GIRL GLADIATOR Page 5

  “I can see why you were putting it off,” Sharn said scathingly.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Working for the Roman who put da in prison!”

  Cumbria grabbed Sharn and hustled him away from the atrium and down a corridor, across a cobbled yard and into a small sleeping chamber.

  “Yes, I’m Crassus’s servant. It made sense. I need to be near da to make sure he’s properly fed.”

  Sharn dropped his eyes. His sister had always been the practical one.

  Her tone softened. “And maybe getting to know the Roman system will help us when his trial comes up.”

  Sharn nodded dully as his eyes strayed around the bedchamber. He marvelled at how solidly constructed Roman buildings were. On the stone wall above Cumbria’s bed was painted a stylised depiction of a fish.

  “What’s that?

  Cumbria looked a little bashful. “I’ve become interested in the new religion of the Christ … and Crassus is a believer. We got talking about it when I visited da.”

  It was worse than Sharn thought. “So you’re turning your back on your own people now?”

  “Listen, Sharn, nothing is like it was before. I didn’t ask for things to change … but since they have I’d be a fool not to try to keep up with them.”

  “So you don’t really believe in that?” Sharn asked, waving at the effigy of the fish.

  Cumbria dropped her eyes. “Crassus read me some of their teachings and it seemed like I’d been waiting all my life to hear it. It is only love that can save us, Sharn. Without love we’re all damned.”

  Sharn could tell from the way her eyes kindled that she really meant what she said, and witnessing this strong new feeling in Cumbria, made him realise how hollow he felt, and his shoulders slumped.

  Cumbria glanced more closely at her brother. “What’s wrong, Sharn? You look terrible.”

  “Fritha’s disappeared.”

  “Where?”

  “Back to her folks, I think.”

  Cumbria frowned, “But she loves you, Sharn. I can’t think why.” She finished off with a joke to try to cheer him up.

  “I reckon I drove her away.”

  “Then you should go to Cirig and get her back. She’s worth it.”

  Sharn shrugged. “But why would she come back? She left because I was so mean to her.”

  “A woman can change her mind.”

  Sharn nodded slowly and gave Cumbria a grateful hug. Why hadn’t he listened to her advice more in the past? She was always right when it came to people.

  CHAPTER 16

  SHARN AMONGST THE PICTS

  So, before dawn the next day he found himself on the road north to Cirig. He was walking, not riding, because the Romans had confiscated all their horses, as part of the punishment. By that evening as he neared the Pictish village, thirsty and footsore, the wisdom of Cumbria’s words seemed to grow less compelling. All he could visualise was Fritha greeting him coldly and treating his apologies with contempt. His steps grew slow and he almost turned back, but as Cirig came into sight, something caught Sharn’s eye. He blocked out the sun with his hand to get a better look at the bent figure walking from the village straight for him. Sharn watched and waited. It was soon apparent that it was an old man approaching. He came to a halt in front of Sharn and looked him up and down.

  “Are you Sharn?”

  “Yes …” Sharn replied.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to show up,” the old man said.

  “How do you know about me?” Sharn asked.

  “Alpin has mentioned you a number of times – well, more spat your name when he was shouting at Deadra.”

  “So she is here?” Sharn said.

  “Alpin ambushed her and dragged her back kicking and biting.”

  Sharn felt waves of relief wash over him. She did not leave of her own accord! “Are you a friend of Fritha … I mean Deadra?”

  “I am Bredan, the warrior master – or I was when I was a bit younger. Deadra was in my warrior circle.”

  “A girl in the warrior circle!” Sharn exclaimed. Suddenly a lot of things started to make sense to him.

  “She’s a born fighter, that one,” and the grizzled old man chuckled.

  “I know nothing about her, Bredan … “

  Bredan suddenly turned on his heel. “Follow me and we can talk as we go.” Sharn fell into step with the old warrior. Bredan drew a deep breath and began to relate Fritha’s story. “Deadra was abandoned as a baby at the gates of Cirig. Malcolm, the headman, and his wife Vola took her in. Because she was such an odd looking creature, tiny and dark and wild, none of the servants liked her, so she spent a lot of her day playing with the animals among the rushes on the floor.

