"Congratulations, Ilianus. You, without a doubt, deserve this!"
The cheerful voices of Sextus and the giant coming home loudly and gleefully arose the lancer's attention though he did not want to think about anything. Oscar was now his top priority, and even with the ambassador's fall, the boy's fate remained the same; imprisoned, trialed for treason and soon to be killed for certain. Diarmuid's mind was going numb with these facts that no longer remained mere possibilities that trying to deny the emergence of this new dilemma, one that was more personal and thus more painful and frustrating turned out to be more difficult to digest and handle than the killing and kidnapping spree which the city had been through. Why would Oscar waste his efforts at that battle? Why would he doom his soon to be grasped freedom? Was he tricked or deceived? Was someone forcing him to act this role and carry another's toll?
Oscar was such a gentle soul. So fragile and innocent that it almost shattered completely at the first battle he participated in and which led to his and his mentor's current gloomy fate. He then became a gladiator, maybe pushed by the wish to encounter and find his mentor though said person found this particular explanation difficult to believe. And now, he went on a similar killing spree to the ones the citizens had been suffering from their terror, much like a rapid dog as described by the witnesses and Diarmuid could only think he was copying his own trial battle.
The jolly laughter that dragged on, awakened the isolated man irritation. He left the room he confined himself in since learning of Oscar's mad actions. Though his mind was trying to extinguish his feelings, these did not surrender and were secretly trying to come up with a plan to rescue the boy, even at the cost of his own life. His younger pupil and what he had went through deserved this much, he owed the lad who changed through an irrational speed and into a drastic shape this much at least.
Seeing the lancer leaving his room and approaching the two golly men, Ilianus's laughter came to a halt, and Sextus paled as if he had seen a ghost. Looking at them indifferently at first, his interest quickly peaked when he saw a sealed paper held in the giant's good hand, while the injured one was still bandaged and carried uselessly. He needn't ask what that paper was; it was the promise made for him but given to Ilianus instead; it was his freedom document.
"Ilianus was of great help in that battle, he broke through their walls and killed so many of them… even faced their cursed leader head to head, sacrificing his arm for this noble deed…"
Sextus immediately spoke, loudly, as if he would scare the lancer or dim the anger orbiting his eyes with this stuttering explanation but in fact, he was desperately defending an action that held no wrong while being not fair either.
"I know that. "
Diarmuid simply answered, not overshadowing or ridiculing the man's bravery and the gravity of his wound. He did not want to look bitter, but could not smile. He tried to force himself to, but he was the worst actor as his lips trembled though a brief smile that Ilianus barely could discern for less than a second. The giant was not mad, he felt bad for the lancer because he knew if Sextus wanted to keep his word, then he would have taken them together to sign their freedom's documents and papers.
Sextus fled the scene excusing himself with "some work" that he had to attend to, though he had no reason to explain his actions for his slave. Still he ran away like a blessed person escaping a plagued meeting.
"I am happy for you, Ilianus. You deserve it, unlike what happened to your arm."
Diarmuid spoke more softly now, composed and with a gentle smile that was not devoid of bitterness, and once again, the freed slave did not blame him.
"I do not regret the injury to my arm. Maybe I cannot fight with it anymore but it is still of some use… besides, it was the most noble injury I have received… it is a badge of honor, truly!"
At these words, bitterness took over the lancer's smile completely, his eyes conveyed sheer mockery at the giant's words, and this change surprised the giant the most.
"Do not tell me you do not consider getting rid of those vicious devils a noble honorable deed worthy of any cost?"
Ilianus questioned his companion, doubting for the first time the chivalry that accompanied the latter's name and was equated to it whenever it was mentioned or discussed.
"A slave does not have the fanciness of adding honor to anything he does but maybe now you can."
Diarmuid answered with a cynical mockery as he gestured at the document in the former slave's hand. Ilianus could not allow this grim vision to take over his friend, and as if trying to nudge him back to his senses, he went on seeking an affirmation he was certain of, unlike his friend who seemed to have glossed over this certain fact.
"You volunteered at that battle, because you could not withstand the slaughtering of innocent civilians as a former knight!"
Ilianus protested, not believing the lancer in the slightest and understanding that his words were not meant to harm or spoil his joy, he was merely frustrated and he had every right to.
"My spear was stolen and my name was marred, it was a personal score to settle."
