The shredded shirt besmeared in a deep red color, dreadfully silent with the aura of death yet loudly echoing with the screams of pain and suffering was offered like a sacred tribute to the hands of the young governor; an evidence of his falsity, a proof of his incapacity, a test to his adequate reign, a burden on his conscious, a guilt marring his rule and memory.
"What do you have to say about this, Germanous?"
"That the felon shall pay."
" I am afraid you have to be more specific about identities."
Caecilius demanded, strangely in a calm yet authoritative tone. He was angry, and his anger was justified. But compared to the bout of panic he received this morning with, he was now collected, composed and calm. The governor believed it to be the calm before the storm, the storm that was certain to pluck him from his shaky roots and send him flying miles with wings muddied by shame and dishonor into a dark ditch of chagrin and unmerciful judgment. Not only did his little play of catching thieves and investigating them buy him no time or chance, it blew his cover and left him completely bare of all power and eligibility in front of the entire province. Just when he was slowly climbing into the people's heart, gaining their trust and love, he was almost instantly disarmed of any sympathy he had stirred in their spirits. These thugs did not only aim to terrorize a peaceful city, they aimed to terrorize his dreams and future, the future that he was days away from grasping… they seized it and rubbed it in his face, disfiguring it with the blood of the innocents.
Germanous loved to be the center of attention, he simply deserved it; a bright boy who showed signs of vulpine intelligence yet deep understanding. It should have been a granted thing, a natural birth right, but this never happened. He had to work hard to obtain it through traps lurking in every corner, and snares craving every mistake and miscalculation he would make.
Now, he was indeed the center of attention as he bore the cross of that child's death, way heavier than the savage murderers. All eyes stared at him, malicious intents revealing themselves without hesitation, long hidden behind adulation. Having realized his factional statue and position, these stares of admiration or fear now seemed truly unnecessary and utterly to no avail. What adulation did he deserve while presenting himself as untrustworthy? Why should his position and image be feared, while he stood unprotected and insignificant?
They were waiting a slip, and now came his most lethal one.
"Apparently, nothing is in your hands. Everything is out of control, Your control."
Like a circle of hateful mist, the poisonous snarling words of the capital ambassador rang in the hall and through the blond's ears and veins empowered by the abhorring stares the young man was showered with.
But mist is dispelled by light, and so abhorrence is manipulated by an act.
The tip of a lithe sword was pointed at the ambassador snarling throat, like a flash of sudden lightning, washing off disdain from the surrounding eyes, while sweeping maleficence from their hearts.
"Penalties shall be paid accordingly, but more importantly, each timely. I shall accept no judgment till I have delivered my own! And then, this sword which now is to be aimed at the province rebellious thugs, shall after passing hideous judgment on them, matching their ill hearts, pass judgment on me, in the same hideousness matching my own unfit nonfeasance, and is ought to be delivered by no other than these same hands that had miscalculated, and thus is ought to be delivered unblessed and ungraceful."
Even the most hateful hearts were shaken by the radiance of nobleness and sincerity emanating from the blond governor, as if the sun behind him had risen to its highest to support his claim and back his will.
No one could say no to that determination or underestimate it.
"This is only appropriate, Germanous."
That was all what the ambassador said, or literally could say being outshone by the brilliance of the youngster admittance of failure yet defiance of an immediate judgment at the same time.
***
"First the construction business, and now these horrid atrocities terrorizing the streets… no sane person dares to leave his mansion, not even risking it for daily bread and water. For once, starvation became more merciful than jabbing. What a world we live in…"
"So in reality, what they enjoyed at the arena, they fear at the streets?"
"Well, they are not fearless like you."
Sextus replied feigning inattention to the lancer's note. He wasn't in the mood for a game of touch and go, as it seemed all what he was capable of doing lately was whining and complaining about the deteriorating state of his business. Just as he said, no one dared to leave the safety of his home for bread, let along for sports and shows while all the province's leaders and garrison had their hands tied."
"What about the soldiers?"
"They are just as frightened, I guess. That green lad is in big trouble, I doubt he can emerge safely out of this peril this time."
Diarmuid turned his sight away and didn't inquire further though he was eager to. After all, he had no right to indulge himself in the affairs he refused to take part in. Yet he still found himself asking .
"Are the soldiers not up to the task?"
"That band if mercenaries is simply above this task."
The lancer shuddered, turning his gaze away in disgust at the incompatible cowardice described by Sextus, and the arena's owner watched in delight his favorite disdainful expression that rose the lancer to seats of unmatched heroism.
"I wonder if lady Sabina is all right. I offered her three gladiators for her protection, but she refused."
Sextus suddenly drifted from the topic, worry clear on his face though the lancer could not understand why, he could only be thankful that Sextus did not suggest his name for the protection of that hateful woman because she was surely to take some advantage of it.
