The Mer- Lion (67 page)

This time the Roman judge was in the forefront of the officials. "Today, of course, we honor the winners of yesterday
...
as tomorrow, those will honor today's winners and grieve for today's losers." With that, five pair-drawn chariots charged into the arena. "Let those who won enter the chariots and accept the salutes of those who tost."

The contestants watched silently as the winners—Menzies and Cameron, the Spaniard and the Nuba—entered their chariots. The fifth chariot remained empty but for its driver until a silent one entered the arena, carrying a head upon a pole. It was obviously one of the six who had welcomed the contestants from its perch on a column above the gate. The silent one seated the pole in the spear holder of the chariot.

Trumpets sounded, whips cracked, and gaily plumed horses leaned into their harnesses. These authentic recreations of Roman chariots were drawn by magnificent pairs of bays, grays, and chestnuts. Standing astride the single axles with reins wrapped about their waists were the five slave-charioteers, their long gold-embroidered capes flowing behind them while the long plumes of their pointed helmets whipped about in the breeze.

Alongside each driver clung one of yesterday's winners—or at least the four living ones—who wrenched arms and dug with

clenched fingers at the sides of the chariot in an endeavor to keep balanced and upright. Their task was made no easier by the deliberate inexperience of the charioteers whose instructions had been brief but to the point: Keep your horses at a gallop or the when you dismount.

The horses, unnerved by the sounds and crowds of men, rolled their eyes and bumped one into another. Men stationed all along the perimeter of the arena on the first tier were there to jump down and cut free the horses if a chariot crashed against a wall or overturned. Ali ben Zaid and the Amira would be incensed if any horse should die.

Twice around the arena the chariots careened to the applause of the spectators, the blaring of trumpets, the neighing of horses and screams of the four frightened passengers.

"If so they treat winners," de Wynter observed to Carlby, "I fear their care of losers."

Carlby said nothing. De Wynter could have been reading his own mind.

The remaining contestants, standing in the center of the arena, silently pivoted with them, fascinated by the lurching of the chariots, hypnotized by that grisly reminder of the evanescence of triumph.

Upon command of a stentorian voice, the chariots halted, and their passengers dismounted on shaking legs. Two of the winners, the non-slaves, were ushered up into a box opposite that of the royal one, there to watch the proceedings in comparative comfort. The two slaves were ordered to join their fellows. The fifth's head was returned to his watchtower to leak and ooze upon the marble column below.

Once the chariots had departed and the winners had been taken to their places, the Roman judge continued: "Today's events would make Rome great again and return the glory of al Djem to her. Samnite will fight Samnite, Thracian Thracian, Myrmillone against Retiarius. One match of each will go on simultaneously, beginning one hour from now and continuing until a rest period midday, then resuming until the last match is concluded.

"Two of yesterday's winners will be excused from all exertion today. Another two have been assigned to assist the Ali ben Zaid and the silent ones as commanded by our mistress, the Amira Aisha. The
fifth chose not to join us for reasons of cowardice. He and another five who tried to flee look down upon us from above the gate of the Gladiators. Pity not those, but fear for yourselves, for you who fight not well today will have your heads added to the ranks of onlookers above the gate." His listeners, already at the alert, stiffened further.

"I remind you of the scroll you signed, the scroll which has been sealed, the scroll which has been sent to the Holy City of Kairouan for .safekeeping. In it was your promise to fight to the death, if necessary, to earn the right to become the husband of the Amira Aisha. However, in the spirit of the vestal virgins of Rome of ancient times, the Moulay Hassan himself has agreed to accept within his hands the option of sparing a fallen opponent's life. I warn you,
mujalid,
fight bravely. And if you should fail, appeal not for yourself to the Moulay. He shall condemn you. Only your opponent may successfully sue for your life
...
and he only if the fight were worthy. For woe befall the two who fight halfheartedly; the Moulay warns that a dagger shall leave each halfhearted indeed.

