SCARLETS DOMAIN

I picked morosely at the pheasant wing, Karelia and
Gudrun eating in silence with me by the camp fire. I
longed for things to be different between us. If only
Karelia hadn't sustained that wound, and if only
Gudrun hadn't applied that cursed bandage, and if only
Honoria, for that was the name of the missing
gladiatrix who attacked us, hadn't come back from the
dead.

We turn in to sleep. I take first watch. I am alone
with my thoughts. I look at Gudruns sleeping form and
remember my first encounter with her.

I look to the crowd to acknowledge their
congratulation, but they are booing and cat-calling.
They didn't want a clean death. I am sickened by their
decadence, and vow to take my revenge on them as soon
as I can.

I turn towards the gate, while the slaves come on to
remove Lollia's corpse, lingering over it far more
than is necessary.

As I leave the arena I feel spittle land on my cheek,
and a flash of anger overwhelms me. I glare up at the
stinking masses, snarling, and their cowardly goading
turns quickly to satisfying fear.

Why do they treat us this way? With the men, there is
admiration, but we die merely for entertainment. None
of the women in the tournament are angels, indeed
some, like Lollia, deserve to die, but none deserves
to have their final moments on earth treated as mere
spectacle. They may as well tie us to stakes and have
wild dogs rip out our entrails if all they want is to
see our death agonies. The only reason they don't
this time is to pander to the particular perversions
of the coward Maximus, who would clearly rather we
women humiliated each other than trouble his slaves to
do it instead.

As I enter the archway, I see a shadowy figure out of
the corner of my eye. I blink, and it is gone. Who can
this be? Does it mean anything?

The street whore Lucia greets me first when I join the
others. She it was, who tended Velaris the Hun after
her victory, and now she tends me. Her eyes are full
of concern as she presses a damp cloth against the
wound in my head. Who, I wonder, will show such
concern for her, as they drive a sword into her belly
when her turn comes.

She is strong, there is no question of that. She is a
trained dancer, skilled in the arts of entertaining
men, but she is no fighter. Success in the arena is by
no means guaranteed by the frenzied stabbing of a
love-rival which brought her here.

Honoria, who was so attentive to Valeris, while
Gladius was choosing the next pairing, is still with
Valeris. \Like Lollia she is all but naked, but her
body is covered with strange mystical patterns. I
don't hold to witchcraft, but in a strange way the
fact that the big blondes body has no become an
object of earthly desire for her, is strangely
comforting. Valeris studies me as she sits beside her.

"So," she says in her gutteral hunnic accent, "you and
I have first blood, and it is likely that we will meet
each other next time we fight."

There is no fear in her eyes. Rather, her victory over
the pathetic Dominia has given her confidence. A
confidence I know to be sadly misplaced, although my
exhibition against Lollia was not one to be proud of.

"Where do you want my trident?" she asks, smiling
arrogantly. "In your heart, in your belly or in your
womb?"

Honoria, her arm on Valeris shoulder, smiles at me,
supporting her new ally.

I remain expressionless. All her taunting does is to
make me less concerned to kill her humanely when the
time comes.

Suddenly Karelia is standing before me. She was chosen
by Gladius while Lucia was tending my head, and I feel
a pang of guilt at not knowing. I take her arm,
pressing her hand and smiling up at her to wish her
good fortune.

She inclines her head and smiles back at me, relief in
her eyes. I watch her as she turns. Gladius has
dressed this fine warrior in a short animal skin
tunic, so that she can play the cavewoman to the
depraved crowds out there. It is nothing short of an
insult.

I know she favours the gladius shortsword, but she has
been equipped with an axe, and a flimsy wooden shield
to defend herself against the Iberian Mercedes.

Mercedes has been armed with a cruel serrated
scimitar, and the belt of her long golden tunic sports
a knife scabbard. The scimitar is heavy, and Mercedes,
despite her size and power, needs both hands to wield
it. Even so, a single blow will easily take off an
arm, and will make matchwood of Karelia's shield.

Mercedes barely acknowledges me as she turns with
Karelia towards the arena.

