CHAPTER EIGHT: CLOSE ENCOUNTERS

 

 

 

Nigel managed to slip away from the crowd quite easily, as they were herded down to the arena. Derek gave him a cautionary glance as he edged into the shadows, but nevertheless he was filled with a new optimism.

His ankle, now tightly bound up with rags, was holding up better than he’d worried it might. Moreover, he had convinced himself that, even if he couldn’t escape, if he located the relic he might be able to use it – which would bring a reunion in Sydney into the realms of possibility. For the first time in a while, Nigel felt in control of his own destiny. Well, sort of.

He lurked in the shadows under a low archway until the others had disappeared into the arena. Then, after checking the coast was clear, he sidled down towards the lion’s and tiger’s cage, which completely blocked the walkway. This ensured that the gladiators could not pass into the area in which the public came in, and that they could not escape.

The contents of the cage were a sad sight. Five big cats were cramped into a tiny space, with barely enough room to stretch their once-muscular legs. What should have been fine beasts were so thin that you could see their ribs. Their fur hung loose, and a poor female tiger was licking a barely-healed wound on her paw.

Nigel's 21st-century sensibilities were appalled, and he wished he had something to give them to eat. Nevertheless, he daren’t venture within a claws swipe of the cage: the moment his presence was sensed, all five growled ravenously and bore their fangs. He knew very well that they considered him a fine breakfast, and then remembered, with a gulp, that he could well be on the menu for dinner!

‘Nice moggies,’ he whispered and, from as close as he dared get to the cage, he began to look for clues.

To his dismay, he could spy nothing helpful on his side of the cage. The walls were blank stone, and there was no sign of any secret compartments. On the other side of the cage, however, he could see two protruding carved heads high on the wall. One was clearly supposed to represent a big cat, and the other appeared to be a wolf or dog. ‘Don't touch the cat,’ remembered Nigel from Anita's clue. ‘Well, that's straightforward enough, but I can't touch the dog from here either.’

Fighting off a new wave of despondency, Nigel strained his eyes in search of something else. He was rewarded when, above the stone cat's head, he spotted the end of some sort of conduit that led from the direction of the arena. It wasn’t large, but he thought he could just squeeze through. ‘If I could climb through there,’ he conjectured, ‘I could have a better look…’

At that moment, his thoughts were interrupted by some shouting and scuffling, which seemed to be coming from where the gladiator’s were training. ‘I hope I haven’t been missed,’ thought Nigel, slightly panicked. He wondered if he could slink back in as un-noticeably as he had crept away. Clinging to his optimism, he figured that he could then find the opening of the conduit to the other end.

His hopes were thwarted when a gruff voice from behind bellowed: ‘Oi! I think I’ve found it!’

An exceedingly large Roman guard was striding up the walkway towards him, a malicious grin on his craggy, scarred face.

A meaty hand reached out to grab him by the tunic but Nigel dodged it, with lightning reflexes that shocked even him, and fast-hobbled ahead into the arena. He was heartily sick of people dragging him around by his clothes: ‘I've little enough on, as it is, ‘he grumbled,’ without them getting even more torn. I need something to keep me respectable!’

In the arena, all activity had stopped. Demetrius was standing in the middle, arms folded, and tapping his foot impatiently. When Nigel emerged through an archway, his face lit up with vindictive delight.

‘Ah, there you are! I thought you might have made with some sort of nasty ‘accident’ during the night, although I'm actually quite pleased to see you in one piece. You were just hiding, were you, you little coward?’

‘It was skulking around the beasts, master!’ said the guard who had located him.

‘It was, was it?’ Demetrius looked thoughtful for a second. Agroitus was always sniffing around the lions and tigers, and he had already suspected that might be where the rumoured treasure was hidden. Maybe the slave knew something about that as well?

‘Take the runt inside,’ he ordered to the guard. ‘We need to talk.’

Nigel’s hope of survival was now sinking terminally into the sand beneath his bare feet, and he decided there was little to do but go with them. He was somewhat disconcerted when Derek, brandishing a wooden practice sword, dashed between him and the approaching guard and appropriated a defensive stance.

