Gaius dropped the grin at the reference to the slave girl that Renius had whipped in front of them for distracting the boys. It still shamed him and a slow anger began to grow as the tirade continued.
"Gaius, you may choose which of you will duel first. Your first tactical decision!" Renius turned and strode away onto the fighting square laid out in mosaic on the training ground. He stretched his leg muscles behind them, seemingly oblivious to their dumbstruck gazes.
"He has gone mad," Marcus whispered. "He'll kill us both."
"He is still playing games," Gaius said grimly. "Like with the river. I'm going to take him. I think I can do it. I'm certainly not going to refuse the challenge. If this is how I show him that he has taught me well, then so be it. I will thank him in his own blood."
Marcus looked at his friend and saw his resolution. He knew that, as much as he didn't want either of them to fight Renius, it was he who had the better chance. Neither could win outright, but only Marcus had the speed to take the old man with him into the void.
"Gaius," he murmured. "Let me go first."
Gaius looked him in the eye, as if to gauge his thoughts. "Not this time. You are my friend. I do not want to see him kill you."
"Nor I you. Yet I am the faster of us—I have a better chance."
Gaius loosened his shoulders and smiled tightly. "He is only an old man, Marcus. I'll be back in a moment."
Alone, Gaius took up his position. Renius watched him through eyes narrowed against the sun.
"Why did you choose to fight first?"
Gaius shrugged. "All lives end. I chose to. That is enough."
"Aye, it is. Begin, boy. Let's see if you have learned anything."
Gently, smoothly, they began to move around each other, gladii held out and flat-bladed, catching the sun.
Renius feinted with a sudden shift of a shoulder. Gaius read the feint and forced the old man back a step with a lunge. The blades clashed and the battle began. They struck and parried, came together in a twist of heaving muscle, and the old warrior threw the young boy backward and left him sprawling in the dust.
For once, Renius didn't mock him, his face remaining impassive. Gaius rose slowly, balanced. He could not win with strength.
He took two quick steps forward and brought the blade up in a neat slice, breaking past the defense and cutting deeply into the mahogany skin of Renius's chest. The old man grunted in surprise as the boy pressed the attack without pause, cut after cut. Each was parried with tiny shifts of weight and movements of the blade. The boy would clearly tire himself in the sun and be ready for the butcher's knife.
Sweat poured into Gaius's eyes. He felt desperate, unable to think of new moves that might work against this hard-eyed thing of wood that read and parried him so easily. He flailed and missed, and, as he overbalanced, Renius extended his right arm, sinking the blade into the exposed lower abdomen.
Gaius felt his strength go. His legs seemed weak sticks and folded beyond his control under him, rubbery and painless. Blood spattered the dust, but the colors had gone from the courtyard, replaced by the thump of his heartbeat and flashes in his eyes.
Renius looked down and Gaius could see his eyes shine with moisture. Was the old man crying?
"Not... good... enough," the old gladiator spat. Renius stepped forward, his eyes full of pain.
The brightness of the sun was blocked by a dark bar of shadow as Marcus slid his sword under the sagging throat skin of the old warrior. One step behind Renius, he could see the old man stiffen in surprise.
"Forgotten me?" It would be the work of a single thought to pull the blade back sharply and end the vicious old man, but Marcus had glanced at the body of his friend and knew the life was pouring out of him. He allowed the rage to build inside him for a moment, and the chance for a quick death disappeared as Renius stepped smoothly away and brought up his bloody sword again. His face was stone, but his eyes shone.
Marcus began his attack, in past the guard and out before the old man had a chance to move. If he had been trying for a fatal blow, it would have landed, as the old man held immobile, his face rigid with tension. As it was, the blow was simply a loosener and the life in the old man came back with a rush.
"Can't you even kill me when I hold still for the strike?" Renius snapped as he began to circle again, keeping his right side to Marcus.
"You were always a fool—you have a fools pride," Marcus almost growled at him, forced to pay attention to this man as his friend died in the heat, alone.
