The villa of Marius Honorius was a grand thing considering it sat not on a street in Rome but on a plain in the countryside of the far-flung Roman province of Albion. It was walled to separate the haughty Roman nobleman from the Britons who labored on his lands. The walls also served for protection from the Britons' less accommodating kin, the Woads, who occasionally attacked the manor.
Of course, Marius liked to think the Woads were too frightened to attack his manor. They feared his papal granted authority over them, he believed. To prove his supremacy, he had even had a Woad captured and broken to serve his as a gladiator in his small private arena.
This was a fact Marius was quite proud of, and he finally had an opportunity to show off his prize. Demetrius, the son of an old friend of his, had come to visit. Visitors in the frontier of Albion were rare, but the adventurous youth took the opportunity to travel. So determined was he to prove himself a man of the world, he traveled not only with the usual contingent of guards but also his own gladiator.
Marius and Demetrius now sat in the opulent box of Marius's small personal arena. The few benches surrounding the arena were dotted with Marius's off duty guards and the few Briton peasants willing to watch the upcoming spectacle.
"My young friend, I've had two Woads caught so you may see how fierce these creatures are. Perhaps you would like to let your gladiator take care of them?" Marius graciously offered.
Marius was really rather curious as to whether or not Demetrius' gladiator had any new tricks or styles from Rome to show off. He had but two gladiators himself: the captive Woad and a professional gladiator he had brought with him from Rome. They rarely even fought each other because of the risk Marius ran of loosing one of them. What good was a single gladiator in this wilderness where another opponent would be hard to find?
The two Woads in question were forced out into the arena at Marius's command. One was only a boy. The other was a woman, young though fierce, if her reaction to the guards' handling was any indication.
"Are the Woads really such fierce warriors," Demetrius asked, "that my gladiator is needed to kill a woman and a child?"
Secretly, Demetrius hoped Marius would let his archers take care of the Woads. His gladiator had been purchased quite cheaply because she was unruly. It was not that she refused to fight. She was quite able to hold her own in the arena, but she did not "murder innocents," as she had so bravely told Demetrius when he purchased her. The marks on her back prove what the merchant had told him: her past owners had tried and failed to beat the stubbornness out of her.
"I am a gladiator," she had said, "not a murder. I will not murder innocents."
Demetrius had no desire to be shamed before his fellow Roman. He hoped he could persuade Marius to let his gladiator fight the other gladiators or soldiers without doing them the honor of killing the Woads first.
"Yes, the Woads are very fierce," Marius answered, "so fierce, in fact, that we could not capture one of the men alive on such short notice. I had one captured to be a gladiator here in my arena, but that took nearly a year to do. I am told the woman is a warrior, though. Your gladiator should be able to get a good fight from her."
"Marius, my father's friend, I must confess. My gladiator is particular. You see, my journeying has cost quite a bit. The gladiator was not expensive because she will not kill those who are not gladiators. She will not kill an unarmed person simply because I tell her to do so."
"You allow this insubordination?" Marius questioned.
"What can I do? I've threatened her with death; she cares not."
"Let my gladiators deal with her if she refuses. The will do more than threaten her with death. We can have a real bout then."
Marius's obvious delight only served to irritate Demetrius. He was quite sure his host would not have been so happy about a fight to the death if it were his only gladiator facing death. That gladiator was money, fairly spent by Demetrius, and he was about to loose it because he could not let Marius think he would let his gladiator set her own rules.
Not wishing to squabble about matters of money and discipline with Marius, Demetrius was left with no choice but to agree with him. "As you say, she'll come around when truly facing death," Demetrius agreed with little conviction. "Julius," he continued to the captain of his guard contingent, "have Kafka sent into the ring."
With a nod, Julius jogged away. As he returned, Demetrius' gladiator was lead into the ring. By the time her chains had been removed and her weapons given to her, Julius was back at Demetrius' side.
Kafka glanced around the small arena as Marius's guards left. She saw no opponents. What she did see was an unarmed woman who appeared to be hiding or protecting a child. Surely, they were not who she was expected to fight.
"Kafka," Demetrius called, interrupting the gladiator's examination of the two. "These people are Woads. They are a race of warriors, barbarians from this island. See what kind of show you can get from the woman." He sincerely hoped Kafka, for once, would do as she was told.
"She is unarmed," Kafka calmly noted.
"Do as I command," Demetrius shouted back.
