Date: Mon, 2 Aug 2010 23:25:03 -0700 (PDT)
From: Daniel Miller <ateanis@yahoo.com>
Subject: the barbarian and the boy ch. 12

This is a fictional story. The characters and events described herein are
fictitious.  The story and its contents are the sole property of the
author.  It has been posted on the Nifty Story Archives page with the
permission of the author.  If you are offended by sexual acts between two
consenting males, or by a relationship between an older man and a
significantly younger one please do not read any further.  For the rest of
you who don't need this read on and enjoy.  Let me know what you think.

Copyright 2006

Chapter XII

	Blood roared in Baraethius' ears as he awaited his bout in the
tunnels beneath the Coliseum.  The scent of blood, freshly spilt, was sharp
in his nose and the noise of the crowd rose and fell in waves in reaction
to the battles taking place even now.  The air coming through the
portcullis was hot, which did nothing to alleviate the stench of the dying.
One of the gladiators had died from a gut wound, the man's intestines
shredded.  The reek had yet to dissipate.

	Baraethius took shallow breaths to avoid smelling it, but it was a
mostly vain effort.  He sat with his eyes closed and head leaned back
against the cool stone trying, unsuccessfully, to think of anything but the
upcoming match.  Try as he might, though, the rising tide of terror
threatening to choke
 him would not abate.

	"Oi," one of the guards whispered, ineffectually, "aint tha' `im?"

	"Him who, ya idiot?" the other man replied, annoyed. "So many of
these wretches pass though `ere
 tha' I don' bother ta memorize every face."

	"You know," the first man insisted, reacting defensively to the
other guard, "the traitor.  Bara...  something `r other.  Used ta be a
lieutenant in the Legion."

	"Ya know," the other guard responded, his interest caught, "I
re'kon it is.  Man's name's Baraethius.  Looks like we's gots ourselves a
celebr'ty.  Then again," the man jeered, "traitors die in 'ere weekly, so
he's not all that special."  The two men guffawed, spitting on the ground
at Baraethius' feet.  Baraethius gave them no reaction, no reason to beat
him before his match.

	Baraethius was not an overly religious man.  Like most soldiers he
had at least paid passing homage to Lord Mars.  But Baraethius had betrayed
the god of war, turning his back on his country and giving succor to the
enemy.  Mars would shun any pleas on Baraethius' behalf at best.  Who then
could he offer up a plea to?

	"Minerva," his voice barely more than a breath and his mind taken
by a sudden whim, "goddess of battle, but moreover, goddess of wisdom, of
strategy, defender and constant rival of Mars.  Grant me the wisdom to see
the weaknesses in my enemies' defenses, and the strength to survive this
ordeal.  I have been a fool, yet am but a mortal man and folly is oft our
lot.  Guide me, defend me, let me be able to do as I must to survive."

	Baraethius wasn't sure if his prayer was heard or not.  Yet
unbidden, almost as if in answer, came the image of the boy, the one he had
saved from Captain Remeaus.  The look of abject terror on the young man's
face when Baraethius had walked in the tent, and the look of confusion as
Baraethius had begun to undo the bindings.  Confusion had turned to an
unreasoning hope as Baraethius had taken the young man away.

	Baraethius was filled with the knowledge, the conviction, that,
given the choice, he would make the same decision all over again.  His
breathing became steady and his terror subsided.

	"'eh," one of the guards shouted at him, "yer on traitor, time to
die."

	Baraethius stood and met the guard's jeering gaze with stillness in
his eyes.  There was no fear,
 defiance, no eagerness or aversion, just peace.  Baraethius' eyes were
like the surface of a lake on a calm day, the stillness at the surface
belying the depths and currents that lay beneath.

	"Come on, then," the guard said, "say yer prayers to now, to
whichever of the gods ya think'll listen to a traitor."

	"My prayers," Baraethius said, not meeting the guards eyes and
stepping past him to the portcullis, "have already been answered."

	Baraethius didn't know if the guard answered him or not, the
portcullis lifted up and he stepped through without further comment or a
backward glance.

	The ground in the Arena was hard packed and dusty.  The wall was a
large oval, the first seats 15 feet up off the ground and more running up.
It seemed that the seats threatened to block out Helios' chariot they were
so high.  Hundreds, possibly thousands, of people looked down on him. And
to the side in the royal box, was the Emperor himself.  Baraethius had
expected the man to be there, after all Baraethius was, himself, one of the
Emperor's trophies.  What he wasn't expecting to see was the dark figure
standing just behind the Emperor's seat.  Leo stood there, face impassive,
hands manacled.  Baraethius thought he got just the barest of nods from the
man, but he couldn't be sure.  And at that moment he had to focus his
attention elsewhere.  The other gladiators stepped out of their own gates,
all five of them.