The Celtic answered, turning his back to return to his room but the Greek repeated his words once again:
"I do not believe you. Do not lie to yourself! If anything, your willful volunteering proves your true core that had not been tainted despite everything!"
Poor Ilianus, sounding as delusional now as Sextus. Should Diarmuid tell him of how he restored his honor? Of how his battle was won? Who were his top prized victims? But he refrained, the sheer remembrance of these events brought bile up to his throat. This was a vile confession that he had to hide till he rescues Oscar and free himself not only of Sextus, but perhaps from his vow to the governor as well.
What did another broken vow mean to him now?
It seemed more like a habit, and he had had enough of blaming destiny and rooting his weakness with this belief of fate's potency.
Ilianus watched silently the many changes his fellow gladiator's face went through during seconds and his joy was spoiled alright. He could celebrate later, it did not matter. So he sat down at a lounge in the garden and invited the lancer, like inviting a domesticated cat to sit by his side. It was rude for the latter to refuse though he feared of what his anger might spill. So he sat in silence, still struggling to feign a sincere smile. It was not that his heart did not feel rejoice for the Greek but why was he denied what was promised to him first? If anyone should bear the results of that, it would be none other than Sextus, even if this meant his spear going through the man's heart. Maybe then he will share Oscar's cell and their fate will intertwine as it should and not in this twisted way.
"You would think I am the happiest man right now, Celtic… and this is true… partially..."
Diarmuid arched his eyebrows at this confession, ready to bounce on him for his hypocrisy if he were to deny his joy at regaining the most cherished thing in the world, freedom, but then he restrained himself when he knew the man had more to say and add.
"But it is as Sextus said, he freed me because of my injury… you know what does that mean?"
Ilianus sounded truly sad for the first time since his friendship started with the Celtic lancer, who was listening patiently.
"He freed me because he had no more use of me… I cannot fight… he is merely getting rid of a burden."
"This is not true… he promised freedom to those who fight and brave the battle…"
"That was your promise alone, Diarmuid, not ours. We were promised loots and gold, but not freedom."
Ilianus was not a man who knew how to lie, his mind was pure to an instinctual
degree and so was easy to see just like his muscles and strength.
"He is disposing of something he has no further need for."
Ilianus insisted, and it was a fact that did not bring his heart sorrow though it definitely wounded his pride. But as Diarmuid knew, he would be fine, he is a man who had delivered the reign of his life to fate, accepting any destination the wind would blow him amidst without protests or regrets. Softening, Diarmuid asked with a true mild smile this time:
"And what will you do now? Will you return to your home and wife?"
"Do I still have a home and a wife anymore? I do not know and do not care to. This matter is in the past now. Maybe I will go to a different city, start a new family… this arm can still work… I could become a farmer…"
The lancer could not help but chuckle at hearing the last idea. This simplicity that he would deride once, this abandonment of his family he would harshly shame the man for, was none of his business. Ilianus had his own different way of living as the lancer had his own and for now, one proved to fruit with relief and peace of mind.
"I wish you will have a happy life. I truly do."
Diarmuid spoke, believing he had to emphasize the notion because his face lacked any expression and could not conjure any at that moment. He leaned his hand on the giant's knee, pressing it as he made the wish.
Ilianus smiled and embraced the lancer despite his held arm. A knight serving in the courts of kings, he knew of courtesy and he wished the hug he gave back was not one of them, that it was true and faithful.
"Do you know why Sextus would not let go of you?"
The moment was spoiled but the Greek, knowing he had done that, had to clear his conscious and state his thoughts as a true friend.
"It is because you are different from anything this city or any other city had witnessed. Do not think your reputation had not surpassed these city's walls… and that is why the governor clings to you and Sextus holds to you… you are his most prized warrior… and by the way he looks at you, like a child admiring a descending god. You are the dream he could not become and some men are so desperate clutching to their dreams regardless of what shape or form they take and manifest as."
These words were meant as a solace and Diarmuid understood this but he did not want to wade in the matter any further. If Sextus clung to his dreams with a child's stubbornness, then he could also cling to his dream with a man's determination.
***
Goodbyes always turned brief, leaving no trace so fast. At that afternoon, after having prepared his belongings and accepted the sum of money Sextus had given him to start a new life, claiming it was part of the prize given to the participating soldiers, he and Diarmuid hugged once more, the Greek lamenting not being able to fulfill his wish of fighting the lancer even if just for a single time but the lancer promised him, that if his arm was to properly heal, he would gladly accept the invitation, and even if it did not, he would not use his full strength and match the giant's new one. Sextus watched happily this chivalrous exchange that lasted few moments, before the giant went on his own way, paving for himself a new life.
