Chapter 4
"The blood runs hot today," Prince Kerraunus observed with satisfaction.
"The chariots always get the body's blood up," Samos declared.
The thunder of racing chariots filled the arena as the twenty men of Kerraunus' companion body rode in wide circles hurling javelins at targets set up along the arena walls. Their hoots and hollers, laughter and obscene oaths echoed overloud among the empty seats of the immense arena. A single thick shaft of sunlight poured through the hole in the center of the domed roof, laying a blazing circle on the dirt floor below. Swirling motes of dust floated through the shaft. On festival days, crazy, screaming Gyriecians packed the arena. Today, there were none but shadows.
"Listen to them, Samos," Kerraunus said. He closed his eyes. By Cretis, he could feel the chariots charging through masses of a disorganized and frightened enemy... Oh, how it must have been in the days of the fathers!
"There is no finer sight, Great One," Samos agreed. The only Gyriecians in the arena today was Samos. He might have had the pale skin of the occupiers, but he had become as pure as Kerraunus demanded. Kerraunus himself had the tawny skin of the Tygetian half-breed, but in his mind, there was nothing half about it. King Myletos had repudiated his Tygetian mother. Her Gyriecian name was Diyrce, but Kerraunus would never call her that. Someday he would repudiate Myletos. Cretis willed it.
Guards at the doors kept the masses of Archentethe away. The people would be clamoring to see the Snake Man's companion body, just as they did during festival days and tournaments. Kerraunus' bodyguard understood notions of Tygetian honor. On parade, they drove their war chariots with straight-backed grandeur, no less regal than Prince Kerraunus himself, as the people showered their path with rose petals. On the battlefield, spear-armed on horseback, they were merciless killers, unrelentingly cruel. In Archentethe, they were noble charioteers. They courted the adoration of ladies and the awe of men.
Kerraunus opened his eyes. The straw men along the arena walls bristled with javelins. Kerraunus unsheathed his drilling spear, an eight-foot-long shaft of ashwood two fingers thick. The points of all spears had been removed for training, but he had half a mind to replace them. Someday, he would see how the threat of blood might enliven the exercise.
"While the men's blood is up, Samos, perhaps we should order the spear melee," Kerraunus said with a smile.
"Ah, the melee. Yes. Will you be participating, Lord?"
Kerraunus grinned in reply. The melee was in his blood. He snapped his reins and began making a wide circuit of the arena floor, holding his training spear aloft. His snow-white horses were resplendent in their tasseled saddle pads and gilded crowns sprouting splayed hands of dyed feathers as they high-stepped in unison. The chariot itself was gold-plated with ivory fittings. Today, Kerraunus wore the blue war crown of the Snake Man and a cuirass of boiled leather. Bronze cobras coiled around his biceps.
Samos' voice boomed throughout the arena, ordering the men to the melee. A hush fell over the body, followed shortly by the clattering of spear shafts as the men unsheathed their weapons amid the nickering and shuffling of their horses. All eyes followed the prince as he made his circuit of the arena. Then one of the men held his weapon aloft and began a whooping chant deep in his throat, rhythmically pumping his spear. The melee was as close to real chariot fighting as any of them would ever come. The remainder of the body picked up the chant. Soon, a full-throated war cry filled the arena. The men understood the challenge of guiding a chariot through a melee of blunt-end spears. Even in leather armor, the prospect of slamming onto the hard dirt floor from a flying chariot was terrifying and the danger of trampling was no less real than under live-blood conditions. The soldiers of the Snake Man relished the opportunity.
Kerraunus felt the war cry pounding in his chest and he regarded his men proudly. Ramsut and Imher, Ramma... Young men of nobility, bent on wreathing themselves in glory. Among them also was a smattering of the lowborn, recruited solely for their ability, such as cold-eyed Nefer, who had used the plunder from their last campaign against the Sarians to buy his family out of servitude. Kerraunus alone recruited thusly and he did not shy from the fact that his lowborn men required trials the nobility did not.
Kerraunus and his twenty men took their places around the perimeter of the arena, facing inward like the spokes of a wheel. The prince was the most skilled charioteer among them. He loved the melee and he offered no mercy. Likewise, there were twenty men who would have loved nothing more than to see the prince crawling from the field with a mouthful of dust, even though, Kerraunus suspected, few did not fear being the man to put him down.