‘He just wants to talk, Derek,’ said Nigel, forcing himself to sound calm. Of course, he doubted that Demetrius really would just talk, but there was no point Derek getting in trouble as well.

Derek's voice was decisive. ‘Tell them if they want to speak you, they’d better speak to me.’

‘I appreciate the sentiment, Derek,’ said Nigel. The guard had temporarily stopped his approach, perturbed by the turn of events. ‘But seeing as you can't speak their lingo, I'm not sure it's going to help.’

Derek's reply betrayed a hint of exasperation. ‘Then tell them if they want to talk to you, they’ll have to fight me first.’ He reasserted his aggressive pose, flourishing his inadequate weapon.

‘Once again, I’m much obliged, and I'm sure you're very proficient with that wooden sword. But unfortunately, seeing as there are twenty men over there with real ones, I'm not convinced it's going to do much good.’

‘Are you patronising me, Bailey?’ Derek dropped his stance and turned slowly to Nigel. A desperate, almost hangdog look belied his dry humour.

Nigel gave a thin smile and shook his head, his hands raised in resignation. ‘Maybe he does just want to talk, Derek,’ he said quietly. ‘It's not worth your dying for, is it?’

He cringed as the guard seized him by the tunic, hearing it tear again, but Nigel went without resistance. ‘I’ll be okay,’ he mouthed to Derek, who threw down his sword in sheer frustration.

The Special Agent had never felt so powerless, so impotent. Like Sydney the day before, he couldn’t suppress a cry of anguish as he was forced to watch hostile forces take Nigel away from him.

…………………………..

Nigel was taken to the dreary chamber in which Demetrius had given him the ‘once-over’ yesterday and the two of them were left alone. Demetrius paced predatorily around Nigel, examining him with increased curiosity.

Nigel hoped he’d been bought there because of something to do with Sydney, and he took some comfort in the fact that Demetrius had said that he was glad to see him in one piece. Nevertheless, he was dead scared, and took deep breaths, trying to stop himself shaking and, once again, maintain his dignity.

After what seemed like an eternity of pacing and leering, and the odd pinch and slap, Demetrius finally spoke: ‘I've been offered a lot of money for you. Tell me why?’

‘Because I'm just so good-looking?’ suggested Nigel, cursing himself for the unstoppable sarcasm. It was hardly the time and place.

The big, wiry man narrowed his eyes pensively. It had crossed his mind yesterday that this slave was well-formed and somewhat pretty although, for gladiator-purposes, he had written him off as small and lame. Now his sordid mind began to form new ideas.

‘You certainly have some sort of allure, don't you? You had that grunting goon throwing himself about the arena for you a minute ago - he clearly wanted you to himself - and now Agriotus Poccolus has made me an offer I nearly couldn't refuse. Tell me, does the consul want you because you'll entice back his warrior princess, or for himself?’

Nigel was shocked. He hadn't foreseen the suggestiveness of his impetuous words. Nevertheless, he guessed soon enough who the warrior princess was. ‘Syd…I mean, the warrior princess…she’s my wife.’

‘Your wife?’

‘Yes, my wife.’ Repeating it made it seem comfortingly real and, in this world, it nearly was. Nigel hoped that his revelation couldn't do Sydney any harm. He doubted it could make his situation much worse.

‘Interesting.’ Demetrius stopped pacing, and leaned in close to Nigel. ‘Now tell me, where’s the treasure.’

‘The t..treasure?’ Demetrius’s foul, reeking breaths made Nigel feel sick. He began to back towards the wall.

‘Yes. What were you doing poking around the lion's cage? Is that where Agroitus keeps his hidden fortune? Or is it some object of power, blessed by the Gods? ’

Nigel knew he couldn’t let on that they were after the relic and tried to put Demetrius off the scent. ‘I was just hiding, like you said…and I was looking at the lions and tigers. Back where I come from, you can see such animals in places called zoos, and safari parks. Of course, these institutions raise lots of issues for animal welfare organizations. Indeed, I think the RSPCA would have plenty to say if they ever popped in here…’

Nigel stopped short when Demetrius clamped a chunky hand firmly around his throat.

