The Children of Archipelago

by B A Simmons

  “How do you know this is their intent? Couldn’t it be that they favor your brother?” Trina said.

  “The letter was signed by Duke Cesare Aquila, the man who has proclaimed himself the new emperor. My father is his only rival to the throne. It is a threat, one that my father has allowed to silence him.”

  Edwin entered the conversation. “Patrizia told us that your plan was to announce that the old emperor was still alive after Cesare made his claim. How is it that he still thinks he can be emperor?”

  “This is because Emperor Octavo died two days before our plans became actions. His sister kept it a secret from everyone, only announcing his death after we began the protests against Cesare. My father’s challenge is the only possibility of Cesare not being crowned, which is why we must not only get Rob from Porto Antonio, but my brother Ludo as well. Perhaps with him home, my father will have the courage to stand against Cesare.”

  “Do you have a plan for this rescue?” Trina asked.

  “I am making one. We shall see if it works when we come to Isola del Trono.”

  26

  Dealing with the Devil

  S heriff Tyler!

  Rob still could not believe it. He kept his eyes glued to the scruffy man at the head of the line of prisoners as the guards marshalled them out of the tunnel and into the blinding light of day. Rob squinted and blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust. When they did, he saw the line headed for a gate set into a curved wall. The wall appeared to be at the center of all other structures at Porto Antonio.

  Tyler strode through the gate with confidence while the whimpering man began sobbing again. Rob figured he knew what to expect though that gate but was not quite prepared for what he saw. The wall turned out to be the outer façade of an arena, the oval-shaped floor of which stretched for fifty yards lengthwise and perhaps thirty-five yards at the widest. The rest was taken up by rows of stone benches with the exception of a gate, equal in size to the one Rob just entered through, on the opposite end. Uniformed coscrittos stood at attention next to racks of armor, swords, axes, spears and shields. Most of these were wooden wasters, like those Rob had trained with on Engle Isle, but a few bronze and steel weapons gleamed in the sunlight.

  The guards lined up Rob and his fellow prisoners shoulder to shoulder at the close end of the arena. Rob’s attention remained on Tyler as the guards formed up on one side of the arena while the gate closed behind them. A few minutes of silence passed and Tyler turned his head to study Rob. His face expressed a distaste and resentment at being watched, but also a curiosity, as if Tyler half recognized the young prisoner he’d spoken with during the night.

  The gate at the far end of the arena opened and in marched a platoon of young soldiers led by a drill sergeant; his black uniform, trimmed in red and gold, set him apart from those found in the ranks of Falcon army. The platoon consisted of a dozen home guard recruits transitioning into the light infantry. They wore the bronze breast and back plates with vambraces and bronze skull-cap helmets. They held the round shields painted white with the black double-headed falcon Rob was weary of seeing. However, they bore no arms, not even a dagger.

  The drill sergeant shouted an order and the platoon spread themselves out at the far end, now standing abreast with a yard of space between them. Their discipline in marching and maneuvering was commendable, though Rob suspected they lacked much else by way of real experience.

  The sergeant walked across the arena and inspected the line of prisoners. He did not just examine them with his eyes but grabbed their bodies and felt as much as looked. He pulled at lips to examine teeth, slapped muscles to check tone and threw punches past their faces to see their reactions. He did this with all except Tyler. When he came to that end of the line, all he did was look Tyler in the eye and mutter something under his breath.

  A prisoner from the other end of the line was chosen. Guards unchained him and pulled him into the center of the arena. The coscrittos strapped a shield onto his left arm and placed a waster in his right. No armor was given him, neither instructions nor advice.

  “Favero!” the sergeant called out.

  A recruit stepped forward and received a waster from one of the coscrittos. He immediately assumed an en guard and moved forward toward the prisoner. For his part, the prisoner widened his stance and lifted his shield up, but Rob wanted to shout to him to lift his sword up. His body was turned toward his opponent and the sword rested below the shield. Rob knew the man was doomed from the start. It was almost more than he could bear to watch.

