Highland Legend

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The spectators’ excitement was something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Ambrose and Conan. They sat in the middle of the lists, down toward the field so they could get a good look at Magnus when it was finally his bout. After they’d left Clegg in a rage, they’d gone to the lists to wait for the games to begin and they had been sitting in the same spot for hours.

  It had been a long and uncomfortable wait.

  “I dunna care if I ever see this place again,” Conan muttered. “I dunna want tae come back here, but what are we doing tae do about Magnus? We canna buy him.”

  Ambrose had been brooding about that all night. It was rare when he was denied anything so he hadn’t learned to gracefully accept a refusal of any kind. He’d been mulling over the problem all night.

  “If I could only see him,” he said. “If I can talk tae the man, I know I can convince him tae come with us.”

  “How can ye talk tae him if ye canna get near him?”

  The crowd around them was becoming restless because the field marshals were trying to prepare the field for the next bout. Ambrose yanked his son closer to him so he could be heard over the buzz of the crowd without shouting.

  “The servant that took us tae Clegg told us that the warriors can be seen in the staging area after the bouts. He said we would likely see Magnus there.”

  “He did.”

  Ambrose looked at him. “Magnus willna be there all night,” he said. “He’s got tae leave sometime and find his bed.”

  “Where’s his bed?”

  Ambrose threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Ye saw all of those cottages tae the west,” he said. “My guess is that is where the men who fight here live and sleep. If we can wait for him over there…”

  Conan’s face lit up. “Of course,” he hissed. “We’ll wait for him tae make his way home.”

  Ambrose nodded, but then he turned around and noted a few soldiers in the scarlet of the Ludus Caledonia who had been standing in the same place all night, watching him. He grunted as he returned his focus to the field.

  “I suspect Clegg is having his men watch us,” he said. “Soldiers from the Cal have been watching us since we arrived in the lists. We’ll have tae lose them in the crowd.”

  Conan very much wanted to turn around and look, but he resisted. He didn’t want to tip the soldiers off.

  “Do ye think we can?” he asked.

  “I think there are a great many men here and it would be a simple thing tae lose two men in a crowd of hundreds.”

  “I’m ready when ye are.”

  Ambrose shushed his son when he saw the big Saxon emerge onto the field. He was the man who announced the coming fights. Ambrose and Conan waited with great anticipation for the next announcement.

  The Eagle and Poseidon’s Wrath.

  The crowd went mad.

  “It’s him,” Conan muttered, poking his father. “Finally! This is Magnus’s fight!”

  Ambrose shushed his son loudly as the crowd around them began to cheer to earsplitting proportions. Everyone was on their feet, so Ambrose and Conan rose, too.

  The bout they had been waiting for was about to begin.

  The first one onto the field was a large, muscular man with flowing silver hair. He came out onto the field with a big iron trident and a blue cape, shouting at the crowd, who loudly condemned him because he was to fight their champion. He would bellow angrily at the crowd and they would bellow angrily back. Some even began to throw rocks at him but were quickly quelled by the arena guards. As Poseidon’s Wrath settled into one corner of the field, Magnus made his appearance.

  A scream arose that could be heard all the way to Edinburgh and beyond. Magnus walked out on the wet field in his customary fighting garb, complete with his flashy red cloak. He lifted a fist to the crowd in acknowledgment, and the money began to rain down on the field. A well-dressed woman in the front row actually climbed over the wall and ran out onto the arena floor, but she was quickly corralled by the field marshals. She screamed for Magnus and fainted, then was promptly carried off.

  Magnus was in his corner of the field, removing his cloak before adjusting his gloves as he always did. Whether or not they needed it wasn’t the point. It was simply something for him to do while stalling the start of the event, time enough for his opponent to be thoroughly demoralized to hear how much the crowd loved him. It was a ploy and always had been, but Magnus was brilliant that way. He’d learned to use the energy of the audience to his advantage.

