LEANORE 16
By "Heck"



Comments to heck@beadeyeye.net

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SEVERAL MONTHS PASSED.

It was almost two years since she had been taken into captivity, since she had
made her vow to escape and regain her freedom.

Strangely, that vow seemed so trivial, so unimportant, now. Her life could
hardly be better; her 'mistress' had become her full-time friend and part-time
lover, she had won the adulation of the masses, and seemed unbeatable in the
arena. Almost every town and large village had its own circus, and she
remained undefeated at each one. She ate well and lived in comfortable
accommodation, came and went much as she liked, and was free in every sense of
the word.

Except the truest sense.

Sometimes, in the dark of night, in the depths of her dreams, it would hit
her.

She was property. A possession, a chattel, whose continued existence depended
on the whim of a woman who was, to say the least, volatile. Although she
thought it highly unlikely, she knew that Julia Domina could dispose of her by
sale or, at a word, by destruction in the way one would dispose of an unwanted
pet.

At those times, she awoke sweating and shaken to her very core.

For the most part, though, life was good. She hardly ever thought of her
appalling treatment at the hands of the centurion Fallus Maximus and his men
anymore, and when she did it was with fleeting contempt and not with the
murderous rage such thoughts used to evoke in her. Many other slaves, she
knew, were much worse off than her and, while she felt for them, she realised
she had little to complain of.

At Leanore's request, the Domina had purchased a small, portable forge, with
which Leanore had re-kindled her love of working with metal. She had designed
and made, for herself and others, a variety of decorative objects and tools,
and had recently begun to experiment with a new process that turned iron into
a highly prized and new material - steel.

This new metal was a source of joy and wonder to her. It was a substance much
harder than iron, but in its heated state was much more versatile and easier
to work than iron had ever been. She befriended and made enquiries of a smith
that worked in one of the towns they visited, and learned much from him.

He was a man the like of which she had never met before. Small and wiry, with
glossy black hair, almond-shaped eyes and a sallow complexion, he in no way
fit the archetypal image of the muscle-bound blacksmith. Yet he handled the
heavy tools and worked the metal with a skill and ease that was fascinating to
watch.

His name was Chiang, and he showed her ways of folding, re-heating, and
folding again and again, that produced blades of such sharpness and tensile
strength that Leanore doubted there was any material it could not cut through.
When treated with acid, the surface of the metal displayed the patterns of its
folds and took on a reflective sheen that was breathtakingly beautiful.

Her schedule allowed her only a week under Chiang's tutelage, but she absorbed
everything he told her like a sponge. Since then, she had spent every
available minute experimenting with her new skills and materials, trying to
reproduce the arts she had learned.

They were camped in a clearing not far from the road, taking a well- earned
day's rest on the long journey to Capitol. The great city was to be the last
stop on their tour, the jewel in the crown where Leanore would finally make
her challenge for the championship. A few of the escort were on guard, while
near the fire others played a game with numbered cubes fashioned from polished
bone. As usual, the surrounding woodland rang with the sound of Leanore
beating out her metal on her small travelling anvil. Marcellus sat on a stump
nearby, watching the play of muscle in her magnificent body as she worked.

Leanore was dressed in a linen halter and short skirt, both stained dark by
her freely sweating skin. Marcellus admitted to himself, not for the first
time, that she was a fantastic sight, a unique combination of enormous
strength and an almost overpowering femininity that was fantastic to look at,
and he felt a familiar tightening in his groin as he watched her work.

For her part, Leanore was not unaware of his interest and flashed him a
dazzling smile, showing small but strong and even pure white teeth. The hammer
in her hand moved up and down with an easy rhythm, double-tapping on the anvil
between blows as it played the tuneful melody of the blacksmith at work. The
object in her gloved left hand glowed with heat as it slowly took shape. She
had reheated and folded the hot metal seven times, beating it out between each
successive stage of the process, until it began to take on the shape of a
blade.

Finally satisfied, she plunged it into a bucket of water with a loud hiss.
Clouds of steam surrounded her, and Marcellus thought she looked like a
powerful goddess emerging from the mist as she held up her work for his
inspection. He came to his feet and took the cooling metal from her hand.

