LEANORE 17
By Heck



Comments to heck@beadyeye.net

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"YOU KNEW"

Marcellus blinked uncomprehendingly at Leanore's words. He shook his head in
silent denial.

"Yes, you did", Leanore persisted, keeping her voice calm and quiet. "You knew
about the pit and knew the carriage would fall in to it. You knew all about
it, didn't you?"

Her voice was quiet but firm, and her commanding presence was hard to resist.
Still, he shook his head.

"I saw you. You led your men to the side, around the rushes camouflaging the
pit. You can't deny it any longer. You knew, and I know you knew". There was
no threat in her voice, no anger, but Marcellus knew that his bluff had been
called. He nodded.

"Yes". He whispered so quietly that Leanore had to lean close to hear him.
"Yes, it's true. I knew there would be a pit, but I promise I didn't know it
would be so big, so deep, so devastating. That's not what I was told. Not what
I was told".

"What were you told?"

"He said it would just be a trench. Enough to break a wheel or an axle. Just
to delay us. But not this.this." His voice trailed off as he gestured
helplessly at the scene of destruction.

"Who told you?" Leanore sat by his side and laid a firm but not unfriendly
hand on his shoulder. Wetness welled in his eyes and he shook his head once
more. "Come on", she persisted. "Concentrate. Who told you?"

"Nobody was supposed to die". Tears flowed freely down his face, now, and he
hung his head, a picture of abject misery. "Nobody was supposed to die".

Leanore gathered him to her and rested his head on her shoulder, the contempt
she felt for his actions a little tempered by her compassion for his grief and
shame.

"Ssh", she quieted him. "Tell me. Who did this?"

Marcellus pulled away, sniffing and wiping his wet face on the back of his
forearm.

"Look at the state of me". He tried to collect himself. "I'm a soldier, for
the gods' sake. A professional. Nine years. Blubbing like a little girl. I've
been in battle. I've sent men to their deaths; I've killed men, and never shed
a tear. But here's big, bold Marcellus blubbing like a baby. Who'd believe
it?"

"I would", Leanore said gently. "You are a soldier, and I know you can acquit
yourself in battle, but this is different. This is."

"Murder". Marcellus almost spat the word. "Why don't you say the word, call it
what it is? Murder". He turned from her, ashamed for her to see his face.

"You said it yourself. Nobody was supposed to die".

"Yes, but they did. That poor man. I knew him, slightly, even liked him. To
see him die like that, smashed to death by those pounding hooves. Nobody
deserves that. Murder has been done".

"Yes, but not by you, so don't get overdramatic". She bit back a surge of
anger. She felt betrayed by Marcellus's treachery, personally affronted by the
fact that he had sabotaged the journey, but knew her chances of finding out
who was behind the deed would be hampered if she made her feelings known. "The
person who had the pit dug, the person who made you lead us into it. That's
who has committed murder, not you. Tell me his name".

Marcellus could not meet her eyes and kept his face turned away. Her words had
eased his guilt, but only slightly. He remained wracked with shame and
thoroughly despised himself for his calumny, all honour gone. When he spoke,
his voice was the voice of a small boy who has been caught in an act of
naughtiness.

"Abraxas" he whispered, so quietly that Leanore had to ask him to repeat.
"Abraxas"

"Why?" Leanore prompted.

"He said he only wanted to delay us so you'd miss the registration for the
championship. He must not have wanted to risk you taking the title from his
man".

Once he had started talking, once the floodgates were opened, Marcellus seemed
to want to get it all out. Punctuated by profuse apologies, he told Leanore
everything. He explained how Abraxas had approached him, even before they'd
left Galltex. He had known that Marcellus would not be swayed by promises of
personal gain, but he knew also that the salary of a captain who had risen
through the ranks was not great, and although Marcellus had helped out where
he could, his aging mother and younger siblings lived quite close to the
poverty margin. Abraxas had promised that they would never have to work again
and backed it up by endowing the family with a substantial purse, even before
Marcellus had agreed. He told Marcellus to keep an eye on Leanore's progress
and, if she looked like reaching the championships, to lead them this way and
look out for rushes across the road.