  “Malcolm kept a blind wolf bitch to breed hunting dogs. Deadra would happily go to sleep nestled into her flank, and one day Vola found her suckling at the teat of the she wolf. When she started making the same whimpering and growling noises as the wolf, Vola wanted to expose her on a hillside, thinking she was possessed. I told Malcolm that wolf milk would make her a great fighter … and I took her in myself when she was grown.”

  The mud and wattle huts drew nearer. Even though he was intrigued by what he was hearing, Sharn’s heart was beginning to hammer against his ribs at the thought of facing Alpin. After all if he had kidnapped Fritha he was hardly likely to hand her over without a fight.

  “Could I lean on you for the rest of the way, son – otherwise, I’ll never finish my story. My old body is giving up on me.” Sharn allowed Bredan to put his arm around his shoulder and they started off again.

  “She became more and more aggressive as she grew. She feared no one, not even the bigger boys, driving them off with her slashing fingernails. When she was approaching womanhood, she asked to be tattoo-ed with the marks or her totem, the wolf; and I accepted her into the warrior circle. She became my best pupil – not by virtue of her strength – all the boys were stronger than her – but by her speed and cunning. And something else, her patience in waiting for exactly the right moment to strike. That is the hardest thing for any warrior to learn. But she had the courage to wait and wait, until her assailant thought he had her at his mercy, and then she would strike like a snake.”

  Sharn’s head was spinning as the puzzling pieces were beginning to fall into place. But he needed to ask Bredan something else. “How did she come to have her tongue cut out?”

  Bredan sighed and scratched the grey stubble on his chin. “That is something I do not know. What I do know is that about twelve moons ago she disappeared. I’ve always thought the Romans grabbed her – a legion passed by Cirig that very day, but Alpin tells me that you discovered her in a Celtic village.”

  “Yes, we did.” Sharn frowned – it looked like he would never find out who cut her tongue out.

  Bredan had come to a halt outside the most imposing dwelling in the village. “I think it’ll be better if you go in by yourself.” Sharn thanked the old man for his help, squared his shoulders and stepped inside.

  Fritha sat grinding corn under the watchful eye of a bat-faced woman. This must be Vola, the headman’s wife, Sharn concluded because of the richness of her dress. The small millstone was making so much noise Fritha did not hear Sharn’s first call.

  “Fritha!” Sharn called again.

  Fritha’s eyes flew to the doorway where Sharn stood diffidently. She spilled the corn all over the floor, as she leapt to her feet. She ran to Sharn and hurled herself into his arms.

  “Alpin! Alpin!” Vola raised the alarm.

  Fritha was covering Sharn’s face with joyful kisses when Alpin burst in to see what all the fuss was about.

  “What do you want?” Alpin barked at Sharn, as he dragged Fritha away from him.

  “I have come to take Fritha back.”

  “Oh, really. I didn’t see your army out there,” Alpin scoffed.

  Sharn had rehearsed what he wanted to say on his long walk. “I want to ask your tribe for permission to mar
ry Fritha. I will pay a fair bride price for her.”

  Fritha strained towards Sharn nodding her approval of the plan. Alpin scowled, “I’ll see what my father has to say about this.”

  Alpin led the way to the village meetinghouse and spoke to his father, Malcolm. “The Celt wants to take Deadra to wife,” he said with one hand firmly on Fritha.

  Malcolm, a short, self-important man, grinned. He was delighted with the proposition. It would be a relief to get rid of the crazy, tempestuous girl, permanently this time.

  “Do you have any objection to the marriage, Alpin?”

  In fact Alpin had grown tired of Fritha’s headstrong behaviour and constant moodiness, but he caught sight of Sharn beginning to smile, and another man delighting in what used to be his, changed his mind.

  “If this boy wants my woman, he will have to win her in a fight to the death,” Alpin declared.

  Fritha shrieked in protest, as she tried to pull away from Alpin.

  Malcolm was bemused. “Are you sure? It hardly seems worth the risk.”

  “There won’t be any risk to me,” Alpin bragged.

  And to look at Alpin and Sharn standing next to each other, he was right.