About three handspans long, she had turned the steel into a short, stabbing
sword, a gladius. A tang of about eight inches extended from the end, ready to
be fitted into a wooden hilt. The tang would extend the full length of the
hilt, giving strength and security to the handling. The blade itself was
slightly broader in the centre and tapered to a fine point at the business
end. No sharpening would be required, save a little gentle honing to remove
any imperfections, as a keen edge had been formed during the forging and the
weapon was already sharp enough to shave with. A shallow channel had been
created along one surface, to allow for the easy flow of blood and bodily
fluids.

Marcellus hefted the blade in one hand. Already, without the addition of a
hilt, he could tell it was superbly balanced and would be a very fine weapon
indeed. The metal was dull but then, so were the bronze and iron blades he was
used to.

"This is excellent work", he told her. "I don't think I've ever seen better"'

"Hmph". Leanore gave a deprecating shrug. "You should see some of the blades
Chiang showed me that he had made. This is a poor imitation, by comparison.
But", she admitted, "not bad for my first effort".

"Not bad? I think you're selling yourself short. Here". He reached into the
pouch at his belt. "I made this for you".

She held out her hand, and he dropped something into her palm. It was a small
piece of wood, whittled and smoothed into an elongated ovoid and drilled right
through its length.

"It's a poor match for your work, but I thought it might make a good hilt. If
you fit the blade into it, soak it in water so it shrinks, then bind it with
leather and re-soak it, it should give a firm grip".

"Thank you". Leanore was delighted with the gift, and dropped a quick kiss on
his cheek. "This will be perfect. Especially when I fit the brass stock and
ferule I made".

"Then it will be a weapon fit for the champion you will be".

"Ah, but I have one more process to put it through, first. Watch".

Under his fascinated gaze, she produced a bottle from her kit.

"Chiang told me this is called acetic acid", she explained while she poured it
over the blade. "It's similar to vinegar, but much stronger. It can burn, so
you have to be a bit careful".

The clear liquid covered the steel, and there was a brief hissing and slight
frothing action. Once the reaction had stopped, Leanore took out a soft cloth
and wiped her new sword with it. The result was remarkable.

Where there had been dull, grey metal, there was now a gleaming, shining
surface that Marcellus could see his face in. Every fold in the steel could be
seen and, when it was turned to catch the light, showed up in a swirling
multicoloured pattern like thin oil on water. The sunlight glinted off the
blade in such a way that Marcellus almost expected it to go 'tzing!' and,
whereas before it had merely been sharp, now it looked sharp.

It was more than a weapon. It was a work of art.

"That's beautiful", Marcellus said. "Truly beautiful".

"What are you talking about?" Julia Domina was walking toward them, having
emerged from her luxurious tent. "Me, I hope".

"Domina!" Marcellus came smartly to attention. Leanore simply looked at her
patronne and smiled.

"We were talking about this blade Leanore just finished", Marcellus went on.
"Show the Domina, Leanore".

Leanore held out the blade, tang first. The other woman took it.

"So, at last the interminable hammering is over", she commented acidly. "Not
before time". She ran a bejewelled hand and raised an interested eyebrow.
"Leanore, this is beautiful work! So smooth and so shiny". She briefly admired
her reflection in the steel. "Excellent work. I thought it was just a hobby of
yours, but by the quality of this, you could make a good living from it".

"That's my aim", Leanore admitted. "One day".

Julia handed the sword back and turned to leave.

"Just one more thing to make my gladiatrix even more unique. We'll take
Capitol by storm! You should both rest. We'll be there the day after
tomorrow".

There it is again, Leanore thought. 'My' gladiatrix. The possessive pronoun
reminded her, once again, that she was not her own woman, that she was the
property of another.

The glow of artisan's pride she had felt was still strong. But the unthinking
words of the woman who was, at the end, her mistress, had soured it a little.

*

"We should be there by nightfall", Marcellus said in response to the Domina's
query. "At the edge of the forest, the road crosses some fields and climbs a
hill. Once we crest that, we'll see the city in the valley below. It's about
an hour's travel from there".