"Doesn't the governing family protects its members?"
Diarmuid asked idly, hoping to make Sextus to forget this particular detail.
"No… Not these two…"
Sextus amusingly guffawed. Though nothing was shown in the open, the tense air between the governor and his cousin was never vague to detect.
"Who would care about that woman?"
Diarmuid lowly murmured, his thoughts drawing closer to unrest, he have to care for that woman, as long as she possessed Oscar, these two's safety was related.
"She will be fine, her hands can reach quite far."
Sextus turned at the lancer trying to fathom his meaning, did he pledge his loyalty to her? Though rightful, the thought incited jealousy in the aging man's heart. Trying to inquire the meaning to the knight's words, he was pushed back by the latter's pensive stare.
Sabina had a protector, a shady one. That black donning man that moved undetected like a shadow yet left consequential imprints like the sun reflecting that shadow. A man who used the skills of hiding and assassinations, a man who made his steps silently yet efficiently, escaping the lancer's spears twice. A man of no words, only of actions though they were low actions devoid of honor or bravery, just like the missions she had been entrusting him with.
***
As Sextus had stated, no one dared to leave their houses, relying carefully on their homes supplies, without going through them quickly and irresponsibly. It was as if the city was under a siege, but what made that siege more scary was that fact that it was an interior one. The enemies were lurking within, attacking from the same streets and houses where their victims resided. It was a nightmare.
However, Sextus was responsible for an entire squad of gladiators and slaves, and his supplies ran out faster than the other houses. Only Diarmuid was up to the task of shopping, and Sextus reluctantly sent him as if it was a death wish or an impossible feat. It was stupid, that what Diarmuid thought of the whole situation.
The lancer was trotting the empty streets, like a ghost roaming a cemetery for the living not the dead. He did not know if he should feel sorry for the city that was edging closer to a bright morning, or feel that his grudge was now being paid off with the imminent downfall.
A bang of guilt reached his heart at the last thought, his chained hands that once protected the weak and the oppressed from his people were not meant to deal harm to similar weak and oppressed people even if they were strangers to him. These citizens were oppressed by terror and fear but even when he wished to regain the sense of chivalry and protect the people whom had enslaved yet adored him at the same time, his hands along his blades were chained.
The lancer was deep in thoughts when he felt a giant hand patting in a rough friendly manner his broad back, and there was no need to turn to see whose hands were these huge ones.
"Don't go strutting around like that thinking you are the only brave man here."
"I would say reasonable at least."
Ilianus laughed at the Celtic's self-praise as he walked beside him, swaging a no less giant cudgel around.
"Surely, we can't let a whole arena of gladiators go starving. It makes enough sense for me."
Diarmuid smiled at his companion, not interested in the least of what Ilianus kept prattling about the entire way to the market when they realized upon arriving, that idle chatting wasn't probably the best to do while passing through the province streets which seemed under a curse in its final stages of fulfillment; doomed as a plagued city, derelict from desolation, completely estranged from the lively city he and Oscar were first enchanted by, and far from the bustling center the governor was fantasizing about. The lanes were empty, drowned in silence similar to a death tribute as the houses stood like unattended tombs. Aside from the countable pedestrians, mostly young people or extremely old, rushing or disregarding their lives. Even the once vividly market now stood as if a catastrophe had struck it into a deserted ruin.
"Maybe we really underestimated the situation, lancer."
"This is stupid."
The latter flipped his lips as he muttered in disbelief, his golden eyes roaming the abandoned streets and allies. Only few shops dared to open, letting the stale air fill the shelves and corners. Their goods were old, as no new goods could be obtained.
Ilianus checked the fruits for rotten or spoiled ones, while the Celtic merely scrutinized pitilessly the vendors eyes that glittered with greed upon the two unlikely yet awaited costumers. He pondered his companion's comment, were that group of thieves so powerful? Powerful wasn't the right word, it was their cruelty what was terrifying the citizens and the soldiers as well? Was this province garrison so undependable? Perhaps they consisted of untrained green soldiers mostly but that was still no excuse, a soldier remain a soldier at all circumstances, and the tenser the battle, the more vicious he should become, and so the Roman garrison should have aroused, avenging their comrades and saving their people
"This is unforgivable…"
The Celtic thought in contempt but then, his theory did not prove all true, at one point he wished it didn't.
Oscar became a soldier, he fought his first battle and remained the same gullible youth. The battle was unforgiving indeed, but he didn't change, his kindness didn't dissolve into the heat of battle, it didn't melt into hatred and wrath.
But who knows what other battles the boy had fought during their separation? Yet, surely, his kindness didn't change.
And so, the city's garrison could be the same, though the Celtic used a more strict words while describing the Roman's incapability; cowered fools who didn't know when to toughen, naïve idiots who did not grasp the gravity of situation or apprehend the pride of a devoted warrior.
