Posted by AlOmega on January 20, 2000 at 18:53:06:
COLISEUM
CHAPTER 1
Shield Maiden
by
AlOmega
The smells of dank sands ladened with piss and crap and blood wound its way even here. The tallow lamps helped a bit but not enough. Nonetheless it was better here than it would have been if she had remained in the slave pens. That; and, They might have found the old slave master. She’d managed to get his body to the river prior to anyone discovering his absence. Also lucky that she had been a warrior in her previous life. Unlucky for him, however. She chuckled with that thought.
Isn’t often that one has a chance at a better existence. Properly this could not honestly be termed ‘better’ because there were possibilities that this ‘existence’ could terminate - especially if she didn’t watch her step. However, being someone’s property wasn’t what she was born to. And the prospects of being someone’s sexual plaything wasn’t something she relished either; and, another thing the old slave master had discovered that night. A lesson learned too late is a lesson unlearned. That she had from her Druid-teacher when she was training as a Shield Maiden. She remembered his last words also when the Soldiers came. Her tears were silently shed in the darkness before dawn. The Barbarians would never see those.
That brought back other memories. One of a boy and herself when she was old enough to bear a shield. They had walked in the night air hand-in-hand. They had made love that night. She remembered him as well when the Barbarians came. His head shorn from his body was not kept as a trophy though he had fought as well as she. But They denied even that from them. They were Barbarian Invaders with no thought of how to honor an enemy. At least her first love had gotten away.
But that was long ago. This was now.
That’s what one did when waiting for the next event - especially when you WERE the next event. Memories on memories playing upon one’s mind. Nameless faces bleeding into one collage of many-faceted deaths. There was the training, of course. She wasn’t proud of that but They did let her adapt her own fighting style. She preferred sword and shield to trident and net. She was a Shield Maiden after all. Let the barbarian fight with nets though why someone would fight like a fish - or want to. Her first kill in this new life had been a very small black man. She had been thrust into the arena like so much fodder along with nineteen other women. The short men had fought well. A few of the women had died. But that was expected. Most did not take well to the training. Two were old even for this; and, she had known grandmothers who would have battled better. But she had fought well and killed the small black one as quickly and humanely as possible. Since then she had fought others like him. They were from a hot, black forest where the sun always shone on the treetops but rarely reached the ground. It was rumored to be a savage place with hairy man-beasts and creatures taller than trees. An evil place where beasts rose out of the rivers and ate humans whole; and, giant snakes with four footed bodies and spears that crushed all who fought them. And sometimes in that place the rains came for days and weeks so that one was always wet. Perhaps these were tales to frighten the timid or weak.
She was neither. Nor did she doubt the tales because there was some truth even in these. She had seen the giant snakes with spears though she had heard them called another name. They had ears like giant gray leaves that waved when they were angry. And the snake was something that was part of their faces and not a ‘snake’ at all. An ‘Oliphant’ she had heard a barbarian say one day. But they existed and if they did, the man-beasts and the eater-of-men-on-the-river existed as well. She only doubted the rains because if they came so often, why hadn’t that land sunk long ago.
As her reputation grew, she was matched with other women. Most of them were from Eastern exotic places like Greece or even Egypt. Some fought with spear and lance or net and trident. Those had been easy kills. She remembered the satisfaction of her sword drinking deeply of their blood as she sank its point to the hilt in their bared bellies. They were barbarians also. Sometimes if they fought well, she would try to remove their heads. But few fought well except one who, like her, preferred shield and sword. She was a woman of a village called Sparta. She would have let that one live. But the slovenly spectators thrusts their thumbs at their chests. Foolish old men and flabby young women seemed to be the only ones that this place produced.
She remembered one who fought with two swords. That one she had met in the slave pens. It was when she was younger and didn’t know one never made friends. Generally only one lived even if they fought well. But this one reminded her of her friend of long ago - her first love. And she was an expert in sword play preferring two swords to her shield and sword. They learned each other’s styles and became close friends. Though shorter, she was from a far country called Cathay.
Her name was Jewelie. She was smaller with long, black hair and black eyes that were shaped differently. But for all their differences, they were almost sisters in their love of the sword. Upon discovering they’d been paired, both almost fainted away. But they also entered into a mutual resolve. She would remember that day forever. Several cuts she suffered and she almost lost her shield hand. The sound of metal against metal never drowned out the laughter and occasional cheers from the crowd. She and Jewelie were fighting for their lives; and, the barbarians were eating, drinking, and laughing. In her land they would have been spat upon.