Samos, who would officiate and score the men, sounded the horn and the contest began at once. The arena erupted in a storm of thundering hooves and rumbling bronze-rimmed wheels as all the men's chariots roared to life. With a shout, Kerraunus whipped his reins and his chariot sprang into action, racing toward the others. He felt the wind whipping his face as he turned his head one way and then the other, picking out a target. There! Ramsut, son of the Royal Tax Collector. Famous among the body as a hyper-aggressive plunderer, he was no less an accomplished thief than his old man. Kerraunus grinned as he raced toward him. He saw that the Plunderer had adopted a suicidal tunnel vision, the commonest of rookie mistakes. Kerraunus jerked on the reins. The young noble was about to get an education.
Ramsut never saw the blow coming. So fixated was he on avoiding a near collision and dodging a thrusting shaft that he veered straight into Kerraunus' spear. The thick ashwood shaft struck him square in the chest. Kerraunus shuddered from the impact as Ramsut flew through the air, arms and legs splayed. He landed with a breathless thud flat on his back. The dust of the arena floor roiled up around him, as he lay dazed amid a swirl of crushing wheels. Kerraunus raced away and turned to see him dragging himself out of the path of the trampling horses.
Thus, Ramsut, the Plunderer, was the first to fall.
Keeping his head on a swivel, Kerraunus searched out his next target. He saw other men fall amid thrusting, stabbing spears. He saw Imher, the strongest of the body, flailing his ashwood like a club. It struck Ramma on the back of the head, sending his gold-trimmed headscarf flying. The blow failed to dismount him. He teetered over the edge of the chariot side rail, but then regained his balance, tugging the reins with one hand as his horses continued to gallop into the swirling chaos of the melee.
The rumbling wheels and hoof beats, the shouts, screams and catcalls of the men combined into a single all-pervasive roar. Inside the churning cloud of noise, Kerraunus felt the isolation of battle descend on him. He found his target and veered hard into the maelstrom. Straining against the reins with one hand, he held his spear aloft in the other, preparing to deliver an overhand blow...
He just glimpsed Nefer out of the corner of his eye, too late to stop the lowborn's shaft driving hard into his ribs. His breath left him and, for an instant, the world went black.
He lay on his back and his first gasp upon waking sent a jolt of pain coursing up his side. He winced. When he opened his eyes, he saw Samos staring down at him.
"Are you injured, Lord?"
Utter silence had fallen upon the arena. Not a wheel turned.
Kerraunus reached out his hand and Samos helped him to his feet. The chariots stood almost where he had last seen them, as if suddenly frozen in place. He saw his white, gold-trimmed headscarf lying at his feet. Samos stooped for it, but Kerraunus stopped him, bent over and retrieved it himself. He dusted it off thoroughly and replaced it on his shaved head, carefully fitting the bronze ring of the rearing cobra over his forehead. He turned his eyes to Nefer and saw the lad staring at him with knitted brow. The boy was the most cold-blooded killer Kerraunus had ever encountered, as adept at murder as Ramsut was at thievery, but he did not look like much of a killer now. Kerraunus smiled at him. Then he laughed.
"Well done, lowborn!" he exclaimed.
Nefer's expression softened in relief. The other men be
gan chattering to one another, some laughing. "Thank you, Excellency," Nefer said with a smile. "I hope I did not harm you."
"Not to worry," Kerraunus said. He took a step towards Nefer and twitched in pain. Samos rushed to his side and grasped his arm, but Kerraunus brushed him off. "It only hurts when I breathe." He picked up his spear from where he had dropped it. "I believe this body is ready for live-blood, Samos," he said straightening. Lowborn men require trials...
"Spear points, Lord? Surely not--"
"No, I have something better in mind. Nefer, give me your cuirass."
Nefer's calm vanished. "My--"
"Your armor. Take it off."
"But Lord--"
"Now!" Kerraunus roared.
Nefer quickly untied the shoulder straps and removed his leather corselet. Kerraunus nodded and Samos took it from him.
"Get down from your chariot," Kerraunus said. "You won't be needing it for this exercise." Nefer did as he was told. "Since you have defeated the greatest of our charioteers -- me -- we will see how you fare against the rest of the companion body. How many are left, Samos?"