Did Germanous know this too, and that's why he had asked the Celtic for his aid?
Upon this realization, Diarmuid felt a sting down his stomach. He surely couldn't prevent the massacres that were taking place, he couldn't save their victims but at least he could be of support to the young blond if the ordeal he was facing was as grave as Sextus had described.
Why? He doesn't owe the blond a thing. He pledged no loyalty, he refused to… but then why does he feel guilt now?
The image of those blazing eyes, dulled by disappointment carved at his heart for some reason.
They were the embodiment of a far unreachable dream just like his sought freedom, and he turned his back at it.
Was this not cowardice as well?
Was he not too afraid to chase the nonexistent?
Before that he was brave, defying his clan and king, grasping what was forbidden but now he was too afraid to repeat the trial.
He had betrayed a king before but now he was under no obligations, no oaths of loyalty and no pledges of allegiance.
Just when he came to this satisfying conclusion that should have put his heart at ease, the two purchasers sited a third costumer, much younger and timid, buying from the next store some food as well.
"Oscar!"
The shy boy raised his head at the calling of his name just to see his mentor in the company of a giant, clearly a foreigner as well.
"Dia!"
"Oscar, what are you doing here?"
"The same thing you're doing… I guess…!
While the older asked anxiously, the younger blond replied with a mild smile, a little surprised at his mentor's obvious question framed with worry.
"I mean, isn't dangerous outside?"
"Then why are you here? Is that why you acquired company?"
Oscar replied in the same simple ignorant manner, referring lastly to the Greek giant, who introduced himself immediately before Diarmuid had the chance to, as a fellow gladiator of the Celtic lancer, proudly and merrily.
"Anyway, did that woman send you here? Why you, while having other men at her disposal?"
"She asked me to… so… I couldn't refuse! Beside… I have been training…"
The blond was interrupted by the sudden flutter of the shops doors and shutters. As if the whole market was standing on its toes, what was open of the merchants rushed their feet back home like a swarm of disturbed ants.
"What's happening here?!"
Ilianus turned around surprised when the vendor they bought from hurriedly answered:
"Someone saw a strange rider roaming around the place, it is one of the thugs no doubt… good man he warned us! You should go home at once too!"
The merchant stated then fled the place half way through his sentence, the emptying place echoing the remaining.
"Wait, shouldn't you then stand up to him… if he's a lone rider!! Wait I said!!"
The giant screamed at the man, and almost went after him if Diarmuid didn't stop him, shaking his head in disappointment.
"Leave him be, everybody here is hopeless."
"You are right."
Ilianus agreed disappointed but still eager for some action, especially since the shows had stopped for three weeks so far, so he suggested:
"Say lancer, shouldn't we go after that rider?"
"He may be or may not be one of the thieves, and he may be no one, only imagined by these idiots."
Diarmuid shut down Ilianus's request with complete refusal and the Greek merely sighed in more disappointment as Oscar watched amazed how the frightening giant complied with Diarmuid as if in submission to the natural authority the Celtic knight was born with.
"Are you sure you don't want to catch him, Diarmuid? These people have been terrorizing everyone around here…"
Oscar asked to which the lancer replied in his usual disdainful tone:
"I can't care less nor do I wish to involve myself in pitiful Roman's affair. They can get swept by rats for all I care."
Oscar laughed intermittently to lighten the sudden serious atmosphere brought by Diarmuid's frowning complexion but then the atmosphere lightened up by itself when he went on.
"Besides, we have to get you to that woman's house."
"What?! I can go there by myself! I don't need…"
"It really seems dangerous here. I can't let you walk by yourself."
The kid's protests went unheard as the giant joined Diarmuid's opinion, dragging the blond lad from his arm until he finally went along them peacefully while still murmuring low protests. The journey to Sabina's house seemed awkward, and rather suddenly turned uncomfortable. Since Ilianus didn't know the lad, he didn't pry much into the two Celtics relation, and preferred to keep quiet after three unsuccessful jokes, in order not to spit any harmful comments by accident. As for the other two, Oscar didn't seem interested in talking other than assuring he would be safe by himself and that there was no need for this guarding party but Diarmuid had so much to say. He wanted to ask how Oscar was treated, did that woman hurt him by some way? Does he have any thoughts of escaping? If he desires to, Diarmuid will surely help! And most importantly, why does he seem to trust an awful woman like Sabina? Even a naïve inexperienced fifteen year old could tell how dark was the aura surrounding that woman. Then… why?
But still, he didn't say anything. He didn't feel he had the right to, still convinced he was at fault somehow. The high regard Oscar viewed the icy woman with implied Diarmuid had no right to inquire anything about the boy or the nature of his relationship with his owner.
