The black blood in the dust was where her eyes first fell when they stepped into the square; slaves worked quickly to ready the bloody area for morning training. The ludus was quiet, save the occasional grunt of a man in slumber.
"It is in the cart, at the far end of the square. You may borrow a horse to transport the man to your villa, unless you prefer to perform the rituals here."
Bersa grunted with frustration. "Why place the cart so far from the entrance?"
Doctore gestured toward the slaves, industriously mounting blocks of wood for combat practice. "To allow the slaves ample space to work. Once the cart is mounted to a horse, it should not give you much difficulty."
Hisolda forced herself to look at the cart, as her father busied himself with obtaining a horse to deal with the burden his daughter put upon him. Every step toward the ominous cart was taxing; she was exhausted once she reached her arm out to touch the worn wood. It seemed welcoming. Surely this cart did not contain the remains of Segovax. It is too small, too slight to carry such a massive man.
He was curled to his side, his face obscured from view. She could easily tell that he was dead by the way his arm hung at his side, his wax-like skin, the copious amounts of blood surrounding him. The wrists were punctured, the shoulders rope burned and blood coagulated between his legs in an unusual, vulgar way. She turned the man's face.
Bersa saw his only child climb into the cart with the corpse as he brought the elderly horse into the square. "Have you lost mind, girl? Girl!"
She could not hear him, she heard nothing but the sound of the sea slapping against the cliffs. His face was unchanged, not distorted in painful death, but strangely at peace in the bright moonlight. As if he was asleep. She stroked his lips and passed her hand over his hair. Segovax did not stir now; he would have taken her hand and kissed her palm in devotion. His promise is broken.
"Fucking horse, move forward. Girl, get out of the cart and help me with this damn creature!"
She lay beside Segovax, barely feeling the wet coldness of the blood or the unforgiving hardness of the cart's base. "Segovax? Segovax." She whispered and kissed his lips. Cold and dry. "I am here." She pulled him close to her, straining to listen for his heart. She only heard the waves. Her every movement rocked the flimsy cart. Burning tears escaped her tired eyes as she shut them and brought her lips to his ear.
"Take me with you."
Then Hisolda, clutching Segovax tightly, rocked the cart and, in that single motion, sent it crashing to the rocks below.