	Baraethius' first match was not a large one.  He did not have the
reputation yet to warrant a title match or, at least, his notoriety was not
from fighting.  Baraethius bore only a simple gladius, bracers on both his
forearms, and a leather belt with studded strips hanging about his waist.
Beyond that he wore only greaves on his lower legs.  Two of the other men
were similarly equipped, one man bore a trident and net along with a
helmet, loincloth and a small chest plate that really only covered his
heart and was held in place by leather straps.  One man bore a spear and
shield and the last, of all things, bore only a pair of dirks.  Either that
man was doomed to be one of the first to die or he was deadlier than all
the other men combined.  The choice of dirks left him at a distinct
disadvantage as far as reach went.

	At the signal to start the two other swordsmen and the spear barer
headed directly for Baraethius, circling around him.  For a brief moment
Baraethius speculated that someone must have paid good money to ensure that
he died today.  Two gladiators might form a temporary alliance based on
opportunity, but three?  Unthinkable.

	Baraethius didn't allow them the chance to coordinate their attack,
he would be dead if and when that happened.  His only chance was to disrupt
their formation and not give them the opportunity to fight as a unit.
Baraethius charged the swordsman on his left with a yell.  A brief moment
of surprise registered on the man's face, but only for an instant.
Baraethius came in, feinting to the man's left, appearing to go for what
was presumably the man's weaker side.  The man fell for it.  At the last
possible moment, when the man had already committed to an upward swing on
the left side of his body, Baraethius ducked to the right.  He dropped
below the man's right arm, pivoted with the grace of a dancer and made an
upward slash from the man's hip up to his armpit.  Turning, continuing the
movement without hesitation, Baraethius made a lunge into the other man's
right side.  The sword slid in about half way, the man crying out.
Baraethius pulled his sword out with a twist of his wrist, causing further
damage and ensuring the wound would not close.  This man would be out of
the fight, but to ensure that he would not be able to hinder Baraethius in
any way he made an almost casual slice to the man's left Achilles tendon.
The gladiator folded to the ground, Baraethius stepped out of reach of the
man and turned, warily, to meet the other two men.

	They approached him with equal caution, Baraethius having just
demonstrated not only his proficiency for violence, but an understanding of
strategy as well.  They started treating him like he was dangerous.  The
two split on either side of him, forcing him to keep track of them both.
The man with the sword came at Baraethius from the right.  The man's swing
wasn't clumsy, but it was not disciplined either.  Under other
circumstances Baraethius would have been able to take advantage of it.
However, the man with the spear lunged at Baraethius' back as he was
parrying the other gladiator's swing.  Baraethius dove to the side,
somersaulting and coming back up to his feet quickly, only narrowly having
avoided being spitted by the man's spear.

	The two fought well together, each able to cover the other's weak
spots. Baraethius spared a glance for trident and dirks.  To his surprise
the man with the dirks was still alive.  The man bore a number of cuts and
punctures from the other man's trident, but to the man's credit the man
with the trident and net was equally as scoured from the daggers.  That was
the only moment that Baraethius could spare, then his two opponents were on
him again.

	The spearman came at Baraethius' front, the sword from behind, a
change in tactics.  Baraethius made the first move, making an obvious
downward stroke at the man, who raised his shield to defend.  At that
moment, the other man was coming in with a slash across Baraethius' back
from left to right.  Baraethius had been expecting and planning for this,
the strike against the spearman's shield being only a distraction.

	Baraethius kicked hard, up and behind himself.  His foot connected
with the swordsman's jaw and he felt it crack from the force of his kick.
The man stumbled back, momentarily stunned.

	Baraethius brought his attention back to the spearman, who was
making an over head strike, intent on plunging the spear into Baraethius'
back.  Baraethius brought his sword up just past the head of the spear,
bringing his blade around in a circular motion he deflected the man's
strike and was inside the gladiator's reach.  Normally Baraethius would
have gone for the killing blow at this point, but the idea was to make the
fight last.  So, instead, he brought his sword up in a quick but shallow
slash along the gladiator's arm.  This opened a gash in the man's arm from
about mid forearm that ran almost to the man's shoulder.  The long gash
started to bleed liberally and almost immediately.

