Bane forced a smile. ‘Do I look that bad?’
‘You are very pale, and there are dark hollows under your eyes. Uisge hollows.’ She grinned at him. Bane rubbed his eyes. He thought he had taken only a few swallows of uisge, but he remembered the strength of it. It was like swallowing fire.
A few minutes later Cara returned with a plate of hot buttered toast. Bane thanked her, and sipped his tisane. Girta was right. His head began to clear almost immediately. ‘Where are Rage and Telors?’ he asked.
‘They had breakfast an hour ago, then went for a run,’ said Cara. ‘Telors said not to wake you, because you had been drinking uisge.’ She gave him an accusing look. ‘Grandfather says gladiators should not drink strong spirit. It is like poison, he says.’
‘He’s a very wise man,’ observed Bane.
‘He’s not going to fight again,’ said the girl. ‘Not ever.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
She looked at Girta. ‘Yesterday was a terrible day, wasn’t it, Girta? Sitting here not knowing if Grandfather . . . It was a terrible day.’
‘But today is not so terrible,’ said Bane.
‘Today is my birthday,’ said Cara. ‘I am fourteen. Grandfather and I are going into the city. He is going to buy me a horse. Not a pony! A horse. And we are going to buy more cattle. Grandfather is rich now. That’s why he doesn’t need to fight again.’
As Bane was finishing his breakfast Rage and Telors ran into the open ground beyond the kitchen window. Bane glanced through the window. Telors waved at him and walked over to lean on the sill. ‘The young just can’t handle strong drink,’ he said, with a grin.
‘It wasn’t the drink,’ said Bane. ‘It was your snoring. I hardly slept a wink.’
Telors flicked snow at him from the sill, then turned as a rider came into sight. The man wore an expensive cloak edged with ermine, and fur-lined riding boots. His horse was a fine beast, well groomed and keen-eyed. Rage walked out to meet him. Bane wandered to the window. ‘Who is he?’ he asked Telors.
‘Judging by the eagle embroidered on his tunic I’d say he’s from Palantes,’ Telors told him, then wandered off to join Rage.
Bane headed through to the main room and sat down by the fire. His headache was almost gone, but he felt drained of energy. The chair was deep and comfortable, and he stretched out his legs and closed his eyes.
‘Someone here to see you,’ said Rage. Bane sat up. The visitor, a tall man running to fat, dipped his head in a short bow. Bane picked up the scent of perfume.
‘I am Jain, First Slave to Circus Palantes,’ said the newcomer, his voice smooth and melodious. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you.’
Bane stood and shook the proffered hand. The man’s grip was soft, the fingers clammy. ‘I watched you fight yesterday. You were very impressive.’ Bane said nothing. ‘I have spoken to Persis Albitane about you, and made him an offer for your contract. In short, Circus Palantes would like to sponsor you.’
‘Sponsor me?’
‘They want you to fight for them,’ said Rage.
‘Five hundred in gold upon your signature, and a guaranteed two hundred each time you fight. Your lodgings and personal expenses will also be paid by the circus, and we will supply you with armour and weapons.’
Bane looked at Rage. ‘Is this a fair offer?’
‘Yes, but no more than that.’
‘What do you advise?’
‘Think on it,’ said Rage.
Bane looked at the man from Palantes. ‘I will give you my answer tomorrow,’ he said.
‘You won’t get a better offer,’ said Jain, holding his smile in place.
‘Tomorrow,’ Bane repeated.
‘Yes, yes, of course. Well, as I said, it was a pleasure, and congratulations on your duel.’ He turned to Rage. ‘My congratulations also to you, sir. We all thought Vorkas was destined to be Gladiator One. You showed us the error in that judgment.’
‘Good-bye,’ said Rage, opening the door for him.
The man left the farmhouse, climbed on his horse and rode away.
‘As I told you,’ said Rage, ‘Palantes do not grieve for long. There is always another fighter waiting to be sucked dry.’