  The young soldier, Favero, executed a feign toward the man’s leg, drawing the shield down. The wooden sword cut upward, striking the prisoner’s chin. The poor man reeled backward, yet still had the wherewithal to recover his shabby en guard and block the next two blows from the pursuing soldier. The third blow landed just above the shield, splitting the skin of the prisoner’s left ear.

  It was enough to send him to the ground. He huddled up under his shield and waited for the next assault. Favero hesitated a moment, looking at the sergeant for permission to continue. The sergeant’s expression did not change; he just continued to watch the pathetic fight.

  When the soldier moved again, it was to kick the shield aside and deliver a thrust to the prisoner’s throat. The bout was over, the sergeant ordered Favero to return to the line, which he did without hesitation, handing the waster to an attentive coscritto. His comrades congratulated him on his technique and execution. Meanwhile, the prisoner was relieved of his weapon and shield and dragged back to the line of prisoners. Despite his bruised and bleeding head, he was ordered to stand up and the shackles were again locked around his wrists and ankles.

  The sergeant chose the whimpering man next. Calling out another member of the platoon, a soldier named Romano, the two were given staves with red paint at one end. Rob assumed the paint represented the point of a spear and based on how the soldier held his staff, he was correct in this assumption. When the sergeant called for the fight to begin, Romano leaped forward. The whimpering man made no attempt to defend himself, dropping his staff before the first blow struck. As the prisoner’s hands covered his face, Romano landed the first five blows to his torso. This drew the whimpering man’s hand down to protect that part of his body and allowed the soldier to place two more shots to his face. When the whimpering man fell to the sandy floor of the arena, the soldiers in the line began booing. They felt the fight was far too easy and the sergeant agreed.

  The whimpering man was dragged back to the line and placed in the chains, sobbing all the while. Another prisoner was selected, a naked and heavily tattooed man whose body already bore a dozen scars and whose left leg made him limp as he walked.

  Rob guessed aright that this one came from Longbeard Isle. Despite his wounds and lack of clothing, he appeared anxious for the chance to fight. He snatched the staff from the coscritto’s hand and jumped at Romano, causing him to flinch.

  A few chuckles floated out from Romano’s platoon as well as from Tyler. Romano responded by running at the Longbeard fighter while punching the staff at his face. With impressive agility, the tattooed prisoner dodged each blow and jumped back out of range. Again, Romano ran forward trying to land a shot on his opponent. Again, the opponent jumped back and dodged the blow.

  Rob saw the next part of the fight almost before it happened. The Longbeard fighter retreated a third time causing the frustrated Falcon to over extend himself trying to catch up. The prisoner ducked low, swinging the staff at Romano’s knee. It connected with a sickening snap, breaking both the staff and Romano’s joint.

  The sergeant sped forward to protect the recruit from the Longbeard fighter, delivering a wicked blow with his hands and wrestling the naked man to the ground. With the help of two coscrittos, the Longbeard fighter was subdued and placed back into his shackles.

  Romano was carried out of the arena by two of his comrades, while another was selected to face the next prisoner. Rob hesitated a moment when the coscritt
o unchained him from the line and pushed him forward. A wooden axe was placed in his left hand while a sword was given his right. While not Rob’s preferred combination, he knew he had to make it work. He needed to survive this somehow and return to Liliana.

  “Cerutti,” the sergeant called.

  A husky looking soldier stepped forward and accepted a staff while he brandished his shield like a trophy. A few of his fellow soldiers cheered him as he approached Rob who took up an unassuming en guard. The advantage being in Cerutti’s favor, Rob would have to lure him into overconfidence to win this.

  Cerutti placed the painted end of the staff over his shield and marched at Rob in perfect form. Rob knew that as soon as he was in range, the barrage of thrusts would come at him. Yet, he waited, hoping his nervous expression gave the impression of incompetence. He held both his weapons in front of him as if offering them as token of peace.