	Baraethius turned and assumed his defensive stance, the spearman
switching his shield and spear between his hands and the swordsman coming
back to the fight.  Baraethius was trying to draw things out, to make the
battle more interesting for the crowd, which was a background roar in his
ears, but he was also fighting against very well ingrained instincts from
the Legion, where you did your killing quickly.

	Baraethius was about to charge back in when the spear man went
rigid.  The man dropped to the ground, standing behind him was the man with
the two dirks.  He was bleeding from multiple cuts, one just above his eyes
was making it difficult for the man to see.  But, amazingly enough, he was
the one alive, the blood on his knives a testament to his survival.  The
three men faced off with each other.  Baraethius gave the barest of nods to
the man with the dirks, acknowledging the fact that the man must be an
excellent fighter.  At this point the swordsman was uncertain.  What should
have been a sure kill with three against one was now an even match with no
allies to be found.

	The three gladiators circled around each other for a few moments,
every man sizing up the other two.  Baraethius met eyes with the knife
fighter and the man gave just the barest of nods, almost unnoticeable.  It
seemed that the man was willing to make a temporary alliance against the
other swordsman, and while Baraethius probably could have taken the man on
his own it would be difficult if he had to worry about the other man as
well.  Of course, once the other gladiator was dead all bets were off.
Baraethius also cautioned himself mentally, alliances in the Arena were
fickle things at best, changed as quickly as opportunity presented itself.

	The other gladiator must have figured out what was happening
because he suddenly and recklessly charged the man with the dirks, much as
Baraethius had earlier in the match.  The knife man backed away as the
swordsman came in slashing.  The knife man managed to catch the swing on
his left dirk and made a quick and precise cut with his right, drawing
blood from the man's forearm holding the sword.

	It was a good wound for the knife fighter, it would hamper the
other man's ability to hold his sword.  But the swordsman came around with
his free hand aimed at dirk's head. The knife fighter was able to duck his
head and take the blow one his shoulder instead but the swordsman was
taking another swing, one that the knife fighter would not be able to block
in time.

	It was fortunate, then, that Baraethius had managed to close the
distance between them in that time.  The knife fighter ducked out of the
way, happy to let Baraethius take over.  Baraethius came in with a strong
over hand swing which the other gladiator parried.  The swing, however, had
been a distraction.  Baraethius managed to plant his foot in the man's
stomach, knocking the wind from him.  The man dropped to his knees and
Baraethius made a precise stroke of his sword.  The man cried out as the
left side of his face started bleeding profusely, his left ear now on the
dirty, bloody ground.

	Baraethius backed away, letting the man stand.  The fight was
almost over, if he had been fighting according to his instincts it would
already have been.  But he would try dragging it out a little more.  Dirks
came up to stand on Baraethius' left, just out of the reach of his sword,
Baraethius took note.

	Once the man was standing, albeit shakily, Baraethius and the other
man came in at the same time.  Baraethius should have been ready for this.
He had told himself when this alliance had begun that he should keep aware.
But fighting with the other gladiator had felt too much like fighting in
the Legion, where he could trust the other soldiers around himself, depend
on them.  And those instincts were stronger than the instincts of the
Coliseum.

	Dirks came inside of Baraethius' reach and made a vicious jab at
his side just underneath where the rib cage ended.  Baraethius caught it
out of the corner of his eye and almost too late.  Baraethius brought his
left hand back in a circular motion, catching the gladiator's wrist in his
left hand and continued the motion, bringing the man's hand up above his
head.  Without pausing Baraethius slammed the pommel of his sword between
the man's eyes and, letting go of the man's other hand, brought the heel of
his left hand in an uppercut to the man's jaw.

	There was a sickening snap and the gladiator feel on his back,
hard.  The other gladiator came in with a wild swing from Baraethius'
right. Baraethius brought his sword down on top of the other man's, again
in a fluid circular motion, and stepped back as he directed the other man's
sword harmlessly in front of him with his own swing.  Without giving the
man a chance to bring his blade back around Baraethius spun left and,
reversing his grip on his sword, plunged the blade behind him at an upward
angle.  The sword slid into the other man's side entering up underneath the
ribcage.  The gladiator started gurgling, trying to scream in pain no
doubt. But the blade apparently had pierced his lung, he had but minutes to
live.

	Baraethius removed his gladius violently and walked calmly over to
the man with the dirks, who was still getting up from having been knocked
on the ground.  Baraethius kicked the man in the face, knocking him back
again, the man losing his grip on his weapons.  The gladiator struggled to
get back up.  Baraethius put the tip of his sword beneath the man's chin
and he stopped all motion.

