his proud lances with such cowardice? He was not only humiliating his prisoners, but the gladiators and himself mostly.
But wasn't he, the proud lancer, who refused to stand with him? Who refused to support and aid him? Then what right did he have to judge him? Alike, the abandoned governor had no obligation toward the man who denied him his help, both knowing how little and insignificant yet still assuring it would have been.
Throwing a last look at the arena before entering, the dual wielder sensed nothing of the governor's dignified touches. This show was certainly not of his planning. It wasn't his victory, it was that ambassador's and so it was his contriving. This realization brought forgiveness for the governor and eased the lancer's anger toward him.
How fickle were his emotions these day.
As the long missed warriors entered the arena, hailed and welcomed like conquerors though they contributed nothing to this victory and what they were about to do was no less than a cheap slaughter. Diarmuid cast a quick look at the leaders' booth, his heart wrenched at the sight of the blond overshadowed by a fat round man, who was probably the ambassador. Beside each of the governor and the ambassador, stood another two men, their "right hand" in a twisted sort of way; the man with long hair by the governor's side, and the roman soldier from the alley battle by the ambassador's side.
The blond's natural radiance was dimmed, as if devoured by the other man's glutting aura. Standing among a herd of men and soldiers, he seemed lonely. Frailer than before, and he sought not to hide this, leaving himself exposed like a breath against a storm.
He was a man who couldn't conceal his sorrow, ignorant of pretending.
Staring at the scene, the lancer couldn't tell if that was a virtue or a weakness, but after all, the latter ensued of the first one.
It was still beautiful to possess.
A raw of ten gladiators now faced six enchained prisoners. Giving the beginning sign, the gladiators realized their foes will remain tied by long chains, giving them some range to defend themselves, or rather stall their demise, with the knives they were armed with.
While everyone dashed forward, waving their different weapons and parading their manliness and skills, one didn't move. The hailed dual wielder remained in his place and held to his weapons which did not leave his side.
Taken by the heat of vengeance, no one noticed this defiance at the beginning as the audience encouraged their revenge's mediators and cursed their foes. But soon, as two of the hooded assassins dropped dead, the people noticed that their beloved hero was standing still in the center like a carved statue, menacing yet motionless. They hissed and questioned, encouragement and hailing were directed at him but he still refused to move. At the rate things suddenly rose into chaos, the other gladiators felt they will be forced to step aside and push the hero to act or suffer the wrath of the angry audience who wanted their hero to be the scorch of gods exacting their revenge. Perplexed, another gladiator made the choice that guided the rest of them; Ilianus halted his attacks in comradery with his friend and the others were forced to follow suit, whether because of their sense of fairness or so that they would not be left out, but it did not matter. The move had the intended effect, as the audience realized the reason behind this silent protest and began shouting angrily at the guarding soldiers.
"Who is the man who got the audience so worked up?"
"Apparently, he is the number one gladiator in this province."
Plinius answered the ambassador who weltered in his seat like a man bitten by a scorpion. The attention that single gladiator drew away from the victorious leaders and the event of celebration itself rendered him annoyed and turned his mood foul. Then, as if the stolen attention was not enough, he watched dismayed as his direct order of keeping the prisoners chained being disobeyed by a soldier who halted the game for a second to untie the criminals.
"What is the meaning of this? Bring me that fool immediately!"
The order was not carried on, as Plinius stopped the soldiers who were going to obey the ambassador, as he raised his voice in decisive objection after a silent eye – communication with the governor, who nodded at him supporting his order to free the criminals from their bondage.
"Can't you guess why the audience is angry? They want to witness the death of the men who murdered their families, not a tied flock of sheep. The criminals are already half dead from torture, why tie them and shame our victorious blades?"
Plinius demurred in one full sentence after taking the matter into his hands and ordering the untying of the men, leaving the ambassador at complete loss of options. To tie then untie then tie again the prisoners would only imply division or instability, and would only serve as an entertaining stupidity for the audience.
"I won't forget this Plinius, even if you had a good reason for your action, and I doubt this! "
Although those threatened by the ambassador always received their promise, the lieutenant did not think a lot about it. Caecilius still needed him, he won't drive him away until he reaches Rome safely, and that will take a while.
"I see the glorious ambassador has changed his mind."
Glancing at the ambassador, the governor did not waste the chance to vex the man even more, as he took a silent part in disobeying his orders. He looked briefly at the lieutenant, then addressed his counselor.
"A man of valor, don't you think, Laurentius?"
Germanous raised his head to the counselor who was standing behind him. Sitting at any event implied enjoyment and interest in it which the counselor had none of regarding these games and ceremonies. So no matter how long they took, he would remain standing forcing Germanous as a kid to lose many bets concerning the man's endurance, finally admitting to the advisor's unbeaten aptitude which he realized, as a grown up now, to be yet another threat and seed of suspicion.