"I bid you retire to the chamber of the gladiators to prepare yourselves for today's contests. In the interest of fairness, the Amira Aisha has offered that insofar as possible each man shall be able to elect to fight as he will. Choose well, O gladiators. And let the blessings of Allah be on him who competes."

The contestants, aches and pains forgotten, silently turned and retraced their steps into the bowels of the arena. The two women in the royal box, in the meantime, drank deep of sweet mint tea and decided for the sake of their complexions to have the velarium— wide sun-strips—hauled across the arena above the royal box to block out the rays of a sun more ferocious than mat of the day before. That such shade might endanger the combatants did not occur to them. Even if it had, it would not have overly concerned them, and Ali was not there to advise against their impulsiveness. He had gone with his mute escort to brief the occupants of the chamber of gladiators.

"The judges have decided that there be four types of combat, duplicating as nearly as possible the four most important classes of Roman combat. You thus may choose, first, to be a Samnite. He wields a two-edged sword and a square scutum or shield, each the length of his arm. For protection, he wears a wide-brimmed helmet,
a leather guard for fads sword arm, and metal thews on his left leg. He goes naked to the waist and wears a short skirt bound at the waist with a leather belt. His is the most protective armor, but such armor is burdensome, the sword heavy and massive. The bouts between Samaites require strength and endurance. Let the blessings of Allah be on him who competes as Samnite.

"Or, you may choose to emulate the Thracian, who carries the sica, a short, curved sword, and the buckler, a round shield which is smaller and lighter than the scutum borne by the Samnite. The Thracian wears a less massive helmet, a cloth tunic with wide leather belt studded with metal, and a leather guard for his right arm. Skill with sword and shield are asked of the Thracian, woe to him who has neither. Let the blessings of Allah be on him who competes as Thracian.

"The third class of Roman combatants is the Myrmillone or fishman, so named for the fish-shaped crest he wears on his casque, with its narrow pierced visor that protects the face but mterferes with vision. Light is his sword, small is his buckler, and no armor burdens his body. Agility and coordination are demanded of the fishman, who must be able to evade and avoid his opponent, the net-thrower man. Let the blessings of Allah be upon him who competes as fishman.

"The fourth type of combatant is the net wielder, or Retiarius, of which I just spoke; he performs naked except for his broad metal-studded leather belt. He carries a net to cast and catch his opponent; a cord, attached, allows him to retrieve his net and cast it again and again. The net wielder is further armed with a trident, a long three-pronged fork with which to jab, slash and stab. Of all the combatants, he who wields the net fights from a distance, but his weapons, being foreign to most of you, will require mastering, unlike the swords of the other three. Let the blessings of Allah be upon him who competes as net wielder. Combatants, you have until the last grain drains from this glass to choose your weapons and armor. Hail
Mujalid,
I salute men soon to die!"

"Maybe not." De Wynter's words were spoken quietiy, but no one within earshot, including Ali, doubted his resolve.

The slaves retired into a corner, ostensibly to consult with their weaponaire, Carlby. In actuality, all had but one thought: Gilliver.

None needed to be told that regardless of the type of combat, Gilliver would be about as ineffective in the arena as one of the flies now glutting itself on the head of yesterday's victor. One look at Gilliver's face, and all knew he was equally aware that to step out onto the arena meant certain death. Menzies forestalled any comments by turning to Gilliver, an arm about his shoulders, and saying, "Henry, I think Ali ben Zaid looks upon you with favor. Do you take advantage of this to beg of him that Cameron and I be allowed to stay with our friends during the combats. Speak softly and sweedy to him that he may agree to your request."

Gilliver, flattered, vowed to do his best and left the group to search out Ali ben Zaid. Once Gilliver was out of earshot, de Wynter hugged Menzies to him. "You do my mother proud.'

Cameron interrupted, "No, I demand the right. Let me be the one."

Menzies, his mind made up, would not hear of it. "Use your head man. There is no way that Henry can grow long spindly legs like yours overnight."

Carlby listened to this exchange in amazement. "What on earth
...
?"

Drummond, amused, patiently explained. "Menzies and Cameron, not content with winning the competition in the arena, now must compete with each other."

