The Chains That Bind Us

For several days, nothing disrupted the monotony of imprisonment in the dungeons. Meals consisting of slop or stale bread were served, and a trickle of daylight shone through the tiny windows; beyond that, the prisoners had no thread to life outside the dungeons.

The compound was primarily underground and had two wings. The smaller had cells meant for solitary prisoners; those kept for longer periods, awaiting trial, or simply considered particularly dangerous. The other wing had large rooms where greater numbers could be kept together; useful during festivities, where the city guard might round up troublemakers or rowdy drunkards and keep them contained for a while.

In the largest cell, all the gladiators of House Ignius were kept. Hearing the rattling of keys in the lock, they exchanged questioning looks; it was not mealtime. The door swung open to allow a nun entry, and all the men hurried on their feet, though the chains around their ankles kept them back.

“Sister Helena!” they exclaimed.

Veiled as always, she unwrapped a bundle in her arms to reveal several loaves of fresh bread. “I brought this. All I could get, sadly.”

The smell alone made stomachs growl, and the men tried once more to crowd her. “Step back!” Mahan barked. “You’ll all get yours.” He took one of the loaves and began tearing pieces from it to distribute it around the cell.

“Bless you, sister,” came the tearful response from Marcus receiving his portion.

“Sister, do you know what’ll happen to us? The guards won’t tell us anything,” Hector asked.

She hesitated, and they stared at the black veil that hid her face. “Next fiveday, there’s a conjunction of the stars and the moon. An auspicious event. There’ll be extra games and festivities held. You’re to take part of them.”

“We’ll go back to the arena?”

“That’s not the worst, is it? A little out of shape, but still, we’ll get a chance.”

“Don’t be fools,” Sigismund growled as he tore off a bite with his teeth. “We go there to die, nothing else.”

“What of Arn?” asked Domitian, and the others looked at him.

“Why do you care? He’s the reason we’ll be sent to our deaths!”

“Yeah, I never liked that Tyrian bastard!”

“Enough,” Sigismund cut through. “What was he to do? A prisoner of the ludus with magic gifts – he played the game they forced him to.”

“Curious words from you, given you volunteered. You had a choice, at least,” came a bitter voice from within the cell.

“Aye, I entertained the crowds Solday after Solday, year after year, and this is my reward,” the former champion retorted. “The Northman made the best of his circumstances, as we all did. And now we all die.” Sigismund sat down, chewing on his bread.

“You didn’t answer my question, sister,” Domitian remarked.

“I haven’t seen him. But his fate must be expected to be the worst,” Helena considered.

“Good,” several mumbled.

“I don’t know. When he fought that other mage, he stopped the spear from hitting me. You remember? After it broke, the tip of it came flying straight at my face, but the Northman stopped it. Even in a desperate fight, he still did that,” Andrew chimed in.

“Yeah, because he wanted the weapon,” someone argued.

“Well, he did it before it split my face open, which is a distinction I can appreciate,” Andrew retorted.

“Sister, have you seen Ignius?” Mahan asked, finishing up his division of the bread.

Her hesitation made them all turn their attention on her. “I was told that he died, trying to escape.”

“Good riddance!” Cornelius spat in front of him, making his neighbours recoil and curse him out.

“Yeah, argue what you want about the Northman, but Ignius definitely knew!” Hector looked at Mahan. “Did you?”

The question made the cell become silent. “I eventually discovered the truth,” the weapons master admitted. “Not long before solstice when it felt too late to do anything.”

“You’re not to blame,” Sigismund declared. “Ignius, yes, for he was the lanista, and I won’t mourn his death. Man never spent a moment of time with us in the training yard, yet our sweat and blood kept him in silk.”

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“How did you find out?” came a question from within the cell.

Mahan sank down on the floor, leaning against the wall. “When you were injured,” he revealed, gesturing at Domitian.

“Me?”

“Yes. You were dying, my friend. Yet overnight, you recovered. Within a day, barely a trace of sickness left in you.”

Suddenly restless, Helena moved slightly backwards, standing up against the door.

“Huh? The Northman did that? I figured I was just strong.”

For once, laughter resounded through the bleak room.

“Not that strong,” Mahan told Domitian. “The change was obvious, and since it happened right after he visited you, everything suddenly fell into place. His own swift recovery, his powerful performance in the arena against stronger opponents. When I confronted him, he confessed the truth.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t try to place the blame on others,” Helena muttered, making the weapons master look up at her.

“Not at all. I’ll say this for him at least. He admitted it straight away.” Mahan gave her an embarrassed look. “For a brief moment, I suspected you, as I didn’t think a gladiator could have escaped discovery.”

“Oh. What an amusing thought.”

“Sister? Will you return?” Marcus asked.

“If allowed, I’ll be back before – you all leave.”