Few more minutes passed, and it was as if Ilianus had never lived there.
"Not using your entire strength to match an opponent's level… how can you do that?!" Sextus spoke stunned, more beautiful aspects and visions added in his mind to the man he admired, making him forget the tight spot he was in, but he was immediately reminded of it by the cold deadly stare the bronze eyes steered at him.
"I guess you owe me something and you are not old enough to excuse yourself with forgetfulness."
"Yes, indeed… about my promise to you…"
"You are also a merchant, though of human flesh and blood, so negligence does not run in your blood."
The Celtic's voice was steel as his blades which only now did Sextus notice the man was holding them. With every word he spoke, the lancer approached him with a slow step enjoying the fear fogging his eyes and the stutter that began to seep into his speech and move his mouth. The look the lancer directed at the man, his owner, was not that different from the one he greeted the cheering crowds with at the end of his trial, as he waved the opponent's hearts at them, skewered at the tip of his lance and Sextus was certain his heart would be next.
"I know I promised you…"
Sextus started talking in a hurry to calm down the situation, but the lancer angrily interrupted him.
"What do I have to do to gain your promised favor? Should I have lost my life in the battle? Should I have gotten seriously injured and perhaps paralyzed? Do you want me now to amputate my arm or sever my tendons?!"
The lancer loudly exclaimed, and Sextus ran toward him , holding the arm with which he gripped his lances, afraid he would become desperate enough to commit such a terrible crime toward himself. He had seen the man's craziness before, and he did not wish to see it again, emerging in this gruesome way and directed at his own being, so he tried to find a plausible excuse.
" You know of Oscar's, your friend, issue…"
"And what does it have to do with me?"
"I was ordered to hold on a little on freeing you till the trial ends and everything stands in the light, clear and unsuspicious."
"Oh… and who told you this? Germanous would never ask you to do this!"
The panic coursing through every vein and artery in the arena's owner deafened his ears to the casual way the lancer referred to the governor. But that would be the least of his problems. If the man standing in front of him could gain forgiveness for killing an important figure like Claudius then killing his poor pitiful being would cost him nothing.
"You dare lie to me, Sextus?"
Though the latter was ought to feel offended and punish these arrogant words, what the man felt was sheer sorrow for disappointing his idol and not being able to hold to his end of the bargain.
"Just because I agreed to play along your filthy games, does not make me a fool!"
"No one said you were… you are a knight… you are a perfect image of honor and nobility! You..."
"You believe so?"
Diarmuid asked, his face darkening like Sextus had never seen before, a way that made his instincts tell him to run as fast as he can, but he also knew there was no escaping the tip of those blessed yet deadly spears of sun and roses. Diarmuid eyed the man without dimming the anger that glistened his golden orbs, and for a moment he was ready to crush the man in the cruelest way he could come up with. Not by killing him or tearing his insides out with his blades, but by shattering the untouched image he held of him. Right then and there, he was ready to tell Sextus of the horrible dishonorable murder of Plinius and the other Celtic thug, to dismantle the robes of chivalry he kept donning him with, and tear the perfect images he had weaved of the lancer into stinging fragments that would make him bleed from every pore on his body. But just before he was about to speak, and Sextus raised his head ready for whatever outcome the hailed knight deemed him fit for, the latter closed his mouth and sank into a frightening silence.
He could not.
Words failed him, the story befogging itself in the deepest corner of his mind.
He had shattered his perfect image once, escaping with his king's fiancé on their betrothal day but he still managed to weave another image of himself with that act of betrayal, the image of the romantic knight who saved the poor maiden from a fate of misery and loneliness marrying someone she could not love.
However, if he was to relate this new story now and shatter his image once more, the fragments would weave nothing, aside from disgrace and shame. It would hurt his pride more than it would hurt the man anticipating the worst of fates right now.
He could not.
His pride forbade him and sealed his lips. It did not allow him to fall into that endless shameful pit once more, without being able to rise ever again.
His pride stood in the face of the truth again, like its usual habit, looking for excuses and twisted ways to amend the mistakes and finding faulty justifications to excuse the actions.
When the lancer did not speak, Sextus relaxed a little. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. This time, it seemed like he was the one who had a dark secret to share.
