And with that, the fight was over.
The spectators, who had gasped loudly when Magnus hit the Bear in the groin, were stunned into shocked silence when they saw Magnus break the Bear’s skull. But that silence was only momentary. As soon as they realized Magnus was victorious and the Bear would no longer rise against their champion, they began screaming even louder than before.
Magnus turned away from the Bear without a hind glance, heading toward the arena exit as Axel, Milo, and Wendell spilled into the arena, moving straight for the Bear. Magnus didn’t even look at them. He kept going until he came to Lor, Bane, Galan, and Tay, who had come out to meet him.
It was Lor who reached out and grasped him around the shoulders.
“Easy, Magnus,” Lor said quietly. “Ye had no choice. If ye dinna kill him, he was going tae kill ye. It wasna a clean victory, but a necessary one.”
Magnus knew that. His sense of self-preservation had been in overdrive. He also knew that if a gladiator killed an opponent in a match, the gladiator was usually suspended for the next several games. There was punishment in the event of a death. But Magnus honestly didn’t care if he was suspended. He was alive, and he had won, and that was all that mattered to him.
“The man wanted my blood,” Magnus said as he forced himself to calm. “We could all see it. It was either me or him.”
“Ye did what ye had tae do,” Bane said, agreeing with Lor. “I dunna believe Axel will punish ye for it.”
Magnus looked at him. “He was the one who told me the Bear intended tae kill me,” he said. “He all but gave me his permission tae do what needed tae be done.”
No one disagreed with him. Galan, with whom Magnus sometimes had a contentious relationship, put his hand on Magnus’s shoulder.
“Sometimes men come to the Cal with the scent of blood in their nostrils,” he said. “They are not here to fight a clean fight for the money. They are here simply for the thrill of a kill. I believe that is what the Bear came for—death. From what I’ve heard of the man, he has killed many an opponent before.”
The crowd was still screaming for Magnus even as the Bear was put on a stretcher and hauled off alongside his wailing trainer. While Milo and Wendell went with him, Axel headed over to Magnus as he stood with the others. Magnus could feel himself tensing up, preparing to take a scolding, or worse, and he fully intended to defend himself.
But Axel never gave him the chance.
“Go,” he said, gesturing to the arena. “You will be the last memory of this battle, not the dead man being taken away. Go out there and acknowledge those who love you, those who would have probably stormed the arena had you fallen to the Bear.”
It was a surprising reaction given the seriousness of what had happened, but Magnus didn’t argue. He simply nodded and headed back out into the arena and the roar of the crowd lifted when they saw him. Money began to rain down upon him as his two servants appeared once more to collect the booty.
Standing in the center of the arena, Magnus finally lifted his arms in victory and the crowd went mad, but he wasn’t looking at the crowd as a whole.
He was looking at the spot vacated by Diantha.
It occurred to him that she had just seen him kill a man, which had probably spooked her. Although he regretted that she had to see it, it was better than her seeing him laid out on the arena floor while a big Saxon smashed him to bits.
It was ridiculous for him to even care what she thought but oddly enough, he did. He’d only known the woman for a day, and already he cared what she thought. That hardworking, magnificent Spanish beauty had somehow gotten under his skin without even trying.
Infatuation? Probably.
It terrified him to consider the alternative.
***
So this is what the Ludus Caledonia is all about?
Diantha rolled those words over in her mind as she followed Isabail and Lucia into the stands overlooking the arena floor. The Fields of Mars was packed on this night, with a thousand torches lighting up the sky and the roar of the crowd electrifying the very air around them. When Isabail and Lucia had invited her to watch the evening’s bouts, Diantha had no idea what to expect.
But now she knew.
This was a place of debauchery, excess, and bloodlust.
People weren’t there for food and fun. They were there to watch men beat each other to a pulp, which Diantha saw during the course of the evening. There were novicius, or novices, as they fought their first bouts, and as the evening went on, the participants graduated to the top gladiators the Ludus Caledonia had to offer.
As Diantha sat with Isabail and Lucia, she noticed that they all observed the fighting in different ways. Isabail had come from a warring clan in the Highlands and had wielded a sword herself in her past, so she viewed the fights from a warrior’s standpoint.
Lucia, on the other hand, did not come from a warring background but a much simpler one. Her father had served in a great house, so she was essentially from peasant stock. With her well-spoken manner, intelligence, and beauteous looks, she could have easily been a finely bred lady. Lucia watched the bouts with some disdain, concerned every time someone from the Ludus Caledonia was injured, seemingly watching the fights simply because her husband trained the men and she wanted to support him.
But it was clear that she didn’t enjoy it.
Diantha wasn’t sure what to make of it all. She did find the fighting to be exciting, but it was also quite brutal. To think that Magnus was one of the top fighters here meant that he was exciting and brutal, too. Given the way he was built—short, but extremely muscular with big arms and big thighs—she could believe it. He had obviously worked hard for his position.
She was soon to find out.