  CHAPTER 17

  FIGHT TO THE DEATH

  As sundown cluttered the yard with shadows, Alpin showed Sharn an array of weapons – a dirk, a dagger, a Roman sword and the heftier Celtic sword – and asked him to make his choice. Sharn realised the bigger the weapon the more tiring it would be to wield, so he chose a dirk and a small shield. Alpin nodded. His choice was a dagger and a larger shield. He waved Sharn out into the centre of the yard. Fritha tried to reach out to Sharn to wish him luck, but Nectan, a friend of Alpin with very long black hair, shoved her roughly aside.

  Sharn stepped out into the arena formed by twenty or thirty Picts sitting around in a large circle, gesticulating in the direction of the two fighters, arguing and making bets.

  Fritha was made to stand behind the ring of spectators so she could not interfere. She filled with dread as Alpin and Sharn shaped up to each other. She knew the strength of both fighters and this made her fear for Sharn.

  At a signal from Malcolm, the bout began. Sharn moved around in a wide arc figuring his best chance was to keep moving – he did not have the body mass to withstand a charge from his bulkier opponent if he was standing still. Alpin kept his eyes riveted on Sharn, searching for weaknesses.

  Sharn thought he saw an opening and lunged forward with his dirk but Alpin buffeted the weapon away easily with a push of his shield. Sharn was now off balance and Alpin tried to stick him in the stomach with his dagger. Sharn was just able to swivel to one side, but even so Alpin’s blade came so close it cut the fabric of his tunic. They fell back to get their breath, then they sprang in again and there was a swift flurry of thrust and counter-thrust, neither blade drawing blood. They disengaged once more, panting with exertion.

  Then Alpin rushed forward and tried to swamp Sharn with his superior strength. Sharn had to retreat, dodging and jinking to escape the darting point of Alpin’s dagger.

  Hemmed in with his back to the ring of spectators, Sharn sensed rather than saw Alpin gathering himself – Alpin’s brows set and his shoulders bunched as he lunged forward with all his might.

  Sharn parried with his shield but he was still bowled over. Sharn went down heavily and Alpin clubbed Sharn’s dirk aside with his shield. Sharn’s belly froze with fright. Surely he would now feel the point of Alpin’s dagger.

  But Alpin no longer held his weapon because it was imbedded in Sharn’s shield. Alpin made no attempt to retrieve it, but instead jumped on Sharn and started to strangle him with his bare hands.

  Sharn tried to break his grip by digging his thumbs into Alpin’s wrist tendons … but he simply did not have the strength. Sharn could feel his senses fading, as his breath clotted in his throat. Alpin brought his face close. “I’m going to kill you, and then I’ll kill your girlfriend.”

  Sharn’s mind fluttered and darkness fringed his eyes. Then he heard Fritha’s cry of despair from across the yard, and he summoned new strength. He had not come all this way to die and leave Fritha on her own to fend for herself. He became aware that Alpin’s pulsing jugular vein was only inches from his face. He opened his mouth and bit hard on Alpin’s neck, sinking his dogteeth in as deep as he could. Alpin screamed and took his hands from around Sharn’s windpipe.

  Sharn’s mouth stayed clamped on Alpin’s throat as Alpin tore at Sharn’s face … until he had to open his jaws. Alpin fell back, gasping and disorientated, and the fight seemed to have gone out of him. Sharn saw his dirk lying in the dust and crabbed across to get it. He snatched it up and was about to turn and attack Alpin when Nectan, his long dark hair flying, entered the fray, pinning Sharn’s arms to his sides.

  “Bite like a dog – then you’ll die like one,” Nectan roared.

  Nectan indicated to Alpin where his dagger was stuck in Sharn’s shield. “Finish him, Alpin.”

  Fritha let out a loud howl of protest but nobody paid any attention. The eyes of all the Picts were riveted on the fight as it headed towards its climax.

  Alpin fingered the bloody puncture wound in his neck with one hand and retrieved his dagger with the other. He moved vengefully towards Sharn, still pinioned by Nectan.