In her position on the seat of the wagon, behind the carriage of her patronne,
Leanore felt a little nervous quickening in the pit of her belly. Capitol at
last! Finally!

"Stop just before the top", Julia instructed. She was leaning out the carriage
window, speaking to Marcellus who kept pace on his horse. Beside her, favoured
for once to travel with her mistress, Claudia sat demurely on the comfortable
banquette, keeping her eyes downcast as she concentrated on some of the
patronne's needlework. Travelling in the same vehicle as Julia Domina was
making her edgy.

"We'll freshen up and change our clothes", Julia went on. "I want to make an
entrance". She raised her voice. "Leanore?"

Leanore stood up on the box, to signify she had heard.

"Domina?"

"Can you ride a horse?"

"Never tried", Leanore admitted honestly. "I expect so, but I don't know".

The flame-haired woman appeared to consider for a moment.

"Never mind". She came to a decision. "I'll think of something else. The last
thing we want is for you to fall on your backside or something". Her head
withdrew inside the carriage, but reappeared momentarily. "Oh, and Marcellus.
Send a runner on ahead to announce our arrival. No use making an entrance if
nobody's there to see, eh?"

"Yes, my lady. Although I think there'll be plenty of people. Most of the
competitors arrive today, and there's to be a triumphal procession tomorrow".
He spurred his horse to the phalanx of foot soldiers who were their escort.

Once the runner had been dispatched, the company continued on and, in a little
while, came to the edge of the woodland. The tree-lined path gave way to a
rutted track that meandered through rich farmland at the foot of a range of
eight hills. Not far ahead, the track became a level, cobbled road that ran
straight and true right up into the hills and beyond. It was for such
engineering that the Empire was rightly famous.

Beside her on the seat, Leanore's driver drowsed as he loosely held the reins.
There was no reason why he should not; the team would patiently follow the
vehicle in front. Something was niggling at the back of Leanore's mind,
though. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but she had a sense that
something was not right. She stood up on the seat, peering ahead of the lead
carriage.

At the point where the rutted track petered out and the metalled road began, a
quantity of rushes was strewn across the way. In all innocence, they looked as
if they had fallen unheeded from a carelessly laden cart, but something nagged
at Leanore's keen hunter's brain. She had seen something similar before.

As Marcellus and the mounted guard passed to one side, understanding dawned.

"Julia!" she yelled, all protocols forgotten. "Stop! Hey, driver! Stop!" She
leapt from the wagon and hit the ground running, even before she had finished
yelling her warning.

Too late.

Even as the driver turned around and his passengers craned their heads out of
the window to see what the noise was about, the lead couple of the team of
four horses stepped unwarily onto the rushes.

The ground gave way beneath them and they pitched forward, toppling into a
yawning pit below, dragging their hapless teammates in after them. The heavy
carriage continued under its own momentum and tumbled forward. The driver
shouted in surprise as the front wheels fell into space, and screamed in
terror as he was flung from his seat to land among the kicking and screaming
animals in the pit.

Inside, Julia Domina was thrown from the banquette like a ragdoll, her head
crashing against Claudia's even as Leanore came alongside.

The horses screamed and thrashed in pain and fear, dragging the carriage even
further in. Marcellus's men leapt from their mounts, rushing to the aid of
their lady. Leanore got there first and yanked open the carriage door. She
leaned in and plucked both the unconscious women from the wreck together,
narrowly avoiding injury herself as the vehicle gave a final lurch.

Tenderly, Leanore carried the women to the roadside and laid them on the
grassy verge. A livid bruise was already forming on Julia Domina's creamy
forehead, but she seemed otherwise unhurt. A faint moan escaped her full lips
and her eyelids fluttered like a pair of trapped butterflies.

Claudia lay as still as death.

Leanore called to one of the footsoldiers, who stepped forward, unshipping an
emergency medical pack from his back. He knelt beside the two women and began
administering first aid. Leanore came to her feet and looked for Marcellus.

He and his men were standing by the pit, looking down into its charnel depth.
Leanore stood among them, noticing the ashen pallor on Marcellus's face.