"Celtic, I cannot free you, your freedom is not in my hands, it never was."
Sextus cast his eyes down, not daring to face the beautifully vengeful face confronting him. Though he spoke in a low voice, it was ringing louder than the drums of war in the Celtic's mind. As the latter kept his silence, Sextus gained more courage to carry on and explain through stuttering words soaking in guilt and sadness as he ranted on and on trying to clear his conscious but the lancer heard nothing of it, his mind frozen at the single first confession and what it implied.
"I swear she ordered me to pretend to be your master, and I do not even think of myself as such compared to you… I told her many times… I tried to convince her to free you as I had promised you, but she kept on refusing… I tried and tried many times after your last fight but she would not listen! I tried despite how much sadness and heartbreak it would cause me to part with a shining knight like you! I tried despite the great benefits you brought to my humble arena, knowing the finical loss I will have to suffer if you departed… but I still tried my best… "
Diarmuid did not care for a single word or apology, even for Sextus's idolization of him and his sincere sorrow at having to face losing him. Diarmuid could not lend an ear to any of this heartwarming speech along the deception it implied and which had been transpiring since the trial. What did he fight for then? Who was he fighting for then? How could he ask this question, how can he word it in the least humiliating way… "Who is my real master?", "Who is my true owner?", "To whom I belong?", "Who had bought me after the trial?"
What phrase could he use exactly without feeling like a fool and a mere tool for someone's else entertainment ? Luckily, the lancer was saved from this ignominy as the answer to this disgraceful question came on its own.
Descending down the stairs where she was hiding, expecting the truth revelation to take place today, Sabina approached the two men with floating steps wearing a dark shade of blue, ending her mourning over the city's victims far too early. And with a single glance at her, everything was unveiled but she still enjoyed muttering these few words.
"You are mine, Diarmuid. The first knight of the Fianna, Diarmuid of the radiant face, you have always been mine."
"And why did you go to such an effort at hiding this fact?"
The lancer asked quietly, contrary to the other two's expectation of a frenzy of madness.
"Because you are the man I need."
Though spoken directly and without shame or shyness as the intention was clearly not romantic in any way, and she still insisted on hiding the truth of that intention as she went on, staring at the shocked man and speaking majestically:
"But not now. You and I, at your previous state, would never have gotten along, so lending you to Sextus was the best choice to let you know who you truly are, and to free you from the delusional cocoon you weaved around yourself."
Sextus's eyes widened at the last words, but it was not his place to interfere, it never was and never would be. Her last words were carried through a sorrowful tone, that neither men could believe it was truthful though perhaps it really was.
"What do you need of me?"
"Only when you do it, you will be truly free, free from everything."
Diarmuid remained in his place, his will suddenly dimming for reasons he could not understand. It was not because Sabina was a woman, he could easily wrestle her down to the ground and force her to sign the document yet somehow he knew he would fail, and he could not forget that Oscar's fate depended, though with a ragged thread, on her status and interference or lack of it. Nevertheless, that was not his sole reason, there was an enigmatic air surrounding her words that froze him. She had something much more bigger in store for him and he would not shy from any challenge, if only to prove her wrong and not satisfy her desire.
He repeated his question, believing he could solve the matter right here and now, but no, Sabina was a patient woman who did not rush things and preyed upon the right moment. Still, she walked toward him unafraid despite Sextus attempt at stopping her from approaching the man, fearing he will skewer her if the idea took hold of his puzzled mind, even stepping over his boundary and trying to grasp her arm to stop her in her track but the woman shook her arm away and stood directly in from of the lancer, talking with a tone he had never heard Sabina uses before, leaving the two men wondering if this was her true tone?
She hesitated for a second, another rare scene for the Celtic and the arena's owner to behold. It seemed as if she wanted to touch his cheek or grasp his arm but then she changed her mind and was content with looking at his eyes through a sheer light that had never existed in hers prior to this moment.
"Only then you will be free from the chains and from all the sorrows and regrets."
Diarmuid was surprised at these gentle words, it was as if her eyes were a mirror reflecting his soul and her lips a spell breaking the seal on his thoughts.
"You will see."
The woman concluded her talking and left the house, leaving Sextus once again drowning himself in apologies that the lancer did not heed or care for. He had to keep playing along her unknown game, serving the role she devised for him while keeping in his mind Oscar's possible salvation and safety.