He attacked again, his thought become deeds, no reflection or decision, simply blows and moves, unstoppable. Red mouths opened on the old body, and Marcus could hear the spatter of blood on the dust like spring rain.
Renius had no time to speak again. He defended desperately, his face showing shock for a second before settling into his gladiatorial mask. Marcus moved with extraordinary grace and balance, too fast to counter, a warrior born.
Again and again, the old man only knew he had stopped a blow when he heard the clash of metal as his body moved and reacted without conscious thought. His mind seemed detached from the fight.
His thoughts spoke in a dry voice: I am an old fool. This one may be the best I have trained, but I have killed the other—that was a mortal blow.
His left arm hung, flapping obscene and loose, the shoulder muscle sliced. The pain was like a hammer and he felt sudden exhaustion slam into him, like the years catching up with him at last. The boy had never been this fast before; it was as if the sight of his friend dying had opened doors within him.
Renius felt his strength desert him in one despairing sigh. He had seen so many at this point where the spirit cannot take the flesh further. He warded off the battered blade of the gladius without energy, batting it away for what he knew would be the last time.
"Cease, or I will drop you where you stand," came a new voice, quiet, but carrying somehow through the courtyard and house.
Marcus didn't pause. He had been trained not to react to taunts, and no one was taking this kill from him. He tensed his shoulders to drive in the iron blade.
"This bow will kill you, boy. Put the sword down."
Renius looked Marcus in the eyes, seeing madness there for a moment. He knew the lad would kill him, and then the light was gone and control had come back.
Even with the heat of his own blood warming his limbs, the yard seemed cold to the old man as he watched Marcus glide backward out of range and then turn to look at the newcomer. Renius had rarely been so certain of his own death to come.
There was a bow, with a glinting arrowhead. An old man, older than Renius, held the bow without a shiver of muscle, despite the obvious heft of the draw. He wore a rough brown robe and a smile that stretched over only a few teeth.
"No one has to die here today. I would know. Put the weapon away and let me summon doctors and cool drinks for you."
Reality came back to Marcus in a rush. The gladius dropped from his hand as he spoke. "Gaius, my friend, is injured. He may die. He needs help."
Renius sank onto one knee, unable to stand. His sword fell from nerveless fingers and the red stain widened around him as his head bowed. Marcus walked past him without a downward glance, over to where Gaius lay.
"His appendix has been ruptured, I see," the old man said over his shoulder.
"Then he is dead. When the appendix swells, it is always fatal. Our doctors cannot remove the swollen thing."
"I have done it, once before. Summon the slaves of the house to bear this boy inside. Fetch me bandages and heated water."
"Are you a healer?" Marcus asked, searching the man's eyes for hope.
"I have picked up a few things on my travels. It is not over yet." Their eyes met.
Marcus looked away, nodding to himself. He trusted the stranger, but could not have said why.
Renius slid onto his back, his chest barely moving. He looked like what he was, a frail old brown stick of a man, made hard but brittle in the Roman sun. As Mar
cus's gaze fell on him, he tried to rise, shuddering with weakness.
Marcus felt a hand press down on his shoulder, interrupting his rage as it grew again. Tubruk stood beside him, his face black with anger. Marcus could feel the ex-gladiator's hand shake slightly.
"Relax, boy. There'll be no more fighting. I have sent for Lucius and Gaius's mothers doctor."
"You saw?" Marcus stammered.
Tubruk tightened his grip.
"The end of it. I hoped you would kill him," he said grimly, looking over to where Renius bled. Tubruks expression was hard as he turned back to the newcomer.
"Who are you, ancient? A poacher? This is a private estate."
The old man stood slowly and met Tubruks eyes. "Just a traveler, a wanderer," he said.
"Will he die?" Marcus interrupted.
"Not today, I think," the old man replied. "It would not be right after I have arrived—am I not a guest of the house now?"
Marcus blinked in confusion, trying to weigh the reasonable sound of the words with the still-swirling pain and rage inside him.
