Accession Day

The half-elf assumed a fencing stance opposite Mantabé. "And the ladies will love to see the two of you come to grips," he continued with a stone face.

"Perhaps," Mantabé mused, "but I will beat him where he is strongest. I have a reputation to protect."

"A reputation that will get you killed someday," Agilos replied, rapping his outstretched sparring blade against Mantabé's own, "If Apliss be good, I will have to opportunity to remind you of this before you expire."

Mantabé smiled and dropped back into a fighting stance of his own. "There is a short list of those in this city who might kill me, and you are at the top of it, old friend."

Agilos made no reply except to thrust the sword point at Mantabé's face. When it was batted aside, he stepped forward and pressed the attack. The clacking of their swords echoed around the courtyard, drawing a small audience of house slaves. Agilos scored two touches with his lightning-fast strikes and another victory by pushing Mantabé out of the designated sparring space. Mantabé replied with a single touch of his own.

"Ha! It is too soon in our day for you to be letting your guard down like that!" he cried as Agilos reset himself for another bout. "You usually take longer than this to slacken your efforts," he continued until he saw Didius standing on the second-floor balcony next to the household steward.

"Master Didius, good morning," Mantabé said in greeting and was quickly echoed by Agilos.

"Good morning, gladiators!" Didius replied cheerfully. "Looking forward to the day? I know I am," he continued without waiting for a reply. "So many shows to see today, why I hear that Halakar has brought a horned basilisk from the Wild Isle. I do hope you are not fighting that today, Mantabé."

"No, Master, I am fighting Sweyn the Northman."

"Oh, well that's disappointing. How that man made it to today, I'm still baffled. Well, I'm sure it will be a good show. Be wary of him. Despite his apparent lack of skill, it would seem that he has the gods on his side. Tread carefully, my boy."

"If you say so," Mantabé replied.

"I do say so. Well, then," Didius announced, "I'm off to finish some business at the Guildhouse before the arena. See you there!" and he and the steward disappeared back into the house, followed by two scribes carrying ledgers.

Mantabé spent the rest of the day in preparation and relaxation before joining Agilos outside the house in the mid-afternoon. Attended by a trio of house slaves, they set off across the city. It was unfortunate, Mantabé reflected for what must have been the thousandth time, that the Spicers' Guildhouse was located on the opposite side of the city from Halakar's Arena. How many hours of his life had he spent walking between the two of them, he wondered?

Still, the walk was at least interesting. They wound their way through Dolphin Square, the heart of the city's night life, though placid at this early hour. Passing in front of the Black Lotus, whose marble edifice towered over the Square, Mantabé found himself thinking of the victory celebration with Sabinia and some nubile pleasure slaves that was sure to be in his future. Reaching Palace Street on the east side, he and Agilos descended the stair by Halakar's Auction House to reach Market Street, which they followed to Arena Street and then the arena itself.

This late in the day, the arena was still encircled by a crowd outside. Street vendors were out in force, hawking trinkets, sugary drinks, and hot food wherever they thought they might find a customer. Men from the betting syndicates were moving through the crowd, talking up one combatant or another and taking coin from countless eager laborers, sailors, and wealthy burghers. A few streetwalkers even cruised the waiting masses looking for clients, their hair coiffed and breasts bared.

Mantabé and Agilos impatiently pushed their way through the crowd toward the gladiators' entrance. Despite his hooded mantle, Mantabé was quickly recognized by a woman in the crowd who cried out his name. In short order, a knot of adoring fans formed around him, shouting questions about the upcoming bout, pleas to teach him the ways of a gladiator and solicitations to take a lady behind the arena for a good time.

He ignored them all, allowing Agilos and his stern glare to blaze a path through the mob for him. The experienced half-elf split the crowd like a shark moving through a school of fish and soon enough, they were in the cool and quiet halls of the arena's lower tunnels. Mantabé went directly to his assigned cell to await the summons.

Agilos waited with him, alternating between sparring exercises and watching the other fights. In between fights, Halakar sent out acrobats to amuse the crowd. A company of actors played out humorous skits in between two bouts. To excite the crowd for the next fight, a troupe of nude dancing girls led them in cheers for the fighters. Mantabé watched them with great interest for there were still some who he had not introduced to his bed.