  Magnus had his head down, looking at his gloves, but in his periphery, he could see his opponent. He’d seen the man in practice, so he had an idea of what he would be facing. The man was big and powerful, but clumsy. He’d seen that right away. He would be no match for Magnus’s speed, and Magnus wanted to end this as quickly as possible. He wanted to get back to Diantha and wait out the night until Ambrose and Conan’s departures were confirmed.

  Although he couldn’t see them, he knew they were in the audience, watching him. Of that, he had no doubt. The rain began to fall heavier and lightning began to light up the sky overhead, peppered with big cracks of thunder. A storm had rolled in, in earnest, and that electricity was feeding the crowd. They were screaming Magnus’s name, now pounding on the floor of the lists in rhythm. The sound was deafening. Magnus stopped fooling with his gloves and went to the iron frame on the sidelines that held an assortment of clubs.

  Although he rarely used a weapon, tonight he was going to make an exception because Poseidon’s Wrath was big enough that he just might not go down with one swift kick to the head. If one didn’t do it, Magnus was fairly certain he wouldn’t have a second opportunity. Therefore, he selected a solid club and signaled to the field marshals that he was ready.

  He would delay no longer.

  Poseidon’s Wrath had a club and a shield, and he charged Magnus across the muddy arena. Magnus approached him steadily, waiting until the last moment to dart out of the way just as his opponent brought his club around in a blow that would have surely taken his head off.

  As Magnus moved aside, the momentum of the swing threw Poseidon’s Wrath off-balance. The man tried to turn around because Magnus was now behind him, but he ended up falling over into the mud. Magnus charged, using his club to deliver a series of heavy blows around the man’s head so he had to lift his shield to protect himself. That left his tender belly exposed and Magnus’s last blow was right to the man’s abdomen.

  It was a brutal hit.

  Poseidon’s Wrath was in pain. He lay there a moment before slowly rolling to his knees. Magnus didn’t give him a chance to rise. He jumped on the man’s back, threw the club across his neck, and began to pull. His opponent was in a bad way as he was slowly strangled and he tried desperately to dislodge Magnus, who held fast. It was like riding a wild horse as the man bucked about, but slowly Poseidon’s Wrath began to fade. Little by little, his actions lessened until he collapsed onto the ground.

  The crowd went wild.

  Magnus removed his club and pushed himself off the man as the field marshals ran forward to make sure his opponent wasn’t dying. Just as Magnus turned for the crowd to decry his victory, Poseidon’s Wrath suddenly came alive and tossed the field marshals aside. Magnus was just turning around to see what the commotion was about when a giant fist came flying at him.

  Caught in the jaw and neck, Magnus went flying.

  The crowd screamed with horror as their champion went skidding through the mud, crashing into the wall of the arena. Poseidon’s Wrath roared as he charged Magnus, who was dazed from the blow, but not so dazed that he didn’t see the man bearing down on him. As Poseidon’s Wrath bent over to grab him by the throat, Magnus rolled out of the way and Poseidon’s Wrath went crashing, headfirst, into the wall.

  With the world rocking unsteadily, Magnus leapt to his feet, grabbed Poseidon’s Wrath by his long silver hair, and smashed his
head twice into the wall, so hard that he split his opponent’s forehead. But he did it once more because he was terrified the giant would try to rise up again and kill him this time, so he wanted to make sure he was incapacitated.

  Poseidon’s Wrath fell into the mud, this time for good.

  Rubbing his throat, Magnus backed away from the man as the crowd stood in stunned silence. He continued to back far away as the field marshals once again approached Poseidon’s Wrath, only timidly this time in case his opponent was playing dead. Magnus’s hand still on his throat, he finally raised a fist to the crowd in a show of victory. When they saw this, they began to chant his name, over and over again.

  Eagle!

  Eagle!

  Magnus acknowledged them as Axel came out onto the field. He went to Magnus first.

  “Are you injured?” he asked.

  Magnus shook his head, coughing. “I dunna think so,” he said. Then he rubbed his jaw. “I may have a loose tooth, but nothing that willna heal.”