From behind the bars of our arena cell, I watch
Karelia and Mercedes advance together to the centre to
make their salute.

My heart is in my mouth.

I fear for Karelia, and shudder at the thought of what
that wicked looking scimitar may do to her body.

They turn to face each other, Karelia standing
motionless, her axe at her side, seemingly relaxed.
Mercedes, meanwhile swings her weapon menacingly,
tossing her head as she snarls angrily. I pray that
Karelia can keep cool. It is the only way to win.

Mercedes strikes with a blood curdling yell, swinging
her blade to split Karelia's skull, but Karelia steps
back in the nick of time and the heavy weapon sweeps
down int the dust.

Mercedes follows through immediately, swinging the
scimitar in from the side in an attempt to cut Karelia
in half - and this weapon is more than capable of
that.

This time, Karelia drops to the ground under the
blade, rolling to her feet as it paases harmlessly
over her, and swinging her axe at Mercedes undefended
midriff.

This time it is Mercedes turn to take evasive action
and she yelps as she skips backwards. The axe catches
and tears her expensive golden robe and she screams
her anger and frustration.

Mercedes is already breathing hard, and Karelia's
strategy, to allow her opponent to wear herself out,
is sound. Again she stands before the Iberian,
relaxed, waiting.

Again Mercedes strikes, once more bringing the blade
downwards towards Karelias skull, and it seems that
she has caught Karelia by surprise for she doesn't
move until the very last moment. Then she ducks
forward, unexpectedly towards her opponent, and swings
her axe as she passes the Iberian.

Mercedes screams in shock as the axe bites into her
side, and dark blood stains her beautiful robe. She
looks down at the wound, her face a mask of horror,
and presses one hand to it. Then she looks up at
Karelia, who once again is standing motionless,
glaring venomously.

My fear for my friend begins to recede. Mercedes must
surely weaken now, and the time when she can barely
lift that scimitar cannot be far off. Then she will be
Karelias plaything.

But she shows no sign as she suddenly advances on
Karelia, her blade weaving a web of lethal steel in
front of her. Karelia backs away towards the edge of
the arena. Surely she knows better than to allow
herself to be backed into the side with no escape
route!

Then disaster strikes!

The mob have been silently respectful until now, but
as Karelia nears the edge, one of them throws an apple
which hits her in the eye.

She is momentarily stunned, but being a seasoned
warrior, recovers quickly. It is enough for Mercedes,
though.

The serrated edge of the scimitar swings across,
hitting Karelia's flimsy shield square on and
shattering it into pieces. Karelia screams and is
knocked to the ground her axe skittering away across
the sand, though she is otherwise unhurt.

I can scarcely stifle a cry of alarm as I see my
friend flat on her back in the sand, legs exposed by
her inadequate tunic, completely at Mercedes mercy.

Mercedes smiles as she advances on her helpless
victim, though by now she has lost a lot of blood, and
her thigh, exposed by the slit in her red-stained
robe, glistens red.

With a cry, she raises the scimitar and brings it
down. It would have split Karelia's body wide open,
exposing her organs like a gutted fish, but Karelia
rolls quickly and the wicked serrated edge buries
itself in the sand a hairs breadth from her arm.
Mercedes cries out with rage.

Now, however, she is trapped. she lies up against the
arena's edge, and the I can hear the indignant cries
of the mob just above who cannot see what is
happening. I can also hear the laboured breathing of
both women.

Once again Mercedes raises the evil scimitar and now,
surely, there is no escape.

Suddenly an anguished cry escapes from the Iberians
lips. She arches her back and the scimitar falls
harmlessly to the ground. She reaches behind her,
spinning slowly on her heels to reveal an arrow
burried between her shoulder blades. Then she
collapses to the ground, her breathing ragged.

Karelia is as shocked as anyone, and goes cautiously
to her.

Mercedes looks up at her and whispers.

"We will meet again soon... and then at last.... I
will have my.... revenge!"

Then blood spews from her mouth, staining the sand,
her eyes glaze and she is still.