Marcellus had composed himself, by now, and although far from comfortable,
could bear to turn his face toward her.

Over her shoulder, his eyes met the searingly furious gaze of Julia Domina.
The patronne had quietly come to sit by Leanore, and had heard most of the
confession. Several times, she had opened her mouth to speak in outrage, but
was silenced by Leanore's raised finger pleading for him to be allowed to
finish.

Now, though, the Domina could be silent no more.

"Marcellus! How could you?" Her grey eyes flashed with anger. "Where is you
honour? Your loyalty? You despicable, cowardly, snivelling, loathsome turd!"

"I'm sorry, my lady, but my family."

"A pox take your family! I should have Leanore kill you where you sit! You'll
wish I had, when I'm through!" Her words spat venom, and Leanore was convinced
that it was only the physical barrier of her own presence between them that
prevented Julia from leaping on the man and tearing his eyes out.

"Guards!" The Domina imperiously summoned Marcellus's own men. "Put this ... piece
of shit in chains! Know this, you bastard. You will suffer for what you've
done!" Her voice became calm, deathly cold. "I will parade you through the
streets of Capitol like a mangy cur, so that everyone will see you for the
treacherous shit you are. Then I will hand you over to the magistrate, with a
recommendation that you spend the rest of your worthless life chained to an
oar on the filthiest, most evil-smelling garbage scow that exists. And that is
better than you deserve".

Sitting between them, Leanore began to feel uncomfortable as the wrath of the
older woman washed over her. She watched as Marcellus shrank into himself
under the verbal onslaught, a broken, wretched man, and wondered what had
happened to the bright, confident person he had been just hours before.

Four of the guards had found some rope and knelt beside Marcellus, the javelin
of one held to his throat while the others bound him hand and foot. Leanore
rose to her feet and offered her hand to the Domina, helping her up and
leading her away.

She was herself outraged by Marcellus's behaviour, although had clamped down
hard on those feeling while she extracted his confession. Her patronne,
however, was incandescent with rage and, while Leanore had suspected it lay
beneath the cultured, sophisticated surface, she had never seen the redhead
unleash her anger to this extent before. She had always known that the woman
was flammable but this display of rage, she had to admit, unsettled her. She
would have to choose her words carefully.

"Domina", she began. "I wonder if there's another way?"

"Another way to what?" The vivid grey eyes were almost startling against the
porcelain skin as Julia stopped to face Leanore. "Punish him? Short of
torturing him to death, which has its attractions, I think not".

"That's just it". Leanore kept her voice calm and level. "You're not
thinking". She held up a hand as the other woman opened her mouth to protest.
"Let me finish. It's not Marcellus that needs to be punished. Well, he does,
but he's not the main culprit. It's Abraxas who should be exposed for a
conniving cheat and a murderer. He is responsible for this, not Marcellus.
Marcellus was just a pawn in Abraxas's game. Do you agree?"

"Well, yes. But Abraxas is a wily old bird, not to mention powerful and as
rich as Croesus. He'll have covered his tracks well. I don't see how we can
get to him".

"We can't, as things stand. But we have a trump card".

"Marcellus?"

"Exactly. If we can get Marcellus to accuse him in public, to a man of his
standing the loss of face alone would be as bad a punishment as you can
devise".

"No, it won't", said Julia, a crafty grin lifting the corners of her luscious
lips as she began to follow Leanore's train of thought. "Because, once the
allegations have been made, I'll have grounds to bring him before the senate.
I'm not without influence there, through my husband and in my own right". She
looked up into Leanore's face, smiling a wicked smile. "Together with the loss
of face, that will be as bad a punishment as I can devise". She linked an arm
through Leanore's. "Walk with me. Timing will be everything".

"I understand", Leanore nodded, trying to match her long stride to Julia's
shorter one. "If we make our move too early, it'll seem like sour grapes and
you will lose face, too".

"Another reason why it's important for you to win this championship. Listen to
me".