"I'll not murder innocents, Demetrius. You know this."
Demetrius flushed at the audacity of his gladiator to call him by name and refuse his commands before another nobleman.
Marius stood, though, as Kafka continued to refuse. "If you refuse to obey your master, my gladiators will kill you," he threatened.
"I'll not murder them," Kafka answered.
"My gladiators will," Marius answered. "Then they will kill you."
"I'll not murder them, nor will I let them be murdered."
"If they survive the fight, they can go free," Demetrius called, desperate to end the humiliating discussion.
"What a novel idea. Yes, I agree. If the Woad's survive the fight, they may go free," Marius agreed, with a smile.
"Wait," the Woad woman called.
Every head in the arena whipped toward the woman. She had spoken in Latin. Her words were heavily accented, and the grammar was rough, but the words had been spoken in Latin. It was widely assumed that the Woads did not know Latin.
"If we go free, she goes free," the Woad called. "She fights for us, she lives with us. It is right."
"As she says," Marius yelled, caught up in the excitement of this unexpected bout. "This will be a good fight," he laughed to Demetrius. For his part, Demetrius was unhappy. It seemed either way, he would loose his gladiator.
"Tell your men to try not to kill Kafka," he murmured. "She cost me money, and I want to keep her as long as I can."
"Better no gladiator than one who will not obey orders," Marius muttered back.
As the Romans were talking, Kafka advanced to speak to the Woad woman. "Are you a warrior? Can you defend yourself and the boy?" she demanded.
"Woads are warriors," the woman answered grimly.
"Good enough," Kafka muttered. "Stay at the far end of the arena. You protect the boy; I'll protect you." Kafka marched back toward the center of the arena.
"Wait," the Woad woman called again.
Kafka turned, waiting for the woman to speak.
She pointed to the boy. "Lucan." Then she put her palm to her chest. "Guinevere," she said.
"Kafka," the gladiator answered. With a nod, both women returned to their respective posts to wait the arrival of Marius's gladiators.
"Leonidas," Marius shouted, though whether his words were meant as an introduction or a summons Kafka wasn't sure. What she did know was that a large man armed and armored in the Thracian style entered the arena as Marius spoke. He looked like he planned to enjoy the coming fight.
"Barbarus," Marius called again. Kafka nearly laughed despite the dire situation. Could Marius be any more unimaginative? He could think of no better name for his Woad gladiator than "Barbarian"?
As Kafka snickered to herself, a young man dressed in leather breeches with some strange blue dye staining his chest, face, and arms entered the arena. In Kafka and Guinevere's favor, this one did not look as eager as his companion.
"Sean," Guinevere hissed. She called something else, a single word in her own language, in a louder voice. It sounded decidedly unfriendly, Kafka thought.
She spun to glance at Guinevere. As she looked she noticed the Woad woman was painted with the same blue dye, thought the symbols were different. She also wore leather, though she, thankfully, also had a shirt.
"You know him?" Kafka demanded.
"We thought him dead," Guinevere answered. "Better dead than traitor." The woman glared dangerously at the Woad she had called Sean, and Kafka was half afraid she might attack him right then, unarmed as she was.
Keeping the thought of her possible freedom in the back of her mind, Kafka took a serious and detailed look at her opponents. What she saw did not please her by any stretch. She was outnumbered, but she had known that before her opponents made their appearances. They were both well armed, though the Woad wore no armor. Both appeared to be capable fighters.
"Nothing's going in my favor today," Kafka thought to herself.
The gladiator Marius had called Leonidas was armed in the Thracian style. He wore a broad-brimmed helmet that covered his whole head, thought the face plate had not been closed when he entered the arena. His legs were protected by bronze greaves, and his right arm was covered in bronze armor, though his trunk was left unprotected. In his right hand, he carried a short curved sword, while a small round spiked shield rested on his left arm.
He would have to get in close to do any damage, which could be both good and bad. All Kafka had to do was stay out of his reach and she would be safe. If he did manage to get close, though, he could do some serious damage with both his sword and his shield. He had the advantage of height, weight, and protection on his side. Kafka did have the advantage of knowing how Thracian gladiators fought, though.
The Woad was a variable that greatly displeased Kafka. She knew nothing of his fighting style. He carried two short swords, and Kafka hoped she couuld treat him as she would any other dimachaeri. With any luck, though, he would miraculously sprout a conscience and decide not to attack someone protecting two of his fellow Woads. Considering her luck so far today, Kafka rather doubted such a thing would be happening for her.