Behind him, the door opened and Sabinia walked in. She wore a more reserved dress than the day before, it was not sheer enough to reveal her curvaceous body, and she covered herself in a red linen mantle. Her pale breast was bared and adorned by a necklace of a single pearl, while about her brow she wore a copper diadem studded with diamonds. Smiling, Mantabé left the window and went to embrace her.

"The merchants changed plans. They came in the morning and finished by noon," she said, kissing him. "Now I am here for you."

"It is good to see you again so soon," Mantabé replied as Agilos gracefully excused himself, passing Alami, who stood silently by the door.

"Florian is in his box. I will join him there when you are called to the fight."

"I am to fight the northman, Sweyn," Mantabé said, "He is tall and strong, but no experienced gladiator. It should be a short fight."

"All the same, I came to wish you luck," she said. "I will stay with Florian throughout the fights, though. I should be seen with him today. When he leaves, I will come and find you for our own celebration." She leaned in and kissed his neck. "Think of me out there." Mantabé nodded, putting his hands around her waist.

A servant entered the room, carrying a cup of wine on a silver platter. He set the cup down on the cell's small table, bowed to Mantabé and Sabinia in deference and left without saying a word.

"Only one cup?" Mantabé complained, "Alami, run after the boy and get one for your mistress."

"Do not worry," Sabinia said, waving dismissively. "I will have my wine in our box. Besides, your fight is to start soon." She brushed her hair away from her breast, drawing Mantabé's eye to her necklace. It was unfamiliar to him, a perfectly round pearl on a fine silver chain. He took plucked it from her breast between two fingers and inspected it closer.

"I've not seen this before," he said, "this is a beautiful pearl."

"I bought it in the market yesterday," Sabinia replied, touching his hand, "the merchant said it was enchanted, but I put little stock in that."

"Enchanted? How so?"

"He said that if I put it in a drink, it will turn black if the drink is poisoned. It was not so expensive, so I thought it might prove useful."

"Well, try it," Mantabé said, offering his cup of wine. "Perhaps someone is trying to poison me."

Sabinia laughed and took the necklace from her throat. Holding the chain in her fist, she dipped the pearl into his wine and raised it up.

To the surprise of all three, the pearl darkened and turned the color of a rotten piece of fruit.

"Well, look at that!" Mantabé exclaimed. "I suppose the merchant could have lied."

Sabinia studied the blackened pearl closely, then the wine. Slowly, she said "Perhaps. I would not drink the wine in any case. Alami," the slave girl straightened to attention, "Run and follow that servant. See if you can find out where he went."

The girl nodded obediently and went out the door. Sabinia took the cup from Mantabé and put it back on the table. "Save that, we should have an apothecary look at it."

Mantabé set it down, sadly forgoing his usual drink before a fight. He saw Sabinia looking at him sideways.

"Who might be trying to poison you?" she demanded.

"No one!" he insisted, his hands raised in a gesture of innocence, "I have not offended anyone recently! I think you might be putting too much stock in a trinket you bought at the market. Who is to say it will not turn black in any wine?"

"Perhaps," she said again, "but you should treat this as a serious attempt on your life until you know it is not. Caution is the best approach."

Mantabé sighed. Sabinia lived in a world where this was a common concern, he remembered, while he did not. Gladiators were beneath the notice of those who might seek to poison Sabinia or Didius. Perhaps the wine was meant for her?

There was a knock on the door, and a man pushed it open. He wore the dark red tabard of Halakar's servants and said "Mantabé, you are summoned to the gate. Your fight is about to begin." The herald looked at Sabinia suspiciously for a brief moment before turning down the hallway.

Mantabé shrugged at Sabinia. "Time to go. We can continue this later." He then undressed himself for the fight, pulling his tunic over his head and dropping his breeches to the floor. Despite her concerns of poison, Sabinia could only admire his physique, biting her lower lip as she touched her bare neck. He smiled at her expression, stepping out of his breeches to stand nude before her, his large cock starting to stiffen at the sight of her.

"I will see you soon," he said before striding from the cell in nothing but his sword belt and sandals.

The herald led him to a heavy iron portcullis that looked out into the arena. A pair of attendants began to pull the portcullis' chain and raise the heavy gate. The crowd, already buzzing with excitement, broke out into cheers.