‘Where’s the treasure?’

‘Please,’ gasped Nigel trying to pry away the iron grip, ‘ I can't breath…I…’ Demetrius lightened his hold slightly.

‘I don't know anything about the treasure… any treasure. Honestly. I'd say!’

Demetrius’s attention was momentarily diverted by shouts and crashes that were coming from the walkway. He released Nigel, and went to the doorway. Nigel didn't move at first, but his heart leapt as he heard the holler of a familiar female voice.

‘Nigel?’

‘Sydney! Sydney! I’m here!!!’

‘Nigel!’ The affirming cry was followed by several clashes of steel, and a small, surprisingly feminine, cry.

‘She’s in trouble!’ Nigel started towards the door, praying that Demetrius would forget him, move out, and let him past. Unfortunately, the gladiator-owner heaved the doorfirmly shut before Nigel could reach it, and then blocked the way.

‘You can't let them hurt her!’ shouted Nigel, ‘please, call them off.’

Demetrius laughed darkly. ‘Oh, they'll take care of her, alright. They know I want her in working order. And as for you…’ Demetrius seized Nigel again, this time by his increasingly ragged tunic, lifted him bodily off the floor, and then slammed him roughly back against the wall.

Nigel was momentarily stunned, and Demetrius reveled in the scared confusion he detected in his victims light, hazel eyes. He laughed again, his own dark eyes flashing demonically. ‘If you can't tell me about the treasure, I’m going to find out exactly what it is about you that everyone else finds so irresistable…’

There was an almighty crash on the door. Somebody was trying to break it in…

‘Sydney!’ Nigel kicked the redistricted Demetrius as hard as he could on the shin, forcing the gladiator trainer to drop him and raise his hand in anger. Nigel blocked the blow, just as Derek had shown him earlier, and gave him a vicious punch in the stomach.

The door flew open, and there, bloodied but not bowed, stood Sydney Fox.

…………………………………..

Sydney was immeasurably relieved to see Nigel in one piece, but she paused only long enough to take a sharp intake of breath. Nigel, still pressed against the wall, was rubbing his sore fingers, as he usually did after resorting to punching someone. His delighted cry of ‘Syd!’ went unanswered, as she observed that the results of his handiwork were fast wearing off.

Demetrius had straightened out and she saw him reach for a knife in his belt, while his other hand stretched for Nigel.

‘Don’t touch him, you bastard!’

The high-kick to the head was knockout, and the knife clattered to the floor.

Sydney and Nigel spoke at once:

‘Syd, you’re hurt!’

‘Nigel, what did he do to you?’

By the time either of them finished their words they had fallen into the other’s arms and sunk to their knees. Nigel squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in her familiar scent, feeling her silky hair against his face and basking in the solace of her tender embrace. He could have died right then, quite contented.

Sydney held him gently, eyes wide with concern: ‘Oh, my darling,’ she murmered.

While she was ecstatic he was still alive, the gash on his temple, the makeshift bandage on his ankle, his ragged apparel, and the other very obvious signs of beatings, left her wondering what harm had been done to him that she could not see. Moreover, she knew they could ill afford this precious moment. She’d fought her way in; she now had to fight both their ways out.

She drew away and, taking his hand, pulled him up with her: ‘Nigel, we’ve got to go. Are you up to it?’

‘I’m fine,’ said Nigel dreamily, still musing on her calling him her ‘darling.’ This was a new one to him. While he supposed it had been brought about through sympathy, he still liked it.

Sydney clicked her fingers in front of his face. ‘Nigel! Are you with me?’

Nigel blinked hard as the reality, which in all its hideousness he had temporarily blanked out, soared back into his memory. ‘Yes! I’m fine. It's barely worse than…err,’ Nigel racked his brain for their nastiest relic hunting near-misses. Nothing quite compared, so he changed the subject. ‘What about your arm? It’s bleeding.’

‘It’s just a scratch. Come on. Let’s go!’

Sydney led Nigel out into the walkway. It was strewn with the unconscious bodies of guards, who she had hacked her way through. Unfortunately, however, their route to the exit was still not clear; voices and footsteps could be heard approaching.