Laurentius nodded in silent agreement, not caring to entertain the governor at this particular day, and the latter knew the reason. The long – haired counselor was not a fan of these games, but he did not think much about them, neither condemning nor applauding them. However, today's game was different. It was held against his wishes and demands upon the insistence of the ambassador who did not back down from his decision, as if to pay back for the assembly incident. Caecilius claimed that he wanted to make a grand show out of these miserable thugs execution, great enough to demonstrate their power and justice. While the notion was justified, the method was not. As the counselor did not hesitate to explain that the execution should reflect the victory of law and order, since the involved criminals were opposing the authority of these two particular elements with their blasphemous acts.
"Laws bring Justice, they are a substantial column of our lifestyle. All what I am saying is that they should be delivered with dignity, emphasizing the true meaning of power."
Laurentius had said and Plinius did not mind this idea, but the ambassador had had enough of his orders not being addressed with the respect they owed, and he merely replied to the counselor without resorting to reason or defending his point.
"Are you looking down on the justice I deliver?"
And with this the discussion was over, with Laurentius not wishing to go through another meaningless quarrel with the empowered man. He remained silent and attended the event so that he would not urge a deeper fracture in the unity between the assembly and the ambassador.
The counselor, brought back to the current game by the shouts of the audience, thought for a moment before he added in response to the governor's question:
"No less than the man who overcame his feral instincts for today."
The governor shifted his gaze to the man the counselor was referring to, the Celtic, who after the prisoners unchaining, darted through the arena, his spears floating like colored waves bringing the shine of dawn and the redness of the dusk together.
"He still holds to his knighthood."
Germanous softly smiled. That Celtic was surely stripped of his knighthood, and he refused a chance to retrieve it, that if Germanous believed he could offer him a chivalrous position by his side; a weakling dreamer. Perhaps standing by his side would only sully his chivalry and so rejecting his offer was better in order to maintain what was left of the lancer's knighthood rather than losing it all with a weakling like himself. Maybe the foreign knight had made the right decision after all, seeing how things had turned against the governor.
Pretentious knighthood, but it was still beautiful to hold to.
Back to the arena, where the rest of the audience was dazzled by the shades of red and gold which once the chains were removed flowed like a long barred current. The other gladiators who dominated the site at the start of the show were now reduced to spectators once the two lances were released except for one gladiator who refused to submit to the two lances tyranny. He made his way through and took a prisoner on, defeating him and earning hails from the audience for his boldness and levity. He fought with a lance as well, thicker than those of the dual wielder.
This gladiator who was so obsessed with establishing himself and leaving his marks was none other than the same gladiator who interfered at the last game, saving the city's beloved hero. Diarmuid did not mind the company, as he had finally got something of interest from this dull match. He watched the man fight and kill his opponent, imitating his own moves while trying to add his distinct touch which had not matured yet. The lancer was ready to crack his imitator's helmet to reveal his identity and confirm or refute his suspicion once and for all. Nonetheless, his wish soon came true and that gladiator's second foe knocked him hard on the head by the helm of the dagger, breaking the a piece of metal and twisting it inside. The masked gladiator was forced to abandon the protection of his helmet that turned more dangerous to him than helpful.
Curiosity drew the gladiators and audience who haven't seen the struggling warrior's face yet, and Diarmuid was one of them.
A curling blond hair, beautiful like bars of gold, tainted with crimson from the last blow overlaid slim shoulders and congruous soft brows and serene blue eyes.
Now Diarmuid's suspicion was put to a torturing rest by this confirmation.
With the fall of the last sixth man, the show was ended. The audience stood raving in applause, the gladiators received the salute of heroes, and the number one fighter walked to salute the arising other lancer.
"Oscar, I see you have picked a lance as well."
"But it is different to yours, Diarmuid."
"I can tell."
Of course the experienced warrior was able to tell the differences between two weapons or styles easily, he could tell so many other things regarding battles and fighting, even love, life and death, but his knowledge did not prove useful in deciphering what was hidden in Oscar's heart, what was the young boy harboring and wishing to express yet hesitated to.
"Dia, the audience is cheering for you and you are ignoring them."
Oscar's blue eyes absorbed the golden and red shades as they waved automatically repaying the crowds salutes. Oscar's single spear combined both colors yet still failed in catching their bright which the dual wielder seemed to easily manipulate or perhaps, infuse into them.
But the bright of gold and red wasn't all what dazzled the eager audience. The arena suddenly fell into silence as the sun of the noon fell upon the golden spear, reflecting a huge shadow over the place, the shadow of a scale turned upside down.