"What for?"

"For the honor of saving Gilliver's life by taking his place."

"But why? He seemed proficient enough in the practice bouts."

Drummond laughed. "With blunted sword, he's a demon. Give him a real weapon and he'll lay it down and bare his breast for your blow. Henry, you see, takes his religion more seriously than most, maybe even you. God has commanded, "Thou shaft not kill,' so Henry won't, not even to save his life."

"I had no idea."       

"Sir priest, you see before you in the person of Henry Gilliver the makings of saint or martyr. Menzies and Cameron and the rest of us have no objections to the saint part, but, damn me, he becomes martyr over our dead bodies."

"Methinks he isn't the only one with a martyrlike bent," Carlby replied sourly. He had found in Drummond's remarks an implied comparison that was not flattering to the Hospitaler-priest.

Drummond tolerandy agreed. "Between you and me, you might well be right. But habits of a lifetime are hard to break, and for so long as I can remember, the companions have fought Gilliver's fights for him. We are to each other the brothers most of us never had. Blood couldn't make us closer."

"Even Angus and Ogilvy?"

Drummond laughed loudly. "They more than others. Of course, for all we know, Highland lassies being so loose-kneed, they might well be bairns of the same laird."

Angus and Ogilvy, who said little but heard much, favored Drummond with a glower. While Drummond and Carlby had talked, the matter of the masquerade had been settled.

"It should work," de Wynter said, "the helmets will disguise Menzies's hair and hide his face. That, plus the clothing he wears, should make detection impossible. Besides, who would suspect one of yesterday's winners as being stupid enough to risk his life for another?" De Wynter's loving smile belied his words as he gazed upon Menzies with affection.

Carlby, still annoyed by the unfortunate comparison between his and Gilliver's faith, couldn't resist commenting. "If Gilliver is as you say he is, how do you intend to persuade him to give up his place and risk another's life?"

Drummond hooted. "Sir priest, have you learned nothing of us during the time we've been together? Henry Gilliver worships not one but two gods. The first, the heavenly father above; the other, our brother de Wynter."

De Wynter was not amused, his raised eyebrow warning Drummond of as much; however, he acknowledged the justice of the remarks. "Leave Henry to me, I'll see he agrees."

Carlby abandoned that line of questioning. "All right, so Menzies can double for Gilliver, thanks to the helmet. How do you propose to have Gilliver pass as Menzies?"

At the sobering faces about him, Carlby felt remorse for what he'd done, although he consoled himself with the thought that imperfect as his motives had been for asking such a question, the reality of the problem must be addressed.

Fortuitously, a crestfallen Gilliver, bearing a pair of plume-bedecked helmets, returned to solve their problem. "Ali ben Zaid

refused. He has other plans for Menzies and Cameron. When we get our weapons, you're also to draw swords from the weaponmaster. These are your helmets. You are to stand guard at the gate of death opposite the gladiators' gate. If any should try to follow as a corpse is carried out, the two of you are to prevent it."

No one could have been more surprised than Gilliver at the jubilation with which his message was received. While de Wynter took Gilliver aside to explain the plan, the rest took their places at the end of the line of contestants, many of whom had already been armed and attired and had departed for the arena. Discovering this, Carlby, unpriestlike, cursed under his breath the love for Gilliver that had endangered the rest of them. As far as he was concerned, Gilliver might be spiritually strong, but to refuse to kill proved him weak in the head. After all, how many Crusaders, Hospitalers, and Templars had answered the call of Pope, taken up the sword, killed and been killed in the name of Christ? Were they admired by this group? No. But for a weakling—with what Carlby suspected were heretic leanings—the rest were willing to sacrifice their lives and Carlby's too, for that matter. The gray eyes, that watched as Gilliver's attitude changed from shock to anger to reluctant assent, were neither warm nor friendly. Drummond, noting the set of Carlby's face, could have sworn he read hostility on it, then decided he must be mistaken. Gentle, naive Drummond was unable to believe a priest capable of such feelings.