Kafka, for her part, fought with little armor. The weight would have slowed her down. She had little chance of being as strong as the mostly male gladiators she fought, and her real advantages were her speed and agility. She wore no helmet. She did have a light leather breastplate, which Demetrius had seen fit to have dyed black. He had said it was more intimidating. A piece of bronze armor covered her left arm from wrist to elbow, serving in place of a shield.
Kafka fought two handed, using variations on the many formal styles of the Roman gladiators. She carried a long sword in her right hand as an offensive weapon. It gave her reach which she otherwise would not have had. In her left hand, she held a half-sword in a reversed position to serve as a defensive weapon. This way, no matter whether she needed to stab up or down, in or out, she had a blade pointed in that direction.
Both of Kafka's opponents would have to be fairly close to inflict damage. That meant she could keep track of where they were relatively easily, making sure they did not sneak past her to attack the Woads. To be sure, though, that Guinevere and Lucan were safe, Kafka turned as her opponents advanced and tossed her half-sword to Guinevere.
"Protect the boy," she called again, as she turned, half-crouched, back toward the advancing gladiators.
Leonidas was quite easy to keep track of: his heavy footsteps gave him away. Sean, on the other hand, moved almost soundlessly across the sand of the arena floor.
"I've got to take care of him first," Kafka decided.
The two other gladiators were beginning to circle Kafka, trying, she thought, to get behind her. Deciding to take matters into her own hands, Kafka rushed Sean. The Woad caught her down-sweeping blow on both of his blades.
As she was engaged with Sean, Kafka heard Leonidas's footsteps pounding past them toward Guinevere and Lucan. Kafka growled at having been so easily passed. She disengaged from Sean and swung her long blade with startling speed at his head. Sean kicked out at her arm, and she hit him squarely in the face with the flat of her blade.
Leaving the dazed Woad on the ground, Kafka sprinted to catch Leonidas. She hoped to catch him from behind, surprising him. Leonidas heard her, though, and turned, swinging his spiked shield with all his might.
"Whoa," Kafka shouted as she ducked, stumbling backwards a few steps. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sean running toward Guinevere and Lucan. She growled under her breath.
"He's mine," Guinevere shouted. She stepped to meet Sean already yelling at him in their own tongue.
"Protect the boy," Kafka shouted back, fearful that Guinevere might leave Lucan unprotected in favor of chasing down Sean.
Leonidas had pounced before Kafka had stopped speaking. Again, Kafka leapt out of the way of a blow that would have severed her head. Unfortunately, the edge of Leonidas's shield followed his sword. It caught Kafka in the right bicep as she regained her feet.
"I need that arm," she shouted at Leonidas as she staggered away. She had only gone a few steps when she whirled, sword fully extended, hoping to take a surprised Leonidas fully across the chest. Leonidas caught the blow on his shield, but the blade slid off, biting deeply into this forearm.
As Kafka and Leonidas tried their very best to kill each other, Guinevere was trying her very best to talk Sean out of killing her and Lucan.
"I always win, Sean. You know that," she yelled.
"Not here, Guin. You can't beat all of them."
"Not alone, but you could help us."
"They'll kill all of us, Guin. It's just a question of when and how. I promise I will make it quick," Sean said.
He dodged right, putting Guinevere slightly off balance, before striking. Both of his swords sang as they flew toward Guinevere's head. She ducked, coming up close to Sean, inside his guard.
"I don't want to kill another Woad," she yelled. Even as she spoke, though, she ripped a great gash across his right calf.
With a cry, Sean fell. Satisfied that she and Lucan were not in immediate danger and driven by a wish not to have to kill Sean, she retreated closer to Lucan, letting Sean gain his feet.
He staggered up, favoring his right leg. His pained eyes locked on to Guinevere. "You will die to day, Guin," he said solemnly.
Without his shield, Leonidas was pressing attacks on Kafka without pause. His plan was solid. If he could keep her on the defense and unable to press any attacks of her own, eventually, she would make a mistake. Of course, Kafka knew this too.
Instead of catching his next blow on her sword, Kafka sidestepped the blade's downward arc. She danced backwards a step, finally getting into a position to use her blade's longer reach to her advantage. The fight would have been over quickly if Sean had not tackled Kafka from behind.