The fights went on well into the early morning hours when the next bout announced was between the Eagle and the Rutting Bull. The crowd went wild, and Diantha wasn’t sure why until Isabail explained that Magnus was the Eagle. It was his nickname at the Ludus Caledonia, and all of the top fighters seemed to have one—names like the Beast from the East, the Sapphire Dragon, and the Hammer. All of them had nicknames in place of their real names because, as Isabail explained, that somehow made them larger than life.
And the crowds loved them for it.
If there was any confusion as to why Magnus was called the Eagle, that was quickly dispelled in the first few moments of his bout. He emerged onto the field, nearly naked but for a red cloak, a snug leather loincloth that covered his groin and buttocks, a mail apron from his waist to the top of his thighs, shoes on his feet that were secured with leather straps, and leather pads over his knees to protect them. He carried a shield with him, but no weapon.
Diantha’s heart was pounding against her ribs at the sight of him. He looked like a god, strutting across the dirt of the arena, the finest form of a man that anyone had ever seen. There was nothing about him that wasn’t perfect as far as she was concerned, and the pride she’d felt in knowing the man was turning into something else.
Attraction.
It wasn’t that the stories of his greatness were starting to affect her judgment. Everyone thought he was great, he thought he was great, and from the reaction of the crowd, he really was great. It wasn’t hero worship that she felt.
It ran deeper than that.
For Diantha, it was the man’s kindness. He’d been very kind to her when he didn’t have to be. She had been rude to him when they’d first met, but he hadn’t held a grudge. When she’d come seeking his help, he’d agreed without hesitation. Even this afternoon, when they’d had some miscommunication, he’d remained kind and patient. There was something in the way he looked at her that made her heart pound. A glimmer, a certain warmth…something.
All she knew was that she liked it.
She knew he was special. She wondered if he thought she was special, too.
As for the Eagle, Diantha watched him fly into the air within the first few moments of the bout and kick his opponent in the head. Magnus landed on his feet, his opponent fell like a rock, and the crowd screamed for their Eagle.
It was the most astonishing thing Diantha had ever seen.
The bout had ended quickly, and Magnus disappeared into a holding area next to the arena. There were a few more fights after that, and she was fighting off boredom until the final primus bout was announced between the Eagle and the Bear.
The crowd was worked into a frenzy and the exchange of money went on at an alarming rate. As all of that was going on, Isabail and Lucia decided they’d seen enough and wanted to leave, but Diantha wanted to remain. They’d brought her to experience the Ludus Caledonia in full and she wasn’t finished yet, especially with Magnus fighting the last bout. Given what had happened with the last time he fought, she was excited to see the next one.
And what a fight it was.
At least, what there was of it.
Magnus had delayed the start of the fight for several minutes while he removed his red cloak and adjusted the gloves on his hands. Diantha was so far up in the arena that she couldn’t really see what he was doing, but his opponent was pacing around like a caged animal. There was a good deal of chest beating going on, and at one point, a big man came out to speak with Magnus. Within a short time after that, the match abruptly began.
And then it was over.
But not before Diantha saw Magnus clobber his opponent with a club. One blow to the groin, two to the head, and the man collapsed in a heap. He had to be carried away by men bearing a stretcher, and money fell onto the arena floor like snowflakes. Diantha watched, a smile on her lips, as Isabail finally tugged on her.
“Come along,” she said. “We must get back tae the village before the patrons leave. It will be very crowded.”
Diantha went with her, but it was reluctantly.
She rather liked watching Magnus absorb the adulation of the crowd.
By the time they cleared the arena, it was already crowded in the area where carriages and horses awaited. Men were leaving in droves, making their way to the betting cages to collect their money, and Diantha got separated from Isabail and Lucia. She was swept away with a tide of men rushing for the betting cages, which were by a viewing area that looked down over the staging area. She was about to be pushed into a fence when a hand grabbed her and she looked over to see Isabail.
“Hurry!”
Diantha summoned her strength, and her courage, and pushed through the crowd, holding tightly to Isabail. They finally made their way out of the sea of men and rushed back to the village, which was smelling heavily of cooking fires on this clear and bright night. Even though it was only a few hours until morning, many of the participants would want to eat before they retired.
Diantha slowed her pace.
“Do you think Magnus will wish to eat?” she asked. “I can procure food for him if you will just tell me where it is.”
Isabail didn’t say what she was thinking—that Magnus was probably already hip-deep in food with a high-paying noblewoman stroking every part of his gorgeous, naked body. That’s what always happened after his victorious bouts, but she didn’t want to tell Diantha that.
Somehow, she thought it might hurt her or, at the very least, set fire to that veil of innocence she had between her and the reality of what Magnus was really like. Isabail had seen that all day. The more time she spent with Diantha, the more naive she realized the woman was.
She seemed to have no idea what kind of man Magnus was.
But that would come with time.
“There is a kitchen next tae the garden,” she said, pointing toward the north. “Do ye remember when I took ye there?”
Diantha nodded. “Aye,” she said. “Thank you. Can I bring you something, too? For your husband, mayhap?”
Isabail smiled, touching Diantha sweetly on the cheek. “Nay, thank ye, lass,” she said. “It is kind tae offer. Lor willna eat. He’ll simply want tae sleep, and I’ll be lucky if he makes it tae the bed before he does. If ye dunna need my help, then I’ll see ye when the sun rises.”