From where I am, I can see her lying on her side. The
robe, split at the thigh, has slipped forward exposing
her sex and I note absently that the genitalia of a
noblewoman differ little from that of a common soldier
girl like me. We are all as one in love and death.

Karelia rolls her onto her front and her body, relaxed
in death, quivers.

She inspects the arrow embedded in the Iberians back.

"Verna!" she whispers.

There is a commotion in the arena. Soldiers are
running everywhere, and the crowd is in uproar. The
betting may not be as rich as it is for the
gladiators, but enough money has changed hands to make
Mercedes irregular death as source of contention.

Karelia is being questioned by an angry soldier, and
she backs away, spreading her hands in ignorance.
Gladius comes to the rescue, spiriting her away from
the mounting danger.

"What is going on Karelia?" yells Gladius when he gets
her back into our cell.

She shakes her head feigning ignorance. She does not
mention Verna, and neither shall I... except to her.

"This is turning out to be a complete shambles,"
grunts Gladius. "You know they are burning heretics
after this tournament! They may well end it now and
send you all to join them."

He looks around his face like thunder. It's odd. He is
only one small man, while the rest of us are armed
killers. Any one of us could take him, yet we cower at
his words.

It seems to occur to him that most of us are going to
die anyway, so he decides to embellish the alternative
a little.

"If any of you fancy being doused in oil, and then
impaled on poles in fromt of that mob... yes impaled..
and then having fire-arrows shot at you, rather than
the torunament, I urge you strongly to think again!"

None of us do.

He turns and walks away to check on the situation in
the arena.

Karelia sags visbly as he leaves us, and I take her in
my arms. I hold her tight, pulling her against me to
comfort her. Even the bravest of warriors need their
release. She pulls back, smiling, her eyes shining,
and then kisses me full on the mouth.

I am shocked. Among my people women may kiss, but such
a kiss as Karelia gives me only happens between a man
and a woman. Perhaps customs are different in
Brittannia. Even so, once the shock has worn off, I
find the experience not unpleasant, and respond
accordingly.

Finally, I ask her the question that has been burning
in my mind.

"Who is Verna?"

She looks startled for a moment, and backs away. Then
she shakes her head and turns. It is clear that she
will not tell me, and so I take her hand and reassure
her that it does not matter.

Lucia and Honoria are preparing for their bout. Lucia,
the dancing whore, is limbering up, stretching her
legs and arms, in a way that makes me wince. She wears
a short white tunic of silk belted at the waist with a
stylish sash. There is a girlish innocence about her
and looking at her face, there seems no trace of
either the anxiety or cruelty that is seen in most
warriors. It seems as if she lives her life for the
moment only. There is much to recommend that
philosophy.

Honoria however, naked except or her mystical daubs
and the studded belt around her hips, looks every bit
the warrior.

Unlike Lucia, she does not exercise. Instead she
stares balefully at the prettier girl, attempting to
catch her eye. Lucia looks at her and pulls a face,
befor returning, undisturbed, to her workout.

Honoria is unaware that Valeris is staring hungrily at
Lucia, drinking in her movements as she exercises.
There is no knwing how Honoria would react if she
could read Valeris mind as I, and everyone else can!

Gladius returns. The commotion in the arena has
quietened down, and he tells us that the tournament
will continue, as we had all expected. He arms Honoria
with a cruel looking flail mace, while the innocent
looking Lucia is given an over-elaborate looking long
sword. Both girls are given shields, Honorias, painted
White, Lucias painted black.

They leave for their bout. I watch them go, wondering
which one will not return. In this torunament nothing
is certain.

I look at the two fighters, squaring up to each other,
and I can't say that I think much of Lucia's chances,
although her sword does sit well in her hand. Its just
that Honoria looks tougher and meaner, and I dread
what she will do to Lucia's beautiful body with that
mace.

But Lucia surprises us all. With a yell, she spins on
her heel, her sword and her leg swishing toward
Honoria. Honoria parries the sword with her shield
easily enough, but Lucias foot catches her on the side
of the head, sending her staggering. Lucia comes round
a second time and Honoria yelps in surprise and pain
as Lucias sword lecerates the side of her ribcage.

