‘I did not ask for the sum – he offered it. And if you were eavesdropping – a womanly skill, I’ve found – then you will have heard me tell him I’d do it for fifty.’
‘You want cheese with this ham?’ she asked.
‘Yes, and bread. Did you hear what I said?’
‘I heard you, but I don’t believe you. You were trying to force me to fail. Admit it!’
‘Yes, I admit it.’
‘Then that’s all there is to say. There’s your food. When you have finished it, clean your plate. And then do me the
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kindness of spending the evening in your room. I’ve had enough of your company today.’
“The training doesn’t stop just because the sun’s gone down,’ he said softly. Today we worked your body. This evening we work your mind. And I will go to my room when it pleases me. What are you going to eat?’
“The same as you.’
‘Do you have any honey?’
‘No.’
‘Dried fruit?’
‘Yes – why?’
‘Eat some. I learnt a long time ago that sweetmeats and cakes sit more easily on a tired stomach. You’ll sleep better and wake more refreshed. And drink a lot of water.’
‘Anything else?’
‘If I think of anything I’ll tell you. Now let us finish this meal and start to work.’
Having finished his meal Angel cleared away the ash of the previous night’s fire, laid fresh kindling, and struck a spark to the tinder. Miriel had eaten in the kitchen, and had then walked through the cabin and out into the night. Angel was angry with himself. You are no teacher, he thought. And the girl was right -he wanted her to quit. But not for the reasons she believed. He sighed and leaned back on his haunches, watching the tiny flames devouring the kindling, feeling the first soft waves of heat from the fire.
He had tried to train the boy, Ranuld, showing him the moves and defences he would need in his new career, but Ranuld had died from a disembowelling cut in his first fight. Then there was Sorrin, tall and athletic, fearless and fast. He had lasted for seven fights – had even become a favourite with the crowd. Senta had killed him – heelspin and reverse thrust to the throat. Good move, beautifully executed. Sorrin was dead before he knew it.
That was the day Angel retired. He had fought a dull Vagrian, whose name he couldn’t recall. The man was tough, but slowed by a recent wound. Even so he had
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almost taken Angel, cutting him twice. After the battle Angel had sat in the arena surgery, the doctor stitching his wounds, while on the table opposite lay Sorrin’s bloody corpse. Beside it sat Senta, a bandage soaked in honey and wine being applied to a shallow cut in his shoulder.
‘You trained him well,’ said Senta. ‘He almost took me.’
‘Not well enough,’ answered Angel.
‘I look forward to meeting the master.’
Angel had looked into the young man’s eager eyes, seeing the mocking expression on the handsome face, the smile that was almost a sneer. ‘It won’t happen, boy,’ he had said, the words tasting like acid in his mouth. ‘I’m too old and slow. This is your day. Enjoy it.’
‘You are leaving the arena?’ whispered Senta, astonished.
‘Yes. That was my last fight.’
The young man nodded, then cursed as the orderly tied the knot in the bandage on his shoulder. ‘You dolt!’ snapped Senta.
‘I’m sorry, sir!’ said the man, moving back, his face twisted in fear.
Senta returned his gaze to Angel. ‘I think you are wise, old man, but for myself I am disappointed. You are a favourite with the crowds. I could have made my fortune by defeating you.’
Angel added wood to the fire and stood. Senta had only fought for one more year, then he had joined the Guild, earning far more as an assassin than a gladiator.
The door opened behind him, and he felt a cold draught. Turning he saw Miriel walking towards her room. She was naked and carrying her clothes, her body wet from a bath in the stream. His gaze took in her narrow back and waist, the long muscular legs and firm, rounded buttocks. Arousal touched him and he swung back to the fire.