The combat took a different turn now, with the Saxon attacking his opponent vigorously while the other man fought desperately to save his life. The champion, however, refused to draw it out any further. Relentlessly he drove the other Samnite across the ring, his opponent getting few blows in and striving to protect himself with his shield. The Saxon rained blow after blow upon it, until finally the man fell back, exhausted, his defense falling from his hand. The Saxon swiftly and mercifully pierced the other gladiator’s heart with his sword. Then he walked across the ring to the cheers of the spectators and saluted the emperor with the bloodied weapon.
“Remove your helmet, Saxon,” Justin Gabras said loftily, “that the emperor may see your face when he congratulates you on your victory.”
The Saxon removed his helmet and said, “There is no victory against a weaker man, lord. In two days’ time, however, I will fight the Hun. I will bring you his head upon a silver salver, and then I will accept your congratulations for a battle well fought.”
“You do not fear death?” the emperor said quietly.
“No, majesty,” the Saxon replied. “I have already lost everything I ever held dear. What is death but an escape? Yet the gods have willed it that I must live for now.”
“You are not a Christian, Saxon?”
“Nay, majesty. I worship Woden and Thor. They are my gods,” came the reply, “but the gods, I think, do not concern themselves with little men like myself, else I should have had my heart’s desire.”
Cailin stared at the Saxon as if mesmerized. She could not hear what was being said, but she knew he was speaking, for his lips were moving. It could not be. He looked like Wulf, but it simply could not be. Wulf was in Britain, on their lands, with a new wife and child. This man could not be Wulf Ironfist, and yet.… She needed to hear his voice, to see him up close.
“I told you he was a glorious creature,” Casia purred in smug tones. “Even covered in sweat and dirt he is beautiful, is he not, Cailin? Cailin? Cailin!” She tugged at her friend’s sleeve.
“What? What is it, Casia? What did you say? I was not listening, I fear. You must forgive me. I was momentarily distracted.”
Casia giggled. “I can certainly see you were, and by what.”
Cailin smiled. “Yes, he is a beautiful fellow,” she replied, regaining control of herself, “but despite it all, I do not like these gladiatorial combats.”
“My lord Aspar?” A guardsman had entered the box. “The emperor would speak with you a moment.”
Aspar hurried from the box. When he returned several minutes later, he said to Cailin, “There are emissaries here from Adrianople. It seems the peace there grows more fragile with each hour, and fighting is threatening to break out again between the religious factions. I am going to try and mediate this here in the palace with Leo tonight. Do you mind going home alone, my love?”
Cailin shook her head. Actually she was relieved. She needed time to think. The resemblance between the Saxon and Wulf was amazing, though his hair was lighter than Wulf’s corn-colored locks had been. “Keep the litter,” she told Aspar. “Whatever time you come home, you will need transportation. I will go with Casia to her house, and then her litter will bring me to Villa Mare.”
“Of course,” Casia agreed. “Cailin is ever practical, my lords. Basilicus, my love, you will join me for supper?”
“I cannot,” he said regretfully. “My sister insists I keep her company this evening, for she is entertaining the patriarch. Perhaps I shall come late, my sweet. Would it please you?”
“No,” Casia said, “I think not, my lord. If you cannot come to supper, then I shall take the time to catch up on my sleep. I do not seem to get a great deal of it when you are with me,” she added suggestively, thus tempering her refusal. Rising, she kissed him lightly on the mouth. “Come, Cailin. It will be difficult enough getting through the crowds, with the arena emptying itself like a full wine cup.”
“Good fortune, my lord,” Cailin told Aspar.
He bent and, cupping her face in his hand, touched her lips softly with his. “When I look at you, my love,” he told her, “I find my devotion to duty growing weaker and weaker.”
“You do not fool me,” Cailin said with a small smile. “The empire is your first love, and I well know it. I am willing to share you with Byzantium, my dearest love.”
He smiled into her face. “You are without peer among all the women I have ever known, Cailin Drusus. I am fortunate to have your love.”
“You are fortunate to have his love,” Casia told her as they departed the Hippodrome in her large and comfortable litter.
“Why did you refuse to allow the prince to come later?” Cailin asked her friend. “I believe he truly loves you.”
“I do not want to cling to Basilicus like some dreadful little vine,” Casia said. “Nor do I want Basilicus to ever presume upon my love for him. I am his mistress, not his wife. I will not accept part of an evening at his discretion. I want an entire evening. Surely he knew beforehand that he would be with his sister tonight, but he did not tell me. He presumed that I should be there for him, but I am not, now am I?”
When Cailin did not answer, Casia focused upon her friend and said, “Have you heard a word that I said? What is the matter with you, Cailin? You are suddenly so distracted.”
Cailin sighed. She needed to confide in someone, and Casia was the only friend she had. “It is the Saxon,” she replied.
“Aye, he is gorgeous!” Casia agreed.
“It is not that,” Cailin answered.
“Then what is it?” Casia demanded.
“I think the Saxon is Wulf Ironfist,” Cailin told her friend.
“Your husband in Britain? Are you certain? The gods!”
“I am not certain, Casia,” Cailin said nervously, “but I must know! We wed because he was tired of fighting and he wanted to settle down. My lands were what drew him to me. I have thought Wulf Ironfist to be in Britain, on those lands, these months past. I even decided that he must have taken another wife and had a child by now. I have to know if the man they call the Saxon is he! I must know one way or another.”
“Ohhh, Cailin, you are opening a Pandora’s box,” Casia warned. “What if this man is Wulf Ironfist? What will you do? Do you still love him? What of Aspar?”
“I cannot answer you, Casia. I have no answers. I only know I must learn if it is he, or if my eyes have been playing tricks upon me.” She looked so distraught that Casia’s heart went out to her. “Ohhh, what am I to do?” Cailin asked, and she began to cry.
“Well,” Casia said briskly, “we will simply have to satisfy your curiosity, won’t we?” Pulling the curtains of her litter open, she leaned out and called to her head bearer, “Go to Villa Maxima, Peter!”
Cailin gasped. “Oh, Casia, no! ‘Tis madness! What if I am seen? Especially now that I am to be married to Aspar.”
“Who will see us?” Casia said. “Jovian and Phocas have closed Villa Maxima to their regular clientele while the gladiators are in residence. I will go in while you remain in the litter with the curtains tightly closed. I will seek out Jovian, and he will know how you may learn if the Saxon is your Wulf Ironfist. We will be discreet, and you will be safer than if you were in your mother’s house again,” Casia promised. “Then you can go home and feel foolish, for it is very, very unlikely that this gladiator is your man, Cailin Drusus.”