Five men lay or sat along the arena walls. They were being treated by their attendants. One of them, Hathor, was bleeding profusely from nose and mouth. His man held a sopping rag to his face. Hathor kept slapping it away.
"Five are down, Lord. Fifteen remain."
"Nefer versus fourteen men of the body, then. That sounds fair to me. What say you, Nefer?"
Nefer looked around him in confusion. "One against so many? But I am on foot, Lord. Surely--"
"What is the meaning of this?" Samos asked.
Kerraunus turned to face the mass of mounted men. "Soldiers of the Snake Man, uncoil your whips!" he cried. The men sheathed their spears and took up the whips they kept coiled inside their chariots. Ramsut snapped his and the crack echoed throughout the arena. Ramsut loved the whips. "Not you, Nefer," Kerraunus said. "You keep your training spear, since you are so adept in its use."
Nefer gazed at him in disbelief.
Kerraunus turned and began speaking in a loud voice to the entire body. "Armed with his spear, Nefer fights on foot. You others have whips and chariots. Samos counts to one hundred…slowly. If Nefer still stands, the fourteen are flogged. If Nefer falls… Well, we will see what happens to you, lowborn. I suggest you stay on your feet." Kerraunus took two steps back and indicated the arena with an expansive sweep of his arm. "You have the run of the arena," he said.
Ramsut cracked his whip again. The rest of the men began muttering. Kerraunus saw fear and confusion in their faces. He saw eagerness and excitement too. And was that hatred he noticed there? Why, yes... Fear, hatred, bloodlust... It was the very stuff of the Snake Man's soldiers. He should have thought of this a long time ago.
"Samos, will you do the honors?"
Samos blew his horn and he and Kerraunus watched the exercise from a safe distance at the edge of the arena. Nefer began running at once as the chariots flew after him. The first whip lash turned him around and the second tore a bloody stripe across the front of his tunic. He kept himself from falling by leaning on the shaft of his spear. He looked small and naked without armor and armed with only a pointless spear. He dodged several blows, too, and even tried to unseat one of his antagonists, but he swung wildly, spinning and nearly losing his balance. Another lash striped his back and he cried out. He cried out again with the next, even though it did not strike him, but merely sent up a plume of dust at his feet.
"Are you counting?" Kerraunus asked. Samos nodded silently, not taking his eyes from the contest. Nefer could not last much longer. The charioteers were starting to aim for his legs. He ran in a zig-zag pattern, but the men would bring him down quickly now. Kerraunus laughed. The lad was dashing about like a drunkard, dancing to the tune of the intoxicating lash. How could you not laugh?
Nefer was up against the wall, trapped between converging chariots.
"The count, Samos..."
"76 ... 77 ... By the gods! What is this?"
When Kerraunus turned his eyes back to Nefer, he saw that there was a man standing on the floor with him. He had leapt out of the stands where he had apparently been lurking unseen. He wore the blue and yellow stripes of the Mejadym and carried a great yellowwood staff. The hulking bearded man stood before the now-cowering Nefer, grimacing in rage. Kerraunus saw with a start that is was Jorem.
The Mejadym captain took a lunging fencer's step and sent the first charioteer flying with a powerful jab to the chest. He immediately whirled, swinging his staff in a wide arc and unseated the second with a bone-crunching blow to the ribs. Then he crouched on the balls of his feet, holding his bright yellowwood before him. The two chariots he had emptied parted and made for opposite sides of the arena.
"Whip me, you cowards!" he shouted. The chariots began to slow. "I will stand before your cruelty!"
"Put an end to this," Kerraunus told Samos.
Samos blew his horn, signaling the end of the exercise. Nefer immediately made a dash toward the nearest charioteer and flung him to the ground. He came at him so fast, the man had no time to react. In the next instant, Nefer began beating his face savagely with the end of his blunt spear. With a sickening crack of breaking bones, the man's face exploded in a fountain of blood. Nefer kept pounding and pounding until Jorem grabbed him under the arms and brought him under control.
"Cruelty begets cruelty, my friend," he said to the bloody man as he writhed on the ground screaming, his hands covering his mashed face.
