They lazed contentedly for some time, then two servants arrived, holding hot towels. The Rigante warriors climbed from the bath and dried themselves, then walked through to the massage room, where two young men waited.
Bran lay on his stomach and felt the warm oil poured to his back. He relaxed instantly, and the masseur expertly stroked and probed the muscles of his neck and shoulders, easing out the tensions. He glanced across at Fiallach, who was lying face down with his eyes closed. When the massage was finished, the oil gently scraped from their bodies with rounded ivory blades, they rose and dressed, and returned to their rooms. Food had been laid there, cold cooked meats and sweet pastries alongside two jugs, one of wine, one of water. They ate, then sat back to await the call from Jasaray.
‘One could almost come to like this place,’ said Fiallach.
The door opened and two silver-armoured warriors entered. ‘Your chariot is here,’ said the first, his voice echoing the contempt in his eyes.
Fiallach rose and strode across to tower over him. He looked at the man closely.
‘Isn’t that remarkable,’ he said to Bran. ‘Do you remember the first Stone head I rammed on the lance? It was just like his, though I think this man’s neck is thicker. Probably take two cuts to sever it.’ The soldier blanched, and licked his lips. Fiallach smiled at him. ‘Do not concern yourself, little man. Today I am in a good mood.’
Horath bowed deeply as the emperor and his entourage entered the Royal Enclosure and took up their seats overlooking the golden sand of the arena. The sun was shining, and the stadium was almost full – twelve thousand citizens of Stone, waiting to see today’s death bouts.
Horath led the emperor to his high-backed, velvet-covered chair. With Jasaray were two tribesmen, one handsome and beardless with golden hair, the other an enormous figure, with a long drooping moustache. The giant looked fearsome, and his bare arms showed many scars. He would have made a fine gladiator, thought Horath.
Six silver-garbed warriors filed in, and stood in a line behind the emperor. Jasaray sat down, leaning his back against a plump cushion. He glanced up at Horath. ‘You are looking well, young man,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Majesty. You honour Circus Occian with your presence.’
‘May I introduce my guests? This is Bendegit Bran, a lord of the Rigante tribe, and his aide Fiallach.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, sirs,’ said Horath, offering a slight bow. ‘Have you come to see your comrade in battle?’
He saw the surprise in their faces. ‘Bane is fighting today,’ he said swiftly. ‘He is Gladiator Seven now, a magnificent fighter, and a great asset to our circus. Today he meets Dex, from Circus Palantes. Dex is Gladiator Four and it should be a classic encounter. If you wish to gamble I would be delighted to have your bets placed with the circus bank.’
Bendegit Bran shook his head, and exchanged glances with Fiallach.
‘Well, enjoy your day, sirs.’ With a deep bow to Jasaray, Horath withdrew to his own seat. Every few minutes he cast nervous glances back towards the door. He had invited Nalademus and the Lord Voltan to the Enclosure, but had received no reply. Even so, chairs had been prepared for them. This had caused him some concern, for Nalademus was a large man, and needed a big chair. Which would have been fine, except that the emperor insisted upon a straight-backed seat for himself, with a single cushion. Horath could not seat Nalademus in a chair more grand than that of the emperor, and had instead placed a wide couch to the rear of the Enclosure.
Unfortunately this would mean that Nalademus, should he arrive, would be sitting behind Jasaray and his guests. Horath comforted himself with the rumour that the Stone elder had been in ill health for some time, and was, therefore, unlikely to attend.
A blare of trumpets sounded and six horsemen rode into the arena. The crowd cheered as the men galloped their white mounts round the perimeter. Then, in unison, the riders lifted their feet and smoothly rose to stand on the backs of the horses. The mounts came into a line. The riders began to leap from one horse to another, landing lightly, timing each jump to perfection. Then they sat back in their saddles and rode from the arena. The crowd applauded their skills. Horath glanced at the two Rigante warriors. They sat, expressionless, arms folded across their chests. At that moment the rear door opened and Horath mouthed a silent curse.