Kafka found herself lying in the sand with Sean still hanging on to her lower legs. She bucked wildly, managing to lever Sean off her legs. She slammed her sword into the sand, barely missing Sean's leg as he scrambled away.
"Get back here," she yelled. She dove after him, sword extended. The tip of her blade ripped into his lower right leg, hamstringing him.
Sean turned, pain and rage fueling his strength, and drove one sword straight into the sand. He missed Kafka's chest driving the point between her chest and her left arm, tearing matching gashes on the side of her ribcage and the inside of her arm.
She pulled her leg nearly to her chest and kicked Sean full in the face. He reeled away from her, leaving his sword embedded in the sand. He shouted something in his own language. His voice was muffled, and Kafka was satisfied to hear that his nose was broken.
Leonidas was right behind Kafka as she staggered to her feet holding her injured ribs. He brought the hilt of his sword down, aiming to crush the back of Kafka's unprotected head. Sensing someone behind her, Kafka ducked back down. Leonidas's swing went wide, and he caught Kafka's left shoulder blade instead of her head. She hit the sand of the arena floor hard.
She crawled away and staggered to her feet again. She wheeled her sword about violently to keep Leonidas and Sean at bay. Leonidas trusted his armor, though, and rushed Kafka after her first swing. He tried to bash her with his shield.
Kafka raised her left arm to block the blow. She caught his shield, but Leonidas stepped closer, using his size and strength to force her arm down. The spike affixed to the front of the shield penetrated the top of Kafka's left thigh.
Kafka screamed. She pulled her blade as far back as she could. Despite the lack of strength from the awkward angle, she thrust her sword forward. She rammed half the length of her blade into Leonidas's left shoulder.
He shouted and all but threw her away from him. Kafka landed roughly and scrambled to her feet. Luckily for her, Sean was hobbled by his wounds and could not attack her. Leonidas, though, bounded quickly back to his feet, charging at Kafka.
"This is bad," Kafka muttered to herself.
She raised her sword to fend him off. Leonidas struck Kafka's sword so hard, it fell from her hand. He brought the hilt of his sword up into her face, knocking her to the ground. Kafka spit a mouthful of blood onto the sand, but was utterly unable to get back to her feet. Leonidas kicked her onto her back as she tried to rise.
This was it. She had no weapon. Her head was spinning, and she couldn't see right. The gash across her ribs was bleeding freely. The puncture wound in her leg was pumping blood sluggishly. She was about to die.
Leonidas raised his sword for the death blow. Kafka endeavored to compose herself for the final blow. Running footstep approached from behind Leonidas, but neither gladiator paid them any attention.
As Leonidas began his downswing, though, the tip of Kafka's half-sword appeared from the center of Leonidas's chest. With a strangled groan, he crumpled. Behind him stood Guinevere, holding Kafka's half-sword.
"Look out," Kafka shouted. She had seen Sean approaching from over Guinevere's shoulder. She snatched up Leonidas's sword and dove blindly forward. She came to rest pressing the hilt of the sword to Sean's chest.
Letting the sword drop from her fingers, Kafka flopped onto her back before trying to get to her feet. With the adrenaline of the fight gone and the loss of blood from her various wounds, finding her feet was a struggle. Her wounded leg buckled under her as she rose, and she crashed to her knees. Guinevere and Lucan ran to her side: and, using Kafka's relatively unscathed right arm, Guinevere pulled her to her feet.
"You can walk?" she asked.
"Mostly," Kafka answered. "I don't know that I'll be that way for long, though."
Marius and Demetrius seemed understandably amazed that Kafka had won. They were also furious, though for different reasons. Marius had just lost both of his gladiators. Demetrius, on the other hand, was about to be forced to let his only gladiator go free.
"Will you agree to let us go?" Kafka called weakly.
Demetrius' reply was grudging at best. "You will be dead of your wounds before you loose sight of this place," he called. "You are free, though."
He tossed a wooden sword into the arena. It was carved with Demetrius' personal crest on both sides of the blade. This was Kafka's symbol of freedom, should she survive to appreciate it.
"Guards," Marius called. "Get them out of here."
Several soldiers pounded into the arena and hustled Guinevere, Lucan, and Kafka out. They continued to herd the captives until they had reached the outskirts of the fields and huts that surrounded Marius's villa. The soldiers stopped at the edge of the village, but continued to watch until the trio had staggered into the woods.