  Axel nodded, looking him over. “I can send a physic to you should you want,” he said. Then his gaze drifted over to the crumpled opponent. “I must speak to Clegg about these foreign warriors. They seem to think that this is a killing field and we cannot allow that, not for any of our warriors.”

  Magnus looked over at Poseidon’s Wrath, now on his back. His entire face was bloody from the split scalp. “It isna the first time this has happened and it willna be the last,” he said. “Dunna worry about me, Axel. There’s no man alive who can kill me in combat.”

  There was the peacock again, arrogant and confident. Axel flashed a grin at him before making his way over to his opponent to make sure the man wasn’t dead. As the crowd screamed and money continued to rain down, Magnus quit the field. As he came to the edge of the arena, Lor and Bane and Galan were waiting for him.

  “You survived Whale Dung, did you?” Galan said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I will admit I had a brief moment of doubt when he hit you with his big fist.”

  Magnus was unstrapping his gloves. “If he’d hit ye with that blow, we’d be picking ye up in pieces, little lass,” he said, glancing at him. “Yer eyes look well enough now.”

  Galan grinned. “They were well enough to see you fly across the arena when Whale Dung hit you.”

  “It’ll be yer last look,” Magnus said. “Drink it in, sweetheart. It’ll never happen again.”

  As Galan laughed softly, Lor put a hand on Magnus’s dirty shoulder. “That was quite a blow,” he said. “Are ye sure ye’re all right?”

  Magnus nodded, moving his jaw around. “Truth be told, it was surprising,” he said. “I will admit that I saw a few stars.”

  “Just a few?”

  Magnus laughed. It had been more than that, but he wasn’t going to admit that part of it. The group chuckled, mostly with relief because the ending could have been much worse for Magnus had he not been so swift or alert.

  “It’s over now,” Bane said. “We’ll retreat tae Lor’s cottage and make the women serve us food and drink. Let’s make a night of it and wait out the departure of Ayr and his son.”

  Magnus had nearly forgotten about the pair because he’d been so caught up in his fight. He was grateful for the reminder, but he was also grateful that Bane wanted to stay with him until the threat had passed.

  It was a true mark of friendship.

  He smiled weakly.

  “Let me get the grime off me,” he said, referring to the obvious—his entire backside was covered in mud. “I doubt Bee would appreciate me if I showed up like this, so I need tae clean up. Quickly, though. I want tae return tae her as soon as I can.”

  The group seemed to be in agreement. “If ye want, I can go tae her now as a measure of protection while ye bathe,” Lor said. “There’s no need for me tae go tae the bathhouse with ye.”

  They had walked into the staging area by now, full of workers and competitors after the night’s events. People lined the fence overlooking it, screaming Magnus’s name as he entered the area. But Magnus was focused on his friends.

  “I’d be grateful,” he said to Lor. “I’d feel better if a man were there. Isabail is a fearsome warrior, but she’s with child, Lor. I dunna want her tae risk herself or her babe.”

  Lor was in full agreement. He was about to turn for the stairs leading up to the exit when Magnus suddenly threw out a hand, stopping him. When Lor looked at him curiously, he could see that Magnus’s gaze was on the fence above.

  “Great bleeding Christ,” Magnus muttered. “There they are.”

  Everyone strained to catch a glimpse of what he was referring to. “Who?” Bane demanded. “Where, Magnus?”

  Magnus didn’t gesture, but his unblinking gaze was fixed on something along the fence.

  “On the left side near the end,” he said, his voice full of danger. “The man with the gray hair to his shoulders and a beard is Ayr. The man standing next tae him, taller and blond, is his son.”

  The group spied them, like hunters sighting prey. Bane started to move, but Magnus stopped him.

  “Nay,” he said. “Tell Clegg. He said he would remove them, so let him do it. Leave it at that for now.”

  Bane wasn’t in agreement. He began pounding a fist into his hand. “They’ll return unless we deter them,” he said through clenched teeth. “Let me deter them, Magnus.”