Before the match they always had to bow to a statue called "Emperor" and say a meaningless speech. She did that though she hated it. Not to do so brought on whips and beatings. With all the pointless ceremony out of the way, she crouched waiting for Jewelie to circle to her left. But Jewelie circled to the right this time. Jewelie had shown her much over the last month but she had not shown all. A feint toward her right exposed her left; and, she felt the searing sword edge slicing through flesh. But it was only a small wound as she had twisted away. Shield met sword as the other blade sought her left thigh. She sliced at Jewelie’s belly but was met with her other sword. Each feint and thrust combined to produce a ballet of sword play. Jewelie caught her shield once and tossed it into the air but she changed hands catching shield in right and sword in her left while twirling away. She had not shown Jewelie all she knew either. But they were too well matched. Though she was much taller, Jewelie was faster. And sword points did make contact. She knew that Jewelie had her measure for her cuts were harder to avoid. But it was late and many others had battled this day. Jewelie slipped on a pool of blood. Almost on its own, her sword not to be denied, pierced Jewelie’s belly button. But before she opened Jewelie’s lower bowels, she stopped the death-dealing stroke. The crowd was shouting its approval and granting Jewelie life. Kneeling beside her dear friend, she gathered her up. Jewelie’s eyes opened.
"Kill me and let the pain stop", Jewelie managed to gasp. It was something they both had discussed.
Though it distressed her, she knew she must do what Jewelie asked. Unshed tears struggled for release as she kissed her friend fully and long on the mouth. The words at first clogged her throat.
"Your wish, my love," she added as she stood with sword and shield in hand. She raised her sword in her own version of a silent salute. The crowd cheered. But they became silent as her sword arced from on high taking Jewelie’s head. She never expected so much blood from so small a person. But it had been Jewelie’s request - her last request - and she always honored those. She was given twenty lashes for that mistake. But she would have taken fifty to honor Jewelie.
That night when They were no longer around, she wept once again. Nor did she mourn only Jewelie but herself as well. For she still lived in this land of never-ending stench and blood. And in the darkness of the early morning hours, she heard something over the tiny insect calls. The hated sounds of the crowds echoed even then.
But that too passed. And it was now and not then. She had become something of a legend in this place. For the most part, she now fought men. Yet even these were easy. Many had she fought. And most of them had died. Several walked this land still for she had learned her lessons well. Besides none of the men - even her occasional lovers - were near as perfect as Jewelie had been. She didn’t remember them all though the faces in her bizarre collage of carnage increased.
And the men she fought seemed to think she would be an easy kill when they were paired. She was a woman after all. Vulgar names and taunts were not uncommon since these men were either from conquered lands or criminal barbarians. She knew them for what they were though she couldn’t understand them. Few came from the northern climes of her birth. None spoke her language at least. But they spoke the vulgar tongue and she hated even that. Another thing her Druid-teacher had said.
"Those Who Know, know. Those Who Pretend to Know, shout their ignorance and are beneath notice. Dispatch them quickly and prepare for Those Who Know."
Even though her Druid-teacher - her Druid Master - was dead, his words rang true. They guided her still.
The trumpet announcing the next event visibly shook her from her reminiscences. But it wasn’t her time. Not yet. She would face her personal anguish soon enough. There was time enough to wish her wishes and remember her regrets. And they were better then knowing what she must face today.
Four old men and eleven boys. They must be nearing the bottom of the barrel. She had heard that some new slaves had been brought in but these hardly had the training required. Just fodder for the masses to watch bleed as animals tore their flesh from their bones. Not the first time she had seen this but it saddened her. Old men - grandfathers likely - and boys whose mothers cried for them surely not knowing where they were gone to or for. At times she thought herself hardened to what happened - the killings and blood spilled in the name of the Vulgar People. But when she saw these, her heart wept once again. A few moments later she heard the crowd roar and then the roar of beasts. Starved beasts most likely - as if starving augmented their savagery. Starving only made the animals weaker. She had even fought animals. More than one bear or cat had laid her open with claw and fang. She had survived through sheer willpower and the swiftness of blade and shield. Soon she must face worse than that.
Would she survive? Would she care if she did?