*

The Street of the Temples was broad and straight, leading all the way from the
city gates right up to the giant amphitheatre of the Hippodrome itself. Lined
with places of worship dedicated to almost every god in the Empire's extensive
pantheon, whose stuccoed and gargoyle encrusted walls shone in the afternoon
sunlight, it also included the porticoed halls of the Senate as well as public
baths and gymnasia.

On both sides, the pavements were thronged with people, waiting with barely
suppressed excitement to witness the Parade of the Gladiators, which was about
to process from the gates to the amphitheatre [ready for the games which would
begin tomorrow]. On balconies and terraces along the route, tabarded
trumpeters waited to herald their arrival with cacophonous fanfares, and the
air was filled with an anticipatory buzz.

The parade itself had mustered outside the city gates, lined up and organised
by uniformed marshals who ensured that each entry was positioned in order of
popularity and rank, starting with the lowest and building up to the current
champion at the rear. At the very head of the procession were the animal
wranglers, keeping their elephants and horses under control, and the big
wheeled cages containing dangerous carnivores and other intractable beasts.

At a signal from the Chief Marshal, the procession began to move. The roar of
the crowd almost drowned the strident fanfares that struck up. At the head of
the line, a centurion on a striking palomino horse passed through the gates
followed by a string of forty splendid horses. Some of the big cats became
agitated as the vehicles started to move and began to roar, throwing
themselves against the bars to the delight of the crowd.

The final vehicle in the parade was a heavy, gilt-encrusted war chariot, drawn
by six horses in an abreast formation. Sharp and jagged blades jutted from its
stout wheels, glittering as they caught the sun. The driver leaned back,
keeping the reins tight, competently maintaining control of the spirited
equines.

This was the Champion's vehicle, the chariot of Taran Tarah himself, whose
fame had spread throughout the Empire and beyond. Undefeated in nearly a
hundred fights and three-time winner of the coveted laurel crown [which he now
wore] he hailed from a country which had once been a seat of learning and
culture but which was now just another part of the mighty Empire.

Well over six feet tall, Taran Tarah was a brutish, bear of a man with a
shaven head and heavy, glowering features. He wore only a short leather kilt,
and the thick black hairs on his brawny chest were matted with sweat and clung
to his skin. He was extremely muscular with big, meaty fists and legs like
tree trunks, and displayed himself with pride and arrogance.

The champion was entitled by right to bring up the rear of the parade, to bask
in the adulation of an already over-excited crowd. He was a little
disgruntled, therefore, to catch sight of another vehicle, behind him, and
looked round with a frown as his chariot passed under the triumphal arch of
the gates.

A very plain four-wheeled cart was trundling along behind. Three cloaked and
hooded figures sat on the box seat, and a dishevelled looking man in a dusty
captain's uniform was leading the horses. The whole looked very shoddy and
hardly merited his interest, but Taran Tarah was annoyed that they seemed to
be usurping his rightful place.

"But we did register", the captain was telling a marshal. "We sent on a runner
to tell you. We had some trouble with our carriage, and were delayed. Look on
your list". He leaned over and pointed at a wax tablet in the marshal's hand.
"There we are".

The champion gave a snort of laughter as he lost interest. These would be no
trouble to him. Their appearance and the condition of their transportation
would not detract from his glory one iota. He pasted a triumphant grin on his
face and held his arms aloft, greeting the welcoming cheers as his chariot
entered the city.

The figures in the cart huddled together as they trailed after, a good thirty
feet behind the chariot. Marcellus. On foot and leading the horses, Marcellus
turned to them and grinned. He still felt deeply guilty over the pit incident,
and had readily agreed, as a measure of atonement, to assist the women with
their plan.

"We're in!" he called. "Passing through the gates.now!"

"Good". Julia Domina lifted the cowl of her hood and peered out from under.
"Just a little longer, 'til we're right among the crowd. Get ready, Leanore".

"Ready", the largest of the three figures hissed.

"And ... now!"