Diantha smiled in return. “You will, indeed,” she said. “And…thank you for being so kind to me today. You and Lucia have been very gracious and I am appreciative.”
Isabail winked at her and turned for her cottage, which wasn’t too far. As she walked away, Diantha went in search of food for Magnus. She made her way through the darkened edge of the village, up a footpath, and ended up in a clearing where the garden and one of the big kitchens were located. There were just a few people in the kitchen, and she came away with her own iron pot of stew and an entire loaf of bread.
After making her way back to the cottage, she quickly went to work preparing the meal for Magnus’s return. There was some excitement, welcoming home the man who had won both of his bouts for the night.
As she stoked the fire and hung the pot of stew over it to keep it warm, she prepared the small table for his meal. He had bowls and utensils in the cottage, but they looked as if they hadn’t been used in months. Rinsing them out and then drying them, she put them on the table, neatly arranged.
As Diantha waited for Magnus, she tidied up the cottage. While he’d slept that afternoon, she had swept and scrubbed the larger chamber, wiping down chairs and chests, and generally cleaning. His laundry had dried and she’d brought that in, neatly hanging his tunics on the pegs outside of his bedchamber and carefully folding the bed linens.
When he awoke, he’d shuffled out of the room, yawning, and muttered something about going to the arena. He’d walked right by her, smiling sleepily, and opened the door before he realized that he should probably say something to her. Then he paused, told her again where he was going, and she simply nodded. His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he headed out into the waning day.
But there had been something in that gaze.
Diantha’s heart fluttered simply to think about it. With freshly washed linens on his bed, swept dirt floors, scrubbed table, food, and clean clothing, she dared to wonder if this was what it would be like to wait for a husband’s return home. She couldn’t imagine doing this for Conan, but for Magnus…
It was something she could get used to.
Unfortunately, the wait for Magnus was a long one. Diantha had fashioned a pallet for herself out of rushes and blankets. It was shoved up against the wall so that her feet were near the hearth, and it was looking inviting as the minutes passed. She kept stirring the stew so it wouldn’t boil down, putting water in it to thin it out as she continued to wait. She finally sat down at the table, but that was the last thing she remembered before someone was gently shaking her.
In an instant, she was halfway out of her chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said before she was even fully awake. “I did not mean to sleep. I am awake.”
Strong hands were steadying her, and she looked up to see Magnus grinning at her. “Easy, lass,” he said quietly, pushing her back down into the chair. “It’s very late. I thought for certain ye’d be in bed.”
Diantha took a deep breath, rubbing her eyes. “I was waiting for you,” she said. “I have food if you are hungry.”
He looked at the pot on the hearth, steaming. “I suppose I could eat something if ye’ve gone to the trouble,” he said. “I dinna expect ye tae have food waiting.”
Diantha popped up again out of her chair and rushed to the hearth with a bowl in her hand.
“Please, sit,” she said. “You must be famished after the evening you’ve had.”
Magnus was swathed in a woolen cloak and his normal clothing of breeches and a tunic, so he began to remove the cloak.
“I saw ye in the lists,” he said, hanging up the cloak near the door. “What did ye think?”
Diantha looked up from stirring the pot
of stew. “I thought you were magnificent.”
He grinned. “I am,” he said. “I’m glad ye know it now.”
She returned his smile, staring at the man as if transfixed until the stew bubbled and a hot drop landed on her hand. That snapped her out of her trance, and she spooned the stew into the bowl until it was full. Carefully, she brought it back over to the table and set it down in front of him.
“This came from the kitchen,” she said. “I am sorry that I do not know how to cook, but I am happy to learn if it pleases you.”
He sat down wearily, collecting his spoon. “If I need a cook, I’ll hire one,” he said. “Ye dunna need tae learn just for me. Sit down and talk tae me. Tell me what ye thought of the fights tonight.”
Diantha sat down across from him, feeling giddy in his presence. He looked as if he had bathed, for his hair was still wet and there wasn’t a speck of dust on him. She could smell something, too—the clean scent of pine.
He smelled as good as he looked.
“I thought it was…exciting,” she said, trying to pretend she had enjoyed it. “I’ve never seen such fights before.”
He spooned the steaming stew into his mouth. “That’s because there are no fights like the ones at the Ludus Caledonia anywhere in Scotland,” he said, chewing. “What did ye like best?”
“When you won.”
He snorted, tearing up the bread and dipping it in the stew. “Then I pleased ye.”
“I was very happy to see you win.”
He took a bite of the stew-soaked bread, looking at her as he did. “So was I,” he said honestly. “It seems that we have the same taste in winners.”
He was jesting with her and she smiled bashfully. “I believe so,” she said. “But where did you learn to fight like that? Surely it was not at Culroy. In fact, I seem to remember hearing about the lads there beating up on you regularly.”
His smile faded as his attention returned to his stew. “The only thing my time at Culroy taught me was that the only person who will fight for me is, in fact, me,” he said. “I was the beating post for those young whelps, and it continued on until the day I was released.”
Highland Legend Page 10