  Fritha had to do something. It was now two onto one. She looked around till her eyes came to rest on a collection of harvest implements hanging under the eaves of the nearest hut. She darted across and snatched up a sickle. She didn’t intend to kill anybody. She just wanted to stop the men from slitting Sharn’s throat.

  She burst into the arena and hooked the point of the sickle into Nectan’s shoulder and ripped down. He let Sharn go with a grunt of surprise. Alpin swivelled around and tried to stab her with his dagger, but she ducked to one side and brought the sickle down on his arm. He too yelled with pain, as blade bit into flesh down to the bone.

  Malcolm had had enough of this free-for-all and he ordered his spearmen to intervene. One spearman wrenched the sickle from Fritha and knocked her to the ground, another dealt Sharn a nasty blow on the head with the flat of his sword.

  Vola screamed abuse at Fritha and Sharn who now lay in the dust next to each other, as she tended to the deep gash on her son’s arm. Nectan was holding a pad of cloth on his shoulder trying to staunch the bleeding. Malcolm’s attendants bound Sharn and Fritha’s hands with cord and forced them to their knees before Malcolm.

  “This was meant to be a trial of strength and you have turned it into a brawl, bringing shame on my hearth. You will both die tomorrow at dawn. Get them out of my sight.” The spearmen hustled Sharn and Fritha from the yard and locked them up in a tiny storeroom.

  They stared at each other in the dim light of the windowless building. Sharn held her at arm’s length – there was something he needed to get off his chest straight away. “Fritha, I’m sorry for blaming you for my problems … before. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Fritha brushed this aside with a smile and kissed him to show there were no hard feelings.

  And Sharn had something else to say. “No matter what happens … I can face anything if we’re together.”

  But Fritha suddenly laid her finger on Sharn’s lips as her sharp hearing picked up something outside. She turned to cock her ear at the door. Sharn orientated and heard the voices too.

  Somebody was talking to the two spearmen on guard. Sharn had heard that voice before – it was Bredan. He was reminiscing with the men about their time in the warrior circle and judging from the clinks and slurping noises, he was pressing them to drink. After more drinking and the telling of a long joke which Sharn could not understand, the speech of the spearmen slowed and slurred and then ceased altogether.

  Moments later Sharn and Fritha heard the heavy bolt being worked and the door was pushed open. Fritha’s face lit up and she rushed over to Bredan. He kissed her on the forehead and quickly explained that the guards would be out to it for at least
a couple of hours, thanks to the poppy juice he had put into their wine. Sharn and Fritha should make good their escape and if they ran fast, they could be deep in the forest before the alarm was raised.

  “But what will happen to you?” Sharn asked. “Won’t they punish you?”

  “I am not afraid of that. The sun has set on my world and the ancient ones beckon,” replied Bredan calmly. “Now you must go.”

  Fritha shook her head – she could not let him make this sacrifice.

  “I am your master, girl. You took an oath, remember.” And to clinch his argument, he added, “If you do not go, nor will Sharn – and so you will be responsible for both your deaths.”

  The colour drained from Fritha’s face, as she accepted the truth of this.

  Bredan led the way through the guardroom where the two spearmen snored peacefully. He put his head out the door to make sure the coast was clear.

  “Be safe,” Bredan said.

  Fritha embraced him with a sob and Sharn shook his hand for the last time.

  “Go like the wind,” Bredan threw after them as they made off into the night.

  CHAPTER 18

  WALKING SIDE BY SIDE

  Their journey back to Ryant was like a dream. They walked side by side through dim oak forests and out onto sunny, windswept uplands, seeming to be alone in the world. Everything was so perfect between them they started to drag their feet so their journey would last longer.

  On the second day, after foraging for berries and nuts and drinking from a crystal stream, they lay down for a rest. A thrush landed on a branch above them and began to sing. Sharn had to wonder why the bird was trilling its heart out. Was it just for their benefit?

  “I wish … I could live that way …” Sharn stumbled over the thought, “… just doing what you’re doing … not caring about the future or the past.”

  Fritha shook her head from side to side with a smile, as if to say that’s impossible. They lay content on the forest floor and looked at the scraps of cloud showing through the leaves, feeling the spin of the world under their backs.