It is first blood to Lucia, but the blow is far from
lethal and has only served to make Honoria angry.

With a cry that would freeze anyones blood, she goes
for Lucia, her mace swinging dangerously.

Lucia ducks the swinging metal ball, dropping down to
her haunches, and from her crouching position sends
her foot into Honorias groin.

Honorias battle-cry becomes a gurgle of pain as she
doubles over, her hands over her pubic bone, and her
eyes popping.

In a flash, Lucia is up on her feet again. Honoria is
at her mercy, and a professional warrior would kill
her now, before she becomes a danger again. But Lucia
is a show-girl. The crowd are loving her performance,
and she wants to milk it for all she can.

She skips past Honoria, trailing her sword, before
bringing it up so that it cuts across Honorias upper
chest as she passes. Honoria wails as the blade bites
into the top of her left breast.

Even as her blood starts to flow over the breast,
Honoria's instincts are sharp. Lucia, who is behind
her now, turns to lunge at her theatrically, her right
leg thrust forward. Honoria, however, is fractionally
too fast and for the first time Lucia looks awkward as
her sword thrust is parried by Honorias shield.

Honoria flicks her mace at Lucia wickedly, its chain
passing between Lucias legs so that the vicious spiked
metal ball whips up and thumps into her lower back.

Among the most painful things that a human animal can
suffer is a ruptured kidney. Lucias head snaps back,
and her mouth opens in a scream whose silence is
forced by her utter agony. She collapses to the
ground, her body arched like a bow, while spurting
urine stains her white tunic.

Honoria, breathing hard, paces around her striken foe,
making no move to end her agony quickly. She stoops to
retrieve the discarded sword, and then, catching the
top of Lucias tunic cuts downwards so that her pearl
white body is exposed, the apple breasts quivering as
she jerks,

My heart is beating fast. As I watch the undulations
of Lucias wracked torso, I know what Honoria is
thinking - that such beauty is made to be defaced by
the less beautiful. I glance at Valeris whose hand is
to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Perhaps, after
all, Honoria did see her deire of Lucias body.

With a yell, Honoria brings the sword down across
Lucias torso. A red line appears from the crest of her
right hip to her left sid just below the ribs. The
line swells and the lips of the wound curl open like a
hideous mouth to reveal the intricate whorls of her
vital organs. Freed from their restraints, intestines
slip from her body, flowing over the sand which clings
obscenely to her vitals.

I look away, knowing what the sight will do to me.
Already I can feel obscene waves of desire course
through my body. I close my eyes tightly, thinking of
happier times, until the feeling subsides. Then I look
again.

Lucia lies dead, hands fluttering convulsively, and
Honoria stands over her, one foot on her breast. Blood
from her wounds stains her body, and her breathing is
laboured, but she lives.

I wonder which of the remaining three of us will face
her in the next round.

Honoria grimaces in pain as she applies a damp cloth
to her wounds. She has discarded the belt and stands
naked by the water sluices, her stocky body glistening
as the water cleanses the blood from it.

I watch her idly, and then turn my attention to the
arena. They are having an interlude, while the slaves
prepare the arena for the second round. Lucias body
has made quite a mess, and there is a lot of work to
do. At least one slave has been sick in the process.
If you're not used to it, the stench of guts is quite
overpowering and revolting. A warrior has to get used
to it, though, and some have even learned to enjoy it.

The so-called entertainers are lampooning us. They
have come on with rouged lips and wooden swords and
are skipping around talking in ridiculous falsetto
voices. The crowd are howling with laughter as one of
them falls to the ground and the other pushes his
sword up his tunic. The 'victim' simulates the
pleasure of love-play and the crowd go hysterical.

I call Gladius over and ask him between gritted teeth
what he thinks. He looks at the scene, then at me,
then at the ground. 'It's entertainment,' is all he
can say. 'none of us has any choices.'

I hate them. I hate them with all my heart!

Will continue in chapter 6...