GIRL GLADIATOR (7 page)

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.

T
heir 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.

But Sharn fretted about what was going to happen to his father, and his sister too, for that matter – and it was this that drove them back to civilisation. As they sighted Ryant, Sharn reflected on how dilapidated and rundown it looked. It was shrivelling like a dying thing as the clan deserted it.

They saw a figure in the distance. It was Guyleen hurrying along the track toward them with a basket full of herbs she had gathered in the woods. She smiled at Sharn when he shouted a greeting, but gave Fritha a suspicious stare as she always did.

“I have terrible news. Colun is to die tomorrow,” she said heavily.

A cold fist closed around Sharn’s heart. “Why so soon?”

Guyleen shrugged and spat on the ground. “Who knows with the foreigners? The things they should do fast they do slow, and what they should hurry, they never finish.” She placed a wrinkled arm around Sharn’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you must live in this time, when everything is turning to blood.”

And with this the old woman trudged wearily off to her dwelling.

He turned towards Fritha. “I am going to Damnonium straight away. There must be something I can do.”

Fritha nodded and hugged him with a murmur of comfort, and Sharn sprinted off.

It was evening when he arrived at the prison. Despite his begging, the guards would not let him in because of the lateness of the hour, so he headed to the entrance of the officers’ living quarters.

It helped that Sharn was now known at Crassus’s compound because he was ushered straight into Cumbria’s sleeping quarters.

“Guyleen says that da will be executed tomorrow.”

Cumbria sat her brother on her bed. “Britain has just got a new governor. He decreed that crimes like this must be punished swiftly.”

Sharn’s shoulders started to heave and tears pricked the back of his eyes. “What about Rem and Brion?” he asked.

“They have been condemned to row in the galleys for life. They’re already on their way to the coast.”

Sharn grimaced as he thought about this for a second. He’d heard that this fate was worse than a death sentence.

“Once da was caught, it was only a matter of time, Sharn, we both knew that.”

Sharn nodded dully. “They wouldn’t let me into the prison just now. Will they let us in tomorrow?”

Cumbria nodded. “Crassus will see to that.”

Sharn detected a warming in his sister’s voice when she mentioned Crassus’s name.

“You’re getting very close to him, aren’t you?”

“Don’t complain, Sharn. If it weren’t for him, there wouldn’t be any visit.”

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Sharn said.

“Don’t try to make it back to Ryant in the dark. The stables are warm and comfortable enough,” Cumbria offered.

She got Sharn a blanket and showed him to the stables where he tried to sleep on a pile of hay – but tears came before sleep did.

T
he next morning as Sharn struggled wearily to his feet in the dawn chill, he went over and over in his mind what was going to take place that day and he could not believe it. Perhaps he was still asleep and this was another ghastly nightmare; but when he joined Cumbria in the kitchen and she handed him a bowl of porridge, the way it burnt his mouth was real enough.

Cumbria and Sharn headed out into the misty gloom. The sun seemed reluctant to rise, as if it also disapproved of the day to come.

They crunched across the frost-stiff grass towards the prison. Thankfully the guard who ushered them into Colun’s cell was kindly enough and left them alone.

Colun rose to greet them with a smile. He put his arms around them, and they stood together for a moment. Colun’s mood was light as if he was determined their last meeting would not be miserable, and he asked Sharn a lot of questions about Fritha, chuckling at the account of her attack on Alpin and Nectan.

Cumbria didn’t join in the conversation. She was preoccupied and seemed to be on the verge of saying something but stopped herself a couple of times.

“You’re very quiet, Cumbria,” Colun said.

Cumbria finally took the plunge, speaking nervously. “There is a priest I could call on … to baptise you.”

Colun said nothing, but Sharn couldn’t help himself. “Baptise? What’s that?”

“If da agrees to be baptised he will live forever.”

Sharn frowned. Their father was about to die – what did she mean?

Colun reached out and took Cumbria’s head fondly between his hands and stared into her eyes. “I’m pleased this new religion means so much to you, but I’ll stick with the old gods – the ones I grew up with.”

“They’re false!” Cumbria exclaimed.

“I’ve made my peace with them. And besides I don’t want to be in any place your mother isn’t.”

Cumbria was about to say something else but Sharn caught her eye – Colun had already made up his mind. Cumbria nodded and the words died on her lips.

The morning light filtering in through the barred window was growing stronger – it couldn’t be long now.

“I just want to say one thing,” Colun began, his eyes beginning to glisten, “I have loved every second of our life together. All the good times we’ve had – and even the bad times were good too.”

There was a noise outside. “It’s time,” the guard said, as he tramped through the door.

The bottom dropped out of Sharn’s stomach.

Colun leaned down and gathered Cumbria and Sharn in so that their three heads rested together. “I want you to call on me whenever you need me … and I’ll somehow find a way to be there.”

The guard forced himself between them. “Time’s up! Let’s go!”

Colun drew himself up to his full height and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. Sharn could not help but feel proud of his father. His face seemed younger now his features were no longer blurred with alcohol. But as Sharn was hustled out the door and he threw one last look over his shoulder, he suddenly felt sick – soon this warm flesh would lie under the cold clay.

Cumbria and Sharn moved into the square in the middle of the military barracks and waited with the two Roman officials there to see the sentence carried out.

With a creak, the main door in the wall of the prison opened. Two legionnaires appeared and marched forward; then Colun stepped out, blinking in the sunlight; then two more soldiers exited, and Crassus brought up the rear. The stone-faced group made its way into the centre of the square.

“Halt!” Crassus ordered and the execution squad came to a stop.

Colun gave his children a smile of comfort. “Remember, I’ll always be close.”

From another part of the compound a giant flaxen-haired Norseman had appeared, carrying a double-handled broad sword on his shoulder. He arrived at a leisurely pace at the centre of the square.

Sharn’s heart was drubbing on his breastbone and he had trouble breathing. Suddenly the air seemed to have a taste to it – a bitter taste. Sharn threw a look at his sister who was gazing unblinkingly at their father, her lips moving in the prayers she had learnt from Crassus.

Sharn’s eyes were drawn back to the centre of the square by raised voices. Crassus was asking Colun to kneel down but Colun was refusing.

“I will not die on my knees.”

Crassus insisted more loudly – this was the correct procedure, as two legionnaires crowded forward.

“So what are you going to do if I refuse?” Colun asked, “Kill me?”

Crassus waved the two soldiers back as the Norseman spoke to Colun. “I cannot guarantee a good job if you remain standing.”

Colun turned to the giant blond man. He looked him up and down, glad that his executioner seemed to know what he was about. “I won’t be in any condition to complain if you mess it up.”

This made the Norseman chuckle.

“Strike me from the side and I’ll try to lean into it.”

The lofty Norseman grunted appreciatively and turned to Crassus. “Let him stand. I seldom get this sort of co-operation.”

The legionnaires and Crassus fell back a pace or two to allow the Norseman to swing his sword.

Sharn saw his father take a very deep breath and hold his neck rigid so that the sword would cut clean.

And then time stopped. Sharn felt the cool breeze on his cheek and noticed how the light bounced off the grass and somewhere a bird flew off squawking.

The Norseman hefted the sword up to shoulder height and started his swing. Colun was staring straight at Sharn and Cumbria, a rod of love extending from his eyes to theirs.