The driver was dead. He had fallen on top of the horses and slipped down
between their thrashing and kicking bodies. Several of the soldiers had to
look away from the sight of his body, reduced to all but a bloody paste by the
flailing hooves.

One horse was dead. The three survivors were all injured. They lay exhausted,
eyes wide and nostrils flaring, constantly on the verge of further panic.
Sixteen equine legs were in that pit, and Leanore had to look hard to find one
that remained intact. The pit was eight feet deep and twelve long, and filled
nearly to the brim with utter carnage.

Something had to be done.

No one seemed to want to do anything.

Everyone just stared into the pit in shock. Leanore took it upon herself to
act.

"Marcellus", she said quietly. "The horses".

Marcellus stared at her in dazed silence. There was no sense to be had from
him.

"Right". Leanore looked about until she found a footsoldier with a crossbow.
"You", she said peremptorily, putting the sharp edge of command into her
voice. "See to these horses. Put them out of their misery. Now".

She was a slave. The soldier was a freeman and a citizen of the Empire. He
could have her put to death for daring to raise her voice to him like that.
But his years of reacting unquestioningly to orders was deeply ingrained, and
he snapped to obey.

More orders sent most of the men off to scour the immediate area in case the
perpetrators were still around. Another was delegated to lead the stunned
Marcellus away and stay with him. The remaining two were sent into the pit to
unharness the equine corpses from the carriage.

Everyone who was not injured, or rendered helpless by shock, was busy. Leanore
had seen to it that nearly everybody had been deployed in some vital task, and
those that had not had been given make-work to keep them occupied. That just
left her, and the carriage in the pit.

It was a big vehicle, richly appointed as befitted its noble owner, and very
heavy. It did not seem too badly damaged, though, and there were still horses
available to haul it. It just meant that four of the cavalrymen would have to
walk, or ride in Leanore's wagon.

The carriage had settled over the lip of the pit, lying on its chassis just
forward of the rear wheels. The front wheels rotated gently in air, and the
crosstrees of the shaft hung down between them. Two horses should be able to
pull it out, if there was a way to raise the front so that it would not foul
the edge.

Leanore knew nothing of stresses and angles, fulcrums and levers, but she was
a very practical woman and, having considered the situation from every
viewpoint, knew that what she intended was possible.

Without pride, she recognised that she was probably the only one of the party
that would be capable of what she was contemplating. This was not a conceit -
it was a mere matter of fact.

She called to two of the horsemen and instructed them to hitch their animals
to the rear of the carriage with ropes. At her signal, they were to walk their
mounts forward, being careful to exert a slow, steady pull. She positioned
another man to watch and direct operations, and then she jumped down into the
pit.

She had to stand on the rumps of two dead horses to achieve her aim, but
thought that the footing would be stable enough. Positioning herself carefully
beneath the carriage, Leanore braced herself, facing forward with the heavy
axle across her splendid shoulders.

The great muscle of her back and legs tensed when she took up the strain. No
one could see her, but if they could they would have said her body looked as
hard and strong as polished ebony, every muscle standing out as if sketched.
She clenched her teeth, fighting to lift the tremendous weight, driving
upwards with her curving, powerful thighs.

Beads of sweat formed on her high, smooth forehead as she grunted with effort.
Gradually, ever so gradually, the enormous bulk of the carriage rose, inch by
trembling inch, until she was able to lock her knees. The vehicle was now
supported on its own rear wheels and the incredible power of the woman's
shoulders.

"Now!" she shouted.

The horsemen were both experts in their field, and their mastery of their
animals was absolute. They knew that to make a sudden movement or to pull too
quickly would unbalance Leanore and the carriage would come down on her head,
killing her outright. But they were in complete control and made their horses
inch forward, dragging the ornate vehicle clear of the pit.

Well, almost.

"Halt!" The man who was directing the action brought the operation to a stop
and flopped down on his belly so he could see Leanore. Her lovely face was
distorted with a grimace of effort, rivulets of sweat running between her
breasts as she snapped at him.

"What?!"

"It's the cross trees. They're going to catch on the rim. We need just another
six inches. Can you lift it just a bit higher?"

Leanore sucked in a deep breath, cursing quietly to herself in her own
language.