"I don't even know your name," he said.
"I am Cabera," the old man said softly. "Peace now. I will help you."
CHAPTER 7
Gaius lifted into consciousness, woken by angry voices in the room. His head pounded and he felt weak in every bone. Pain from below his waist heaved in great waves, with answering throbs at pulse points on his body. His mouth was dry and he could not speak or keep his eyes open. The darkness was soft and red and he tried to go back under, not yet willing to join the conscious struggle again.
"I have removed the perforated appendix and tied off the severed vessels. He has lost a great deal of blood, which will take time to be replenished, but he is young and strong." A stranger's voice—one of the estate doctors? Gaius didn't know or care. As long as he wasn't going to die, they should just leave him alone to get well.
"My wife's doctor says you are a charlatan." His father's voice, no give in it.
"He would not operate on such a wound—so you have lost nothing, yes? I have removed the appendix once before; it is not a fatal operation. The only problem is the onset of fever, which he must fight on his own."
"I was taught that it was always fatal. The appendix swells and bursts. It cannot be removed as you might cut off a finger." His father sounded tired, Gaius thought.
"Nevertheless, I have done so. I have also bandaged the older man. He too will recover, although he will never fight again, with the damage to his left shoulder. All will live here. You should sleep."
Gaius heard footsteps cross his room and felt the warm, dry skin of his father's palm on his damp forehead.
"He is my only child; how can I sleep, Cabera? Would you sleep if it was your child?"
"I would sleep like a baby. We have done all that we can. I will continue to watch over him, but you must get your rest." The other voice seemed kind, but it did not have the rounded tones of the physicians that tended his mother. There was a trace of a strange accent, a mellifluous rhythm as he spoke.
Gaius sank into sleep again as if he held a dark weight on his chest. The voices continued on the edge of hearing, slipping in and out of fever dreams.
"Why have you not closed the wound with stitches? I've seen a lot of battle wounds, but we close them and bind them."
"This is why the Greeks dislike my methods. The wound must have a drain for the pus that will fill it as the fever strengthens. If I closed it tight, the pus would have nowhere to go and poison his flesh. Then he would surely die, as most do. This could save him."
"If he dies, I will cut your own appendix out myself."
There was a cackle and a few words in a strange language that echoed in Gaius's dreams.
"You would have a job finding it. Here is the scar from when my father removed mine many years ago— with the drain."
Gaius's father spoke with finality: "I will trust your judgment then. You have my thanks and more if he lives."
Gaius woke as a cool hand touched his forehead. He looked into blue eyes, bright in skin the color of walnut wood.
"My name is Cabera, Gaius. It is good to meet you at last and at such a moment in your life. I have been traveling for thousands of your miles. It is enough to make me believe in the gods to have arrived here when I was needed. No?"
Gaius couldn't respond. His tongue was thick and solid in his mouth. As if reading his thoughts, the old man reached over and brought a shallow bowl of water to his lips.
"Drink a little. The fever is burning the moisture from your body."
The few drops slid into his mouth and loosened the gummy saliva that had gathered there. Gaius coughed and his eyes closed again. Cabera looked down at the boy and sighed for a moment. He checked that there was no one around and then placed his bony old hands over the wound, around the thin wood tube that still dribbled sluggish fluid.
A warmth came from his hands that Gaius could feel even in his dreams. He felt tendrils of heat spread up into his chest and settle into his lungs, clearing away fluid.
The heat built until it was almost painful, and then Cabera took his hands away and sat still, his breathing suddenly harsh and broken.
Gaius opened his eyes again. He still felt too weak to move, but the feeling of liquid moving inside him had gone. He could breathe again.
"What did you do?" he murmured.
"Helped a little, yes? You needed a little help, even after all my skills as a surgeon." The old face was deeply lined with exhaustion, but his eyes still shone out from the dark creases. The hand was pressed against his forehead again.
"Who are you?" Gaius whispered.