  The first thrust was aimed at Rob’s face and would have struck it if Rob had not instantly reacted by crossing his weapons and scissoring them upward, catching the staff and pushing it up also. Rob used this scissor-pinch maneuver to keep Cerutti from recovering the spear while Rob ran forward. Coming into his own weapons’ range, Rob swung at his opponent’s head with his sword, but Cerutti was no fool. He shifted his shield and blocked the sword blow. However, he had nothing with which to catch Rob’s axe which caught him just above the right eye.

  Even a blunt, wooden axe blade can cut; and Cerutti, blinded at first by the stars that popped in his vision, was now blinded by the blood streaming down from his brow. Rob pulled back from the soldier, keeping his weapons at the ready, but giving him the chance to decide whether the fight was over or not.

  “No! Finish him!” Tyler shouted.

  Rob looked at the Falcon sergeant, wondering if he would intervene, but Cerutti did not wait for his superior. He dropped the staff to the ground and walked back to his platoon seeking medical attention.

  “Non ho chiamato fine!” the sergeant shouted at Cerutti. The soldier snapped to attention again, his right eye forced closed to keep the blood out, he looked ready to weep. However, he returned to the middle of the arena, picked up the staff and resumed his en guard.

  Knowing that his opponent was now aware he could fight, Rob thought back to all the training he had under Charlie and John. Without a shield he would have to be more aggressive than his opponent. Given Cerutti’s wound and embarrassment, it was likely he would take a far more defensive stance.

  Rob jogged forward, hopping first to the left, then to the right. He lunged at Cerutti, hoping to goad him into thrusting amiss. To his credit, the humbled soldier waited until Rob settled down some before attempting to strike. Rob dodged the blow but was unable to run past the point of the staff. He feigned a retreat, hoping the get the soldier to come after him, but to no avail.

  He again danced forward, leaping from side to side, feeling the adrenaline and training come back to his limbs. He feigned a dodge to the left, while Cerutti stabbed there to catch him, he ran forward, using the beard of the axe to hook the shield. Cerutti punched it forward, forcing the axe out of Rob’s hand. Rob hopped to the right again, swinging low with the sword and striking Cerutti’s knee.

  Rob spun himself around to dodge the staff and found himself ducking below the shield as well. Leaping forward, he heard himself scream as he punched the rounded tip of the sword into Cerutti’s throat. A moment later, he brought the blade down on his face.

  The husky Falcon hit the ground with a thud.

  Silence followed, but only for a moment. A clap and rattle of chains came from behind and Rob turned to see Tyler applauding him. The sergeant stared at Rob, unable to hide his amusement. It was clear that this man cared no more for these soldiers than he did the prisoners. He had removed his emotions from the job and for that Rob was grateful.

  Cerutti’s platoon was not so gracious. Two of them started forward, ready to take Rob on. They stopped only at the drill sergeants command. Rob returned to the line of prisoners and allowed himself put back in the shackles. He waited and watched as each of the other recruit soldiers faced off against a prisoner. In each of the bouts following his, the soldiers delivered brutal defeats to their opponents. One of the prisoners was left unconscious and after being carried away by the coscrittos, was not seen again.

  At the end of the session, only one prisoner remained untested. When Tyler’s shackles were removed, he stomped to the middle of the arena and received a small wooden buckler for his left hand and sword for his right.

  The sergeant surveyed the platoon, making his selection with much consideration.

  “Favero, Santis… e Romero.”

  Rob couldn’t help but smile as the three young soldiers took their weapons and formed a lance unit of two shield men, armed with swords protecting a spearman behind. They moved forward with calculated decision, the spearman calling out directions. Tyler readied himself and awaited their approach. His casualness along with the caution displayed by the soldiers, told Rob this was not the first time he’d taken on multiple opponents.

  When the four men finally met at the center of the arena, Tyler kicked one of the shields, while dodging the spear thrust. He then used his sword to parry an attack from the other shieldman and punched the first in the face with his buckler.