"Possibly", she said after a moment. "It's the footing that worries me. How
far until the wheels clear the edge?"

"A foot. Maybe a foot and a half. No more".

"OK. If I can lift it high enough, we can do this. When it's as high as I can
get it, make the horses pull hard so it clears quickly. I don't know if I can
hold it for long".

With a nod, the man disappeared to relay her instructions to the riders, and
was back in a few seconds to watch her closely.

OK, she thought. I can do this. It's the heaviest thing I've ever lifted but I
can do it. I'm sure I can. I know I can.

Very carefully, Leanore place her palms on the underside of the thick axle,
wrapping her fingers around as far as she could. She pushed up a little, and
was gratified to feel the huge pressure on her shoulders ease just a bit.
Encouraging.

Using both nose and mouth, Leanore hyperventilated, forcing huge amounts of
energising oxygen into her muscles.

She adjusted her stance minutely, and began to push upwards. It was
incredible. Apart from a little initial assistance from her legs, it was the
sheer strength of her astounding arms that she pitted against the titanic
weight of the carriage. Veins stood out across her shoulders and upper arms
and her heart pumped oxygenated blood into her overstressed muscles, each one
standing proud and as hard as the steel she so cunningly crafted.

There was inertial resistance, to begin with. Then Leanore's stupendous power
began to prevail. Slowly, her arms pistoned upwards, pressing the carriage
high above her head, higher and higher, until her elbows finally locked out.

The watcher was totally overawed. This was the most amazing feat of pure
strength he had seen in his entire life, and he was so astounded that he
momentarily forgot to give the signal, leaving the woman bearing the weight
many seconds longer than she needed.

"As soon as you like", Leanore hissed between her teeth, glaring resentment at
the man.

"Go!" he yelled suddenly, coming abruptly back to his senses. "Now! Go! Go!"

The riders touched their heels to the flanks of their horses. The animals
surged forward, jerking the carriage clear. Beneath, Leanore felt the movement
and, with perfect timing, heaved backward, almost throwing the carriage over
the lip. She dropped to hands and knees atop the dead horses, covering her
head with her arms to protect against the following shaft.

With luck, the long tongue of wood that formed the shaft did not touch her,
and as soon as she was able Leanore clambered out, not wishing to remain
within that pit of hell a second longer than necessary. Back on level ground
she bent forward, leaning on her knees, panting heavily, dragging in lungfuls
of restorative air.

All eyes were on her. Awestruck, the party sat or stood in silence as the
gladiatrix recovered from her exertions. Even Julia Domina, now conscious, sat
in slack-jawed awe, and only Claudia, who stirred but remained out cold, and
Marcellus, who was still in shock, were not watching her.

Spontaneously, they burst into applause, cheering for the woman who had just
showed them all what real unselfconscious strength was all about. The soldiers
approached her and, as she straightened, clapped her on the back and shook her
hands warmly. Her display had earned her a lot of allies.

Sitting on the bank with a cold compress pressed to her forehead, Julia
watched the celebrations and felt a wellspring of pride and admiration rising
inside her. She had been right to befriend the tall slave, right to allow her
so much liberty, and was glad she had made the offer of freedom- to-be-earned.
Leanore looked over and caught her patronne's eye, and the warm smile and nod
of appreciation she received meant a great deal to her.

Glancing round, Leanore's gaze fell upon Marcellus.

Ah, yes, Marcellus. There was something to be said there, some questions to be
answered. She was almost fully recovered, now, and panted only slightly as she
wiped the sweat from her face and body with a soft rag, wandered over to where
he sat.

Two of his men remained with him, sitting silently by his side, patiently
waiting for him to get over his shock. They looked up with gentle smiles as
Leanore approached.

"Gentlemen", she said. "Do you mind if we have a moment or two alone?"

They left without a word. Leanore stood over their captain, keeping silent
until the men were out of immediate earshot.

"Marcellus?"

The man made no response. He sat with his face turned down and his arms
clasped about his knees.

"Marcellus!" More sharply.

Marcellus lifted his head and raised his pallid face to meet her gaze.

"Marcellus. I think we should talk".