“Gods bless you, sister, for all you’ve done for us.” The sentiment was reiterated by all of them, and the nun crossed her hands on top of her heart.

*

Arn watched the ray of sunlight slowly creep across the floor. The first days, he had passed time by recalling every song he had ever learned. After that, he recounted each rune, the history of the tribes, and everything else he knew.

At some point, it all seemed to fade. He could do it again, but his mind saw no purpose to it. Thus, he watched the sliver of light from early morning until late evening, appearing from the window up high. When it disappeared, he closed his eyes and slept in such a position that when it returned, it fell upon his face and woke him up, allowing him to resume his observation.

The door opened. He did not bother looking. He never ate his meals until the door had closed again.

“Arn?”

The voice shattered him. He became aware of how filthy he had to be. How reduced he must appear in both body and spirit. The door closed again, but the presence stayed; he felt her, and he averted his eyes.

“It’s me.”

Still looking away, he signed, ‘Leave.’

“I will. I just – I had to see you.”

Why? To gloat over his deserved misfortune, or worse, to pity him? He dared not ask. ‘Now you have.’

“I didn’t bring you anything. I’m sorry. I gave it all to the others.”

‘They’re still here? Alive?’

“Yes. For now.”

That surprised him. He imagined the Aquilans had a particular fate in store for him, but not the gladiators. Galleys always needed strong men at the oars. ‘Why? What will they do to them?’

“There’s a celestial event happening with extra games. They’re to be the entertainment. You too, I suppose.”

Arn exhaled. He had expected as much for himself, yet he had held out hope that his brothers would be spared death and sentenced to the galleys or the mines. Distraught, he shook his head and ended up looking at her. He saw only the black veil, which calmed him; he could handle that.

“I’m sorry. None of you deserve this.”

‘They don’t. I do. I wanted vengeance no matter the risk, the cost. If I had let go, I’d never be discovered, and they wouldn’t be facing death.’

She knelt down in front of him. “You didn’t pass judgement on them. If justice could be found in this Empire, they’d be free.”

He breathed deeply. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll all be dead soon enough.’ As his mind became clearer from the fog that the solitary imprisonment had imposed, a question came to him. ‘Why are you here? You meant to leave for the islands.’

“The expedition was delayed. Someone killed its leader, after all. We’ll depart the day after the celestial event – it is considered a good omen that will bless our efforts.”

He did not respond but simply looked at the veil hiding her face from him. He recalled their last conversation before now, standing on either side of the gate in the ludus. The only time nothing had separated them had been in her cell at the convent. By then he had slain Salvius and set this chain of events into motion; by then any revelation had come too late, and he could not change his fate.

Perhaps it was for the best. The thought that it could have gone another way, that he could have reached out and found her, it seemed too difficult to bear. Intuitively, he raised his hands towards her until the heavy sensation of his chains reminded him of his situation.

‘Mahan told me something.’ She switched to gestures. 'That he guessed I had healed Domitian, but you told him it was you.’

Perplexed, Arn blinked a few times until he remembered the conversation with the weapons master. ‘Yes.’

‘Why did you claim responsibility? He could have turned you in and probably saved himself.’

He stared at the dark where her face should be. ‘How could I betray you?’

‘Maybe it’s not too late. Tell them you wish to make a deal. You’ll tell them of a nun with a rare gift for healing in exchange for your life,’ she suggested, her movements growing eager.

‘No. I killed a mageknight. I made a mockery of their games. They’ll never let me live.’ He stared at where her eyes should be. ‘I’ve caused enough disruption. Leave this city as you intend, and when you think of me, remember one thing only.’

“What is that?” Her voice sounded frail.

‘They taught you to hate yourself. They tried to dim your light. Yet it shines with such strength, it pierced even the dark surrounding me.’ A mirthless smile appeared on his face. ‘What greater magic could there be than that?’

He saw her veil flutter before she buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders shook for a moment before she composed herself and stood up straight, lowering her hands to use them to sign instead. ‘I hate the things you’ve done, and I wanted to hate you. I’ve tried. But when I heard you were taken, my heart broke. Why do I care when you should be everything I despise?’

He had no answer; he was too overwhelmed to think.

With slow, deliberate movements, Helena removed her veil. In the faint daylight, he caught a glimpse of her face before he looked away, into the ground.

He felt her kneel again before him. “Why do you hide?”

‘I don’t deserve to see you.’

Her hand extended to touch his cheek and turn his face towards hers. “We are beyond what anyone deserves.”

Her eyes staring into his felt like a punch knocking the wind out of him. ‘Don’t torment me with thoughts of what could have been.’

She did not see his gestures; her gaze stayed above his hands, locked into his. “You were right. I should have learned to wield my power. I would have been strong enough to save you.”

He had no response; not that she would have seen that either. He only felt her other hand joining the first to frame his face, and as she kissed him, a glow illuminated his being.