  Magnus tore his gaze off of the pair long enough to look at Bane, a smile on his lips. “Ye’re a bloody brute and I love ye for it, but let Clegg handle the situation for now,” he said. “Ambrose is a duke, after all, so Clegg should be the only one tae throw him out. But if he returns…”

  “If he returns, I’ll make him wish he hadna,” Bane said.

  Magnus nodded slowly. “Exactly.”

  That seemed to satisfy Bane’s bloodlust. Meanwhile, Galan was still standing with them, wondering what was going on. Tay and Aurelius had joined them also, all of them looking up into the crowd, evidently sighting something that had Magnus greatly upset, but the newcomers had no idea why.

  “What’s happening?” Galan finally said. “What’s the problem, Magnus?”

  Magnus didn’t mind if Galan knew, but he didn’t want to have to explain the whole sordid story again. He’d done enough of that lately. He tore his gaze from the view above and turned to Galan, Tay, and Aurelius behind him.

  “Men from my past who want tae do me and Diantha great harm,” he said simply. “I’m hoping they’ll leave without trouble, but if they dunna…I’ll give them more trouble than they can possibly imagine.”

  It was a simple enough explanation that had Galan, Tay, and Aurelius posturing angrily as Lor gave them a description of the offenders and discreetly pointed them out. At that point, Magnus just wanted the evening to be over. Truth be told, his head and jaw were hurting from the blow, and he was focused on getting over to the bathhouse and cleaning up.

  And then he wanted to get home to Diantha.

  Bypassing his usual routine of posing for the screaming women, he simply headed for the bathhouse with Tay, Aurelius, and Galan in tow. Lor and Bane remained behind, watching Ayr and his son up above and their reaction to Magnus’s departure. As soon as Magnus left, they left.

  But neither Lor nor Bane had a good feeling about that.

  “Get word tae Clegg that Ayr is still here,” Lor said. “I dunna understand why the sentries havena located the man and his son and escorted them out. They were here, in plain sight, and I’m sure they were in the lists, too. Why not toss them out?”

  Bane wasn’t quite sure, but he had a suspicion. “More than likely because it would bring many unanswered questions tae see a pair of spectators bodily removed from the lists,” he said. “Mayhap Clegg is simply waiting for the moment when there willna be a thousand witnesses around. He doesna want tae upset his guests, guests he depends on for his income.”

/>   That made sense to Lor, but he still didn’t like it. “Possibly,” he said. “Find Clegg and tell him where we saw the pair. I’ll see ye back in the village.”

  With that, the men parted, but there was a sense of trepidation in the air. Without knowing for certain that Ayr and his son had been seen leaving the Ludus Caledonia, or had been physically removed by Clegg’s sentries, there was always that fear of the unknown.

  If they couldn’t see them…where were they?

  Chapter Eighteen

  The rain was pounding by the time the last of the patrons were leaving the Ludus Caledonia, traveling down the hill on the water-slicked road. The storm was churning overhead, lighting up the night sky, which made those who worked at the Ludus Caledonia extra vigilant in making sure everyone got out safely.

  The exit, and there was only one way in and out, was heavily manned, as was Caelian Hill and some of the areas where stores or things of value were kept, like the stables. With all of the sentries focused on these areas, it was easy for Ambrose and Conan to slip over to the edge of the warriors’ village and hide in a copse of trees.

  And there they waited.

  It had been an hour, at least, if not more. They sat amid the wet branches and foliage, waiting for that one brief and shining moment when Magnus would come into their view.

  Provided he didn’t enter the encampment another way.

  That was always a possibility.

  “Do ye think they’re still looking for us?” Conan asked quietly as the rain gently pelted him. “The guards, I mean. Do ye think they’re still looking?”

  Ambrose was hunkered down, wet and miserable, but he ignored it. He had a greater purpose in mind that superseded his personal comfort.

  “Aye,” he answered. “Soon, our carriage will be the only one left, so they’ll assume we’re still here.”

  “They’ll be looking for us in earnest then.”