The old man shrugged. "I am still working on an answer to that. I have been a beggar and the chief of a village. I think of myself as a seeker after truths, with a new truth for each place I reach."
"Can you help my mother?" Gaius kept his eyes closed, but he could hear the soft sigh that came from the man.
"No, Gaius. Her problem is in her mind, or the soul, perhaps. I can help a little with physical hurt, but nothing more. It is much simpler. I am sorry. Sleep now, lad. Sleep is the real healer, not I."
Darkness came, as if ordered.
When he woke again, Renius was sitting on the bed, his face unreadable as always. As Gaius opened his eyes, he took in the changed appearance of his teacher. His left shoulder was heavily bound close to the body and there was a pallor under the sun-darkened skin.
"How are you, lad? I can't tell you how good it is to see you getting better. That old tribesman must be a miracle worker." The voice at least was the same, curt and hard.
"I think he may be, yes. I'm surprised to see you here after almost killing me," Gaius murmured, feeling his heart pump faster as the memories came fresh. He felt sweat break out on his forehead.
"I did not mean to cut you badly. It was a mistake. I am sorry." The old man looked into his eyes for forgiveness and found it there waiting for him.
"Don't be sorry. I am alive and you are alive. Even you make mistakes."
"When I thought I'd killed you..." There was pain in the old face.
Gaius struggled to sit up and found, to his surprise, that his strength was growing. "You did not kill me. I will always be proud to say it was you who trained me. Let there be no more words on this. It is done."
For a second Gaius was struck by the ridiculousness of a thirteen-year-old boy comforting the old gladiator, but the words came easily as he realized he felt a genuine affection for this man, especially now he could see him as a man and not a perfect warrior, cut from some strange stone.
"Is my father still here?" he asked, hoping he would be.
Renius shook his head. "He had to return to the city, though he sat by your bed for the first few days, until we were sure you were on the mend. The riots grow worse and Sulla's legion has been recalled to establish order."
Gaius nodded and held out his clenched hand before him. "I would like to be there, to see the legion come thro
ugh the gates."
Renius smiled at the young man's enthusiasm. "Not this time, I think, but you will see more of the city when you are well again. Tubruk is outside. Are you strong enough to see him?"
"I feel much better, almost normal. How long has it been?"
"A week. Cabera gave you herbs to keep you asleep. Even so, you've healed incredibly quickly, and I've seen a lot of wounds. That old man calls himself a seer. I think he does have a little magic about him, that one. I'll call Tubruk."
As Renius rose, Gaius put out his hand. "Will you be staying on?"
Renius smiled, but shook his head. "The training is over. I am retiring to my own little villa, to grow old in peace."
Gaius hesitated for a second. "Do you... have a family?"
"I had one, once, but they are long gone. I will spend my evenings with the other old men, telling lies and drinking good red wine. I will keep an eye on your life, though. Cabera says you are someone special, and I don't believe that old devil is wrong very often."
"Thank you," Gaius said, unable to put into words what the gladiator had given him.
Renius nodded and took his hand and wrist in a firm grip. Then he was gone and the room felt suddenly empty.
Tubruk filled the doorway and smiled a slow smile. "You look better. There is color in your cheeks."
Gaius grinned at him, beginning to feel like his old self again. "I feel stronger. I have been lucky."
"No such thing. Cabera's responsible. He is an amazing man. He must be eighty, but when your mother's latest doctor complained about how you were treated, Cabera took him outside and gave him a hiding. I haven't laughed so hard in a long time. He has a lot of strength in those skinny arms and a fast right cross as well. You should have seen it." He chuckled at the memory, then his face became sober.
"Your mother wanted to see you, but we thought it would... distress her too much until you were well. I'll bring her in tomorrow."
"Now would be all right. I am not too tired."
"No. You are still weak and Cabera says you shouldn't be overworked with visitors."
Gaius's face showed mock surprise at Tubruk taking advice from anyone.
The Gates of Rome Page 9