	Time seemed to stretch out and Baraethius noticed his surroundings
in stark detail.  There was a wound in his side, apparently he had been
able to deflect most of the man's strike with the dirk, but he had still
been bloodied.  He didn't think it was deep enough to be serious, but it
was bleeding freely and he would more than likely have a scar from it.  The
air was hot, stagnant, the scent of blood and offal over powering.  The
roar of the crowd, which he had been tuning out up till that point was
suddenly deafening.  He looked up at the crowd, watching for their will.

	Around the Coliseum the people were yelling and held up their hands
with their thumbs down.  The crowd demanded the death of the gladiator on
the ground.

	"Do it already," the man on the ground slurred through a broken
jaw.  "Kill me!"

	Baraethius walked around and, straddling the man's back, grabbed
him by the hair and pulled him up to his knees.  Facing the Imperial box
where the Emperor sat Baraethius pulled back sharply, baring the man's
throat.

	"Go with the gods," Baraethius said, loud enough for the man
kneeling before him to hear.  Then he pulled his sword across the man's
throat.  Blood gushed at first, then slowed to a dribble, then merely
trickled down the front of the man.  Baraethius held the man upright while
it happened, feeling as though he was outside of himself, watching.  He let
the now lifeless body drop to the ground and walked to the tunnel from
which he had emerged.  He dropped the gladius on the ground as he walked
in, the blood in his ears roaring as loud as the crowd outside.  The guards
were walking up to him to escort him back to a holding cell where he would
be treated for the wound and await transport back to the barracks.

	Before the guards could actually grab hold of him Baraethius turned
towards the wall, fell to his knees and vomited profusely.  His body
wracked itself as his stomach emptied what felt like the last week's worth
of food.  The bitter taste of bile dominated his senses and his nose and
throat burned.  The guards made some derisive comments but Baraethius
wasn't really able to make them out, being somewhat preoccupied.

	Finally, his stomach subsided.  On shaky legs he stood and let the
guards pull him away to the holding cell.

	The next few hours passed without Baraethius' really being aware of
them.  Pain brought him out of his catatonia, briefly, when they cleaned
and cauterized the wound in his side and applied a bandage.  Baraethius let
himself be numbly led about till he was finally sitting in the apartments
in the barracks.

	A few minutes later Leo arrived and made as though to celebrate
with Baraethius. But upon seeing the numb look on Baraethius' face Leo's
mood became somber.  He called to the guard for the evening meal to be
brought, though it was still early and pulled out a chair for Baraethius,
inviting him to sit at the table.  Baraethius did so without comment or
argument.

	Leo sat studying him while they awaited their food.

	"You did very well today my friend," Leo said after sometime.

	"Was it bloody enough for them?" Baraethius asked looking away,
feeling disgusted with himself.

	"Yes, I would say `dat it was," Leo commented, not responding to
the venom in Baraethius' voice.  "'de Emperor was well pleased wit' your
performance.  And I noticed your use of some of the drills we have been
going over.  A fine fight for your first."

	"I'm so pleased the crowd was pleased with the butchery,"
Baraethius couldn't help having a derisive tone in his voice.  He was
disgusted with himself, with the blood sport, and at the moment with his
whole country.  Had he ever really found enjoyment from the gladiatorial
games?  He was beginning to question his decision to ever enlist in the
Legion as well.  Leo considered Baraethius and the man's mood for a moment
before speaking.

	"Perhaps now, you understand what I have gone t'rough my friend,"
Leo said, his tone not mocking, but somewhat stern.  "'de disgust, `de
loat'ing, `de anger `dat you are feeling at `dis moment, I have been `dere
myself, when I was but a young man, 18 or 19 summers old.  It will take
time, but you must make your peace wit' `dis, or you will not survive long.
`dis is your life now, for at least `de next few years it is how you
survive.  Find it in your will to get past `dis, I have no wish to see you
fall and there are ot'ers `dat wish for you to live."

	"I'm sorry Leo," Baraethius apologized, "I don't mean to vent my
anger at you, you do not deserve it."

	"Deserve it, no.  But I do understand it, and so make no complaints
about it, my friend," Leo gave Baraethius a warm smile.

