Blood Eagle

Chapter 8: A Deal Struck

A Deal Struck

While Arn's victory had given him more prestige in the hierarchy of the gladiator school, Domitian had willingly demoted himself, allowing them to meet in the middle and eat their meals next to each other. Arn still did not care about how the gladiators ranked themselves or having company when eating; conducting a conversation even with his wax tablet was too cumbersome. Yet he saw no reason to spite a man that showed him friendship.

"That's a neat little pouch," Domitian remarked in between gulps of gruel, nodding at the new item attached to Arn's belt. "I can't imagine if I lost my tongue and had to write down everything I wanted to say."

Given the flow of words that spilled from the burly fighter's lips each day, Arn could not rightly imagine such silence either.

"You're lucky they let you out so fast. Maybe they thought a prisoner of war had more honour. It took months before I was given such privilege."

For once, Arn took note of what he was being told, and he turned his head to give Domitian a questioning look. He had assumed the Aquilan was a freeman who had joined willingly.

"Ah, I never told you." Domitian pulled up his sleeve to reveal the word branded into his flesh. "I suppose you'll be curious to know what I did."

For once, Arn was curious.

"Halfway through my time as a legionary. Got into a drunken fight and killed another. I was not on duty or in camp at the time, or I'd have been executed for sure. Still, it could easily have gone that way. But my prefect had a soft spot for me and convinced the legate to let me repay my debt in the arena."

Arn would never have guessed such a tale, but there was no drink in the ludus, and he had never seen Domitian intoxicated.

"At one fight a month, I'm still a couple of years away from freedom. Unless I make champion at the solstice games, of course." Domitian's eyes acquired a dreaming look before he blinked. "Something for you to aim for as well! You got the skill. I'm surprised you haven't battered down Master Mahan's door yet to get another turn on the sands. You were more eager for your first time than a sailor in a brothel."

Except Arn hoped to have one of his minor runes restored before that, which would ensure victory in any fight; no need to risk another close struggle against an even opponent if he could have magical strength on his side the next time. Looking at Domitian, Arn gave a thin smile.

*

Days passed until Arn had waited long enough, and it was time to return to the loremaster. After obtaining permission to leave, Arn washed after training, ate his evening meal, and prepared to do just that. He went to his cell quickly to collect his tablet and change into other clothes appropriate for the city when he heard a knock on his door.

The sound made him frown; nobody had done that before. Pulling a clean tunic down over his body, he walked over and opened the door. Outside stood the nun who came each Manday to pray with those fighting the day after, though Arn assumed she was lost; he was not scheduled to fight, nor did he need or want her prayers.

As the last time he had seen her, she wore the uniform of her order, with cloth covering her head and hair, including a veil before her face. Her right hand held the staff used in her rituals. "You're the Tyrian, I take it. I'm Sister Helena."

He stared at her without any expression, waiting for her to continue.

"I'm told you're mute. I might be able to help you."

Arn could not imagine how.

"All the sisters at my convent learn to speak with signs. It helps preserve silence during rituals or prayer, and it helps with the older sisters hard of hearing." She laughed a little. "I could teach you the same."

He grabbed his tablet.

"Ah, not to my knowledge, no. But if you have learned, others could as well."

So she offered means for him to communicate with nuns. If writing was not such a chore, Arn would have delighted in scribbling a sarcastic reply. Instead, he resigned himself to a simple answer.

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On his way home, Arn spent his last coins buying a cloak with a hood.