  This left two against one. Tyler retreated back as more thrusts from the spearman delivered glancing blows to his hairy face and shoulders. He circled the two, who remained united in facing him. Again, Rob had to acknowledge their deft maneuvering.

  Tyler, on the other hand was less impressed. He charged forward, using both buckler and sword to parry the spear. The shieldman whacked at Tyler’s leg with his sword but this did not stop him from ramming the shield with his full body weight. The shieldman fell backward and was trampled by Tyler, who planted a well-aimed foot on the young man’s face while continuing to block blows from the spearman.

  In a flash of his hands, Tyler plucked the spear from the soldier’s hands and used the back end to beat the shieldman while he squirmed under him.

  Weaponless, the last soldier did not know what to do, so he stood there, his head whipping from side to side as he looked from his comrade to the sergeant and back again. Tyler laughed and teased the boy.

  “You’re going to stand by and let me do this to him?! Huh?! You’re going to stand there and wait for the sergeant to call me off!”

  He threw the staff like a javelin at the perplexed recruit, threw the buckler and sword to the sand and strode back to the line of prisoners. Rob noted the amused look Tyler gave him as he waited for the shackles to be placed on him.

  The platoon retrieved their wounded and withdrew from the arena with the drill sergeant shouting insults at them the entire time. The guards returned and escorted Rob and his fellow prisoners back to their cells. A dinner was served in the exact same manner breakfast had been.

  To his surprise, Tyler did not speak at all that night. Rob expected he would once the lights were extinguished, but the only sounds that night were the whimpers of the man in the next cell over.

  The next day came faster than Rob thought possible. One moment he’d been thinking of one of Doctor Morris’s lessons on astronomy and the next he was being shouted at by the coscritto wanting to put water in Rob’s bowl. They ate and returned to the arena in shackles where they met a fresh platoon of recruits, but the same drill sergeant.

  Rob was less successful in his bout against that day’s opponent. He came away victorious, but with a great bruise on his right elbow and bloodied lip. The Longbeard man, who Rob took to calling Victor, won again. Two more of their fellow prisoners left the arena unconscious; dragged out by the ever faithful coscrittos. The session ended with another three-on-one, no holds barred fight in which Tyler again scored heavily against the recruits. One of them managed to bloody his nose with a spear thrust, but this only earned that recruit a fierce pummeling in return.

  Rob spent a third night in greater disco
mfort and restless sleep, followed by a third day of fighting and watching others fight. By the end of this day, the number of bruised and bloodied areas on his body rose to eight. Tyler received as much as he gave out and Victor was dumped unconscious into his cell, having forced the sergeant to use his cudgel to keep him from killing one of the recruits.

  Rob awoke that night to the sound of screaming and a sick-sounding thud which continued for a good minute. He moved to his cell bars trying to figure out what it was and where it was coming from, but the sounds stopped.

  “Wimpy just tried to kill himself by beating his head against the wall. He’s going to be upset when he wakes up later and realizes it didn’t work,” Tyler said.

  Rob almost asked if they should call for the guards but knew such action would produce no results.

  “You want to escape from here, don’t you?” Tyler said.

  “Yes,” Rob said after a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t you?”

  “Ha! I’d love to get off this island. Go find another with better accommodations, at least better food. But there’s the real problem. The only way you get off this island is when they throw your dead body to the fishes. A few have tried, but it never works.”

  “You suggest I give up on escape? And do what instead? I can’t accept that there’s no way to escape save through death.”

  “Then you’re a fool. Tell yourself what you need to survive; convince yourself you can survive this and you might live long enough to see one of those fresh-faced recruits we’re fighting return as an instructor. But you’ll never see anything else but these cells and that arena… maybe the jungle, but that’s as far as you’d get.”

  “Jungle? You got outside the town?”

  “Listen boy, you’ve got some skills in fighting. It might be enough to keep you alive longer than most, but don’t be trying to make the same mistakes I did.”