Through the gate, Mantabé could see the queen's box, where she sat under the sable awning next to another woman, shrouded in a long robe of gray. Their heads were together in conversation, Lamira's chin on her upraised hand as they casually regarded the scene before them.

The herald strode out into the arena, with Mantabé trailing just behind him. The crowd roared in delight, and Mantabé's ears were assaulted by the screaming of his fans, some of whom leaned over the rail with hands outstretched. Once again, he saw them pull open their bodices to show him their breasts. One woman vaulted onto the rail completely naked, arms outstretched wide and legs open.

"Take me, Mantabé!" she screamed to the crowd's delight. Two of the arena's attendants grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down into her seat. Halakar stood up in his box and called out.

"Who is our next fighter?"

"I present to you, Master of the Arena, the gladiator Mantabé, owned by Publius Quintus Didius, Guildmaster of the Spicers' Guild. He has won his place in this arena. Just yesterday he slew an ogre before this crowd."

The crowd roared in appreciation. Mantabé's gaze went to the box of Florian, who sat his aged body next to Sabinia, the two of them playing the expected role of husband and wife for all to see in public. She smiled at him as openly as good taste permitted and he returned her expression. Halakar let the cheers rebound around the arena several times before continuing.

"A worthy combatant indeed. But who will be his opponent?"

From the opposite gate, a second herald approached, followed by a tall, red-haired man carrying a great, double-bladed axe over his shoulder. Like Mantabé, he was naked except for a pair of sandals. There were those in the crowd who shouted his name, though they were drowned out in a chorus of disdain.

"Master of the arena," this second herald called out, "I present to you Sweyn the Northman, a free man fighting for fame and fortune. He has also won his place in this arena. Yesterday, he slew a minotaur in sight of those assembled here."

"Another worthy fighter," Halakar intoned. "This will be a fight for the ages! But first, let us give prayer to Arvoran, Lord of Battle."

The heralds retreated into the arena's halls as the portcullis' were lowered. A man in a long white robe trimmed with red silk stood up from the seat behind Halakar, carrying in his arms a smoking censer. The crowd quieted down, and he called out in a voice that carried across the vast expanse of the arena.

"Arvoran who is Lord of Battle, King of Armies, we gather here to witness a display of martial prowess in honor of your sacred charge. May your holy guidance bring the spoils of victory to the triumphant. Cast your vigilant gaze over this fight and may the best man win!"

Halakar struck a bell, and the fight was on.

Sweyn closed with Mantabé quickly, his axe raised for a killing stroke. Mantabé refused to be caught standing still for such an attack, darting to the side before the stroke fell. That seemed to surprise Sweyn, who found himself off balance as he tried to recover. Mantabé attacked from the side, slashing at his foe's exposed side. Sweyn narrowly escaped the strike, which would have doubtlessly ended their fight right away.

Mantabé danced back, raising his arms up high. The crowd cheered for him, beating the rails and risers with their fists and stamping their feet. Three young men leaned over the rail and blew shrill whistles through their fingers. Mantabé smiled at Sweyn, safe in his adoring crowd.

The tall northman came on again, driving Mantabé back with swings of his axe. He cut air again and again, doing no harm to his foe, but driving him back against the wall. Before he could be cornered and hacked to pieces, Mantabé darted underneath a wild swing of the axe and was back in the open arena. As he passed by Sweyn's thigh, he slashed at it with his sword, drawing a line of blood.

The northman shouted in pain as his hand went to the wound. He staggered against the wall in pain, his hateful gaze going from Mantabé to the wound and back again. The crowd roared in anticipation of a bloody victory. Mantabé waited in the open expanse of sand near the middle.

Sweyn quickly collected himself and began to advance, favoring his wounded leg. His expression was one of determination, but also a bit of surprise in his green eyes. His red beard contorted as he snarled, showing yellowed teeth.

As he drew into striking distance, Mantabé gave ground, ensuring that his foe was always a step and a half away from landing a blow. Unfortunately, due to the northman's long reach, that crucial distance also meant that Mantabé was two strikes away from landing one of his own. Sweyn lunged forward to strike, and Mantabé moved back to bleed momentum from the attack before knocking the axe aside with his own blade. From somewhere in the stands, he could feel Agilos' disapproving gaze on him. The half-elf was surely disappointed in his student for fighting this way. But the crowd hated quick fights.