	"How can you do that?" Baraethius asked, the man across from him
seeming to be a contradiction in every regard.  How did Leo smile?  How
could the man laugh, or find any joy or satisfaction out of a life that
would be filled with death and slaughter, far from home and enslaved to a
people that found amusement at his fighting for survival.  So much of what
Baraethius once believed was being called into question.  It was not just
the violence, he had been a soldier after all, and he had killed many men
to achieve the rank of Lieutenant.  It was the casual indulgence of human
slaughter for the mere point of amusement, and the fact that every
gladiator seemed to be obliged to pay lip-service to the crowd, giving the
spectators the illusion of holding lives in their hands with the whole
thumbs up or down.  The whole idea of it now seemed ludicrous to him now.

	"It has been a hard journey to the place where I know sit," Leo
said somberly.  "But you must learn to laugh, if only to spite `dem, or
this place will break your spirit.  I have watched it happen.  You will get
`dere in time.  Your spirit is stronger `dan you give it credit for."

	"I didn't realize that you were going to be there to watch, in the
royal box no less."

	"'de Emperor, he likes to have his trophies on display where ot'ers
can admire `dem.  Continue to do well in `de Arena and soon you will be a
trophy to him wort'y of display."

	Baraethius actually paled at the thought of being manacled and
presented to the Emperor as the man's possession.

	"'dere was actually much talk of you in `de Emperor's entourage
before and after your match.  It seems `dat you are the focal point in a
larger debate."

	"Well," Baraethius responded, "that seems to explain the three
opponents."

	"You are referring to the t'ree gladiators `dat attempted to
overpower you wit' numbers, yes?"

	"Yes," Baraethius responded, feeling suddenly tired.  "I find it
unlikely that it happened at random.  Someone with money, influence or both
wants to have me dead."

	"I am glad `dat you were able to discern `dis," Leo said sincerely.
"Because you are `de property of `de Emperor it will make you `de target of
some portions of `de politics and machinations that surround him."

	"Great," said Baraethius in a dry tone, "that's all I need, more
attention."  He paused for a moment, lost in his thoughts.  "I wonder if
Remeaus saw the match today.  He is actually favored of the Emperor, it
would make sense if he had been there."

	"Remeaus was not `dere today," Leo commented somberly.  "He was
also a topic of conversation.  `de Emperor has demanded `de capture of `dis
beast `dat Remeaus and you had been pursuing.  `de Emperor has charged
Remeaus to either find and capture `dis man or suffer his displeasure."

	"Madness!"  Baraethius breathed, his eyes suddenly wide.  "To try
and track a single man after the trail would long have gone cold would be
nearly impossible!  It's sheer lunacy!"

	"I do not know if you are aware of `dis," Leo said in an idle
voice, "but `de Emperor, he is not a lways in possession of his faculties."
Leo gave a bemused chuckle and shook his head, "I have seen children with
more patience and discernment `den his royal majesty at times.  Still,
despite his stubbornness, impatience and sometimes utter folly, the man
has, on occasion, displayed a degree of cunning and ruthlessness.  His
actions, `dey are often times inscrutable, but no one seems to be able to
determine whether his orders be madness or brilliance.  `de benefit of
being insane I suppose."

	"The boy," Baraethius breathed, stricken by the news.  Remeaus'
reputation was well earned.  And while the task set before the man may seem
impossible, Baraethius knew that if anyone could manage to achieve it it
would be Remeaus.  Baraethius felt true dismay at hearing this, for the
young man that had been traveling with the beast would more than likely not
have left the man's company.  If he fell into Remeaus' hand Baraethius'
noble act would have been in vain, and his current situation would be all
the more deplorable.

	"You cannot let it worry you over much," Leo said, reaching his
hand across the small table and placing it on top of Baraethius', "it is
now beyond your control.  Remember my council to you last night, on `de eve
of your first fight.  Think not on tomorrow till tomorrow comes."

	Leo went about putting the food away, it was obvious that
Baraethius' appetite was not active at the moment.  Baraethius went into
bed and climbed in, suddenly exhausted.  The lights went out in the other
rooms and Leo extinguished them one by one.  Then the big man climbed in
behind Baraethius, no longer leaving the small space between them, but
pulling himself close to the man in front of him.  The heat from the line
of Leo's body was a welcome comfort to Baraethius at the moment.

	`Minerva, please,' Baraethius prayed in his head, `let them have
run far enough.  Let Beast and boy be safe.  Let them be happy.  And if
they be living in peace then let them not be disturbed.'

	It felt strange offering up prayers for a pair of heathen
barbarians, but no more strange than a traitor praying for victory and
salvation from his punishment.