On cue, Leanore stood up on the box and threw off her heavy, shapeless cloak.
Dressed in her purple fighting gear and helmet, and wearing a short velvet
cape that enhanced, rather than detracted from, the width of her shoulders,
she was stunning, breathtaking sight. A gasp of stunned awe escaped the
collective throat of the crowd.

Not being one for overt public displays, Leanore felt a little self- conscious
and exposed under the scrutiny of the sightseers. Julia had coached her well,
and she knew and accepted the reasons for it. She was prepared to perform as
instructed, but even so.

"Come on, Leanore". This was the timid voice of Claudia, surprising in its
enthusiasm. "Show 'em what you've got!"

"Remember", Julia said. "Big impression. Big movements".

As planned, Leanore began to display for the crowds. Moving onto the bed of
the cart and kicking their luggage out of the way, she threw off her cape,
claiming a fresh gasp from the audience as her magnificent arms and shoulders
were exposed to the public gaze. Turning this way and that, a wide, beaming
grin on her lovely face, Leanore flexed and posed for the admiration of all.
Her muscles swelled and rippled while she made them play and dance in an
exhibition of perfect muscle control, and presented herself as the epitome of
sculpted, muscular womanhood. The effect was fascinating, mesmerising, and the
throng were held entranced, drinking in the spectacle of her superb body.

Julia jumped up beside her, tossing off her cloak to reveal her own athletic
body clad in a simple white shift. The sun glinted off her cascading mane of
red hair as she gestured and pointed, drawing attention to various aspects of
her protégée's physique.

"Citizens!" she shouted. "It is my proud honour to present Leanore! You have
heard of her!" It didn't matter if they had or not, Julia made her statement
in such a way that it seemed unthinkable that anyone could not have heard of
the gladiatrix. "You have read about her victories in the arena! Undefeated in
her entire career! And now, she's here! To entertain you! In these most
prestigious of games! What a woman! She's strong! She's beautiful! She's all
woman! The greatest gladiatrix of the age! The next champion of the Empire!
The magnificent! The mighty! The legendary! Leanore!"

The crowd were carried along by Julia's enthusiasm as she continued her
harangue, and before long were cheering and roaring Leanore's name as if she
were champion already.

For her part, Leanore began to feel somewhat embarrassed, not only because of
the extravagant claims her patronne was making on her behalf, but also because
the performance the woman was giving seemed so totally out of character. This
was Julia Domina; aloof, cultured, aristocratic Julia Domina, behaving like a
common carnival barker. It was almost enough to make Leanore's toes curl.

At a tap on the shoulder from Julia, Leanore suddenly stopped performing and
stood still. Following the other woman's gaze, she saw a stout figure on a
private balcony, applauding Taran Tarah as he passed.

"There he is". Julia leaned up so her lips reached Leanore's ear, in order to
be heard above the multitude. "That's Abraxas. Remember what we planned".

The two women, one tall and dark, the other shorter and light skinned, were a
complete contrast to one another. Both strikingly beautiful, and both so very
different, nonetheless they appeared to be a perfect pair. Both stood still
with hands on hips, glaring at the fat man.

On the balcony, Abraxas became aware of another name being yelled, and felt
the intensity of the malevolent stare before he actually saw the two females.
His beatifying smile faded and his hands stopped mid-clap as the empathic
effect spread through the crowd until they, too, were staring at him. He began
to squirm almost visibly and acute discomfort showed on his jowly face, but he
was unable to tear his eyes off the women until they were well past. Julia and
Leanore continued to glare until Abraxas was forced, by their sheer power of
will, to retreat inside the building.

"That'll do", Julia said, satisfied with the effect they had had on him. "On
with the show".

Leanore hit some more poses, and dropped to the bed of the cart to perform
push-ups in a handstand position. The people went wild.

Up ahead, Taran Tarah became aware that the cheers were no longer all for him,
that a name other than his was being chanted. He looked around, and his face
clouded at what he saw.

The bitch! he thought. A jumped-up nobody, and she's taken my place in the
parade, and now she's stealing my glory!

Oh, I hope I come up against her in the arena. I hope she gets all the way to
the finals. Then, she's mine!

By all the gods, I'll make her pay!