Mantabé fought from a distance, using Sweyn's lunging attacks to bleed the taller man of his vigor. Twice, he got close enough to slash at the man's extended hands, leaving cuts on his wrists. The crowd cheered for them, hollering with each clash of blades, though louder still when Mantabé delivered a cut. He noticed that his foe had no admirers hanging over the rail for him, no women who bared their breasts to attract his attention. Despite fighting in the nude, his muscles oiled and his cock swinging between his legs, the northman was unremarkable to the crowd. Against him, Mantabé was a ebon demi-god of battle, his own oiled flesh glistening in the late afternoon sun. He felt the crowd's cheering in his heart, channeling their worship into his own strikes and drawing strength from it.

By now, he could see that the northman was flagging. His strides were shorter, his axe drooped, his breath came more slowly. Mantabé feinted a strike high, throwing the taller man off balance. His fatigue showing, Sweyn responded slowly, and Mantabé spied his opening.

Leaping inside Sweyn's range of motion, Mantabé threw his shoulder into the northerner's chest. The man grunted as the breath was knocked from him. His tall, lanky body hit the ground in a spray of sand. The crowd was on their feet, chanting for blood. Mantabé knelt down and seized his foe by the throat, his sword point poised to deliver the final blow.

Sweyn raised a hand. "I yield," he gasped. From the stands, the priest of Arvoran shouted, "Sweyn the Northman yields! The fight is won!"

Mantabé stilled his blade. The crowd chanted his name once again. Some cried out for blood, screaming "finish him!"

For his own part, Mantabé wondered what role Sweyn had played in the delivery of the poisoned wine. Had he intended to cheat a win for himself?

The northerner had fought well, and there were scant few in the crowd who wished to see him died. The crowd's usual appetite for blood had seemingly been sated earlier in the day.

Sweyn lay prostrate at his feet, arms outstretched. Mantabé stood above him, arms and sword raised in victory. Queen Lamira stood up in her box and silenced the crowd with a raised white hand.

"Hail to the victor," she said to him for the second time in as many days. Raising her arms to the crowd, she intoned, "Here in sight of Arvoran, you have triumphed. Tomorrow, you and your sponsor will have the honor of being seated at my side during the banquet. I now bestow upon you the crown you have earned."

A slave appeared at her side, extending a crown of laurels on the end of a spear. Mantabé took the crown and placed it on his head, causing the crowd to erupt in another round of cheering.

"Go now, and enjoy your spoils," the queen pronounced, gesturing towards the gate, where a pair of slaves were working hard to raise the portcullis.

As Sweyn was carried from the sand, Mantabé retreated through the raised portcullis. The chamber was empty, so Mantabé took a seat on a stone bench and waited. Outside, the crowd continued to chant his name even as some began to head for the exits. Even without the prospect of further fights this day, the crowd was still reveling in the spectacle they had just witnessed.

Didius entered the room suddenly, the sounds of his approach masked by the thunder of the crowd in the arena.

"Well done, well done!" he crowed. "Oh, you've saved me a good deal of money today, Mantabé," Didius went on. "I had done something foolish, I fear. I bet a new acquisition on this fight before I even knew what it was. It was most careless of me and I won't do it again."

"You should feel safe to bet whatever you please on me, master. I will not let you down."

Didus waved a hand dismissively. "The uncertainty is what makes it so much fun. I never bet on you unless I am fleecing a rube, but this time... Oh, as I said, I was foolish. Letting myself get baited like that... No matter. You have rescued me from my own stupidity, and you will be rewarded for that."

"As you say, master." Mantabé hesitated, then "have you... perhaps upset someone recently?" he asked.

"Upset? Why of course, I'm always upsetting people. The Guild always makes someone unhappy when it makes it money. But nothing out of the ordinary, I should say. We apprehended a crew of smugglers last week, fresh in from Leiyan with a king's ransom in spice. But they've all been rotting in the gibbet for three days by now."

"I see. I wondered if perhaps someone might be angry with you."

"Angry? Why would you suspect that?"

"It's nothing, master," Mantabé said, losing his resolve. "I just thought... you said you were baited into betting something..."

"Oh, yes. That. Just a bit of posturing among us rich men, I'm afraid. Nothing to be concerned about. I certainly would not have lost enough money to endanger your position."