That detestable word that defined their presence now… it hurt to admit though it was true. Oscar belonged to Sabina, and he himself belonged to Sextus. The two owner had some sort of s strange beneficial relationship, so there was no reason why two of their slaves could not get along. However, these two relationships was existent and defined way before their capture… and should have only grew stronger sharing the same shackled space… but for some reason, they only drifted apart.
Once again, Diarmuid was filled with his dark ominous thoughts.
Strangers don't ask about strangers.
"Here we are. Lady Sabina's mansion"
Oscar pointed then bid his farewells and thanks to his two companions so swiftly and rashly leaving his kin speechless but then he stopped as if he'd forgotten something, and without turning at the two men he said:
"You know Diarmuid, I have been training a lot lately. I have gotten pretty good."
Oscar finished his short bout of boasting then turned at his guardians with a lovely smile before he went in into the house.
Ilianus remained silent, not expecting to hear a comment from his friend, for he too saw what the Celtic had seen.
That boy was happy to see his old friend, he missed, cared and still loved him. His words and facial expressions relayed that much.
However, that boy didn't rush to his friend upon seeing him, his greetings were impassionate unlike his last statement.
He had been standing in the next shop since the two had arrived, Ilianus noticed, he had glimpsed at them but still did not initiate the contact. He didn't speak or turn at them till the other Celtic called to him.
And Diarmuid knew this as well, probably.
"You reprimand the citizens for their unnecessary cowardice and caution, yet insist on delivering that boy safely home. You really worry about him, do you not, lancer?"
Ilianus remarked in a friendly provocation on their way back to Sextus mansion to which the Celtic replied in a dry little incensed manner:
"First, that woman's house or any house here isn't his home. Second, as a claimed warrior, you know better that caution is required at all situations."
"You are absolutely right, Diarmuid."
The giant put down the supplies he carried carefully, taking a firmer hold of his bat, and in an instant waved it round his red head then to his left drawing out of the dust his strike brought two shady capes that emerged out of the ally like one then separated like light and shadow in two different directions. Ilianus rushed after the closer one, racing to his left while inciting Diarmuid to go after the other one.
"That idiot!"
Diarmuid muttered annoyingly turning to go after the second man when a third one in the same black cape appeared holding a blade of steel to his throat followed by another standing to his right, seizing the hand he was holding his red lance with.
"Don't turn or you will really lose dearly, dual wielder!"
Diarmuid frowned at this bit of knowledge the stranger possessed about him, and who pressed his knife crudely against the lancer's wrist to assert his threat. It seemed he really was popular in this province, even among its thugs. Why not, and most of his victims at the arena were convicted criminals? The Celtic asked, thinking of a move to counter this unpleasant situation he was cornered in, he could not believe he was easily trapped like a helpless rat because his thoughts were occupied by the distance created by his friend or his unjustified imagination.
"What do you want?"
"To think carefully, and be wise about the choices you make."
Already troubled with far more important issues including Oscar and the peril of the governor, Diarmuid sighed irate at hearing inconsistent riddles out of a masked clown's mouth. The foe surrounding the Celtic from behind maintained a solid and effective position, he was easily able to cut the lancer's throat at any whim. That hand that griped his right wrist was firm and strong. Still, the radiant lance did not gain its name for nothing. The man securing the Celtic's back was suddenly pushed back, with a force he did not expect from the lithe body, and the other man's hand, the one who was at his right, was clutched in a deadly grip forcing him to let go of the lancer's wrist. Performing a somersault, Diarmuid jumped leaving the man who was at his back a second ago, standing with an open back in front of him, as he retrieved his short lance, swinging and detouring it around like a spineless snake, tip in the place of base in less than an instant, his right wrist easily and skillfully maneuvering though sacrificing getting a light scratch on his balm and wrist by escaping the steel tip.
Astonished at the golden blade flexibility, the caped man turned quickly, falling back few steps, while mucking his own luck:
"And here I thought I was lucky you didn't carry your long spear today!"
"Enough babbling. Are you one of the thugs terrifying this city?"
"We are waiting for you, Diarmuid, the Celtic dual lancer."
The caped man declared passionately, like a triumphed king before he vanished into the air along his friend leaving the lancer's eyes widened in disbelieve at the trick he
had just witnessed and could not explain before noticing the man was already racing along the houses roofs, from where he probably first landed, just like his two companions. Everything about these three men was bleak and surrounded by mystery but their moves at the very least were flashy and lithely like a group of acrobats?
But why him? Did the man Ilianus had gone after also invite him to join their terror as well? Not likely, since they had to create a diversion to gain the Celtic's attention alone.
"Just, what's the meaning of this?"
In the last month, nothing appeared to make sense or have a meaning but Diarmuid knew well, associating with this gang was no safe or honorable game.