Kerraunus strode toward Jorem. "What is the meaning of this?" he asked. He wasn't exactly surprised to see him here, although the circumstance of his appearance was not what he would have expected. He saw three more Mejadym sitting in the stands, obscured by shadow.
"What is the meaning of this?" Jorem asked in astonishment. "What is the meaning of this atrocity I have just witnessed? It is nothing but wanton cruelty. What possible purpose could this serve?" Jorem swept his gaze over the entire body. The men were climbing out of their chariots, and attendants knelt over the bleeding man. Nefer had scampered off somewhere. Probably to sharpen a knife.
"You do not judge my purposes, Jorem," Kerraunus said.
"And lucky for you I do not," said Jorem. "For I find you a disgrace to Tygetia, Prince Kerraunus. You and your band of butchers..."
"Spare me your lectures, old man." The self-righteousness of the Mejadym was boundless. Yes, Kerraunus knew they had for two hundred years offered an underground resistance to the Sarian occupation. Yes, he knew that they had single-handedly prevented the extinction of Tygetian ways and now ruthlessly protected Tygetian institutions. Yes, yes…Who did not already know this? What they were was the strong arm of the over-powerful priesthood. As much as they were controllable, Kerraunus controlled them, but only as long as they had common cause. Someday, Kerraunus would not need them. And then this over-stuffed windbag--
"You will doubtless find a shiv piercing your kidney one of these fine days, Prince," Jorem said. "What man here would not love to see that?"
"I can think of only one who would," Kerraunus said. "And it is you." He turned to Samos and told him to send the men away. "They have had enough blood for one day." Then he called for his own attendants. A girl brought him a towel, which he used to wipe his brow. Then he draped it over the back of his neck, stretching the muscles there. "Now, Jorem," he began, leading the captain across the arena floor toward the exit. The men's attendants were gathering up the chariots. "To what do I owe this pleasure? Surely, you did not travel all this way just to annoy me?"
"I have ridden hard from Jakuk to tell you that your Prathians are arriving in Archentethe tonight."
Kerraunus raised his eyebrows. So the Irrylians really went through with it. He had to give the Gyriecians credit: they were a bloodthirsty lot. If their murderous appetites made his life easier, so be it.
"Reeking Town?"
"Yes, Reeking Town," Jorem said. "But it is due to no help from your giant mo
und of man-flab in Jakuk, let me tell you. Your people in the south are a loathsome gaggle of cowards. Just so you know."
"Ah, but you misjudge our Governor Sotheb, Jorem. He is not merely loathsome but also fearful and greedy. That is what makes him so useful to me. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and prepare for our Prathians. I would appreciate it if you didn't whack me in the back with that cursed staff of yours on my way out."
"I would only pummel you for a hundred-count, Prince," Jorem called after him. His beard parted and he flashed Kerraunus a broad white-toothed grin -- no doubt an attempt to cast his threat in the guise of a jest. Kerraunus showed no reaction. Jorem would certainly one day have his hundred-count opportunity -- and there would be no grinning on that day.
Samos followed Kerraunus into the bright sunshine outside the arena. A rider from Kerraunus' household had just arrived and handed Samos a roll of parchment. Samos read it over quickly.
"Asander has arrived and awaits you at your home, Great One," he announced.
Kerraunus had to remind himself that Asander was an Irrylian diplomat now, on a begging mission from his master Demetrius. He wished he had saved the melee for Asander's visit. Gyriecians were great fans of bloodsport. "It is war, then?" Kerraunus asked, pulling on his riding gloves.
"What else?" Samos laughed.
Kerraunus sighed. "So it begins," he said. When Gyriecians were at one another's throats, Tygetians heard no end of it. Myletos might enjoy their solicitations, but Kerraunus found it tiresome.
They mounted their horses and, along with the prince's entourage of attendants and armed guards, made their way through the city toward Kerraunus' residence. A runner cleared the path ahead of them, announcing the royal party. People in the streets stood aside and watched in awe as the prince passed.
As expected, Asander was waiting for him when he arrived at his home. Kerraunus found him in the interior courtyard inspecting a mahogany chair whose legs were fashioned to resemble rearing cobras. Bent at the waist, he was running a hand over them admiringly.
The Blood Gate Page 6