Sydney grabbed a sword from one of the incapacitated soldiers, and handed it to Nigel who regarded it doubtfully.

‘You with me, Nigel?’ entreated Sydney. Nigel nodded, and then a flash of recognition crossed his face.

‘What about Derek? We can't leave without Derek!’

‘Derek Lloyd?’ asked Sydney incredulously.

‘He’s here, Syd, they made him become a gladiator. He looked after me… without him I could be dead. We've got to save him!’

As six armed guards rounded the bend, Sydney, despite her drawn sword, began to doubt that she could even save herself. A villainous roar from the chamber indicated that Demetrius was awake, and more pounding feet could be heard thumping up the walkway in the opposite direction.

‘Damn.’ It was her turn to throw the sword down with a clatter. Even Sydney Fox realised she couldn't fight her way out through a dozen men, defend a more-than-usually bewildered Nigel from them, and then somehow fight her way back in to help Derek Lloyd – if she really must! She hated admitting it, but she was only human. Trusting in her powers of negotiation – and of escape later - she raised her arms in surrender.

………………………………………….

Sydney drove as hard a bargain as she could. Fortunately, Demetrius had a thumping headache and irritatedly conceded that he would let them both go tomorrow, and guarantee Nigel’s safety today, if the ‘daughter of Boudicea’ put on the show of a lifetime for his gore-hungry punters tonight. He then slouched off to lie down.

Of course, Sydney did not trust his word, but she had bought them time, and that couldn't be a bad thing.

Ten minutes later, they were both locked in a large iron cage, similar to the one in which the big cats were kept. Nigel was there because Demetrius insisted: he needed a guarantee that the warrior princess would perform. Sydney was there out of choice.

‘This is madness,’ hissed Nigel, gratefully sinking to the ground and taking the weight of his injured ankle. ‘You should be out there looking for the relic, or finding Derek.’

‘I'm sure Derek Lloyd can look after himself for now,’ replied Sydney, ‘and the relic can wait. I need to make sure you're alright. You seem a little, well…traumatised.’

Nigel was flustered: ‘I told you, I’m fine… maybe not quite up to batting for England…but, really, there's nothing more than you can see. Just a few bruises.’

‘Will you stop protesting, Nigel, and let me look after you?’ Nigel nodded, wide-eyed. He wanted that, as long as he didn't have to talk about being sold, wearing next-to-nothing in public, the beatings…and Demetrius. She knelt in front of him and lifted his ankle into her lap. With a touch so light that he could barely feel it, she refastened the bandages. ‘Is that better?’

‘Yes. Thanks.’ He wondered how Sydney got to be so good at everything.

He let Sydney wrap her arms around him, pulling his head down onto her chest, as she had the other night. She gently pulled his hair away from where it had stuck to the cut on his forehead. Looking down, she murmured: ‘it doesn't seem to be infected. I hope it doesn't scar. Does it hurt, Nigel? ’

‘A bit. Everything hurts at the moment. I don't care now you're here, though.’ Sydney, glad he was finally opening up, felt him tentatively slip his arms around her waist. ‘ I thought you were dead…’ he continued wistfully, ‘that was worse than anything…I nearly gave up hope.’

Sydney stoked his hair. ‘It must have been awful, Nigel…I should have been here…I’m so sorry.’ She began choking back tears as she spoke, causing Nigel to pull away abruptly.

Her distress alarmed him. ‘What is it? What did I say? I don't blame you, honest. Nothing bad happened. I keep saying…’ He lifted his hand and wiped away the tears that were trickling down her cheeks. ‘Please don’t cry,’ he whispered, ‘ I can't bear it. You'll start me off. I still can't forget the feeling…when I believed I’d never see you again… I wanted to die myself.’ His own bottom lip quivered slightly.

Sydney sniffed and forced a comforting smile. ‘Why have I never seen you cry, Nigel?’

Nigel cringed. ‘Derek has… but I'd rather forget that.’

‘Crying isn’t a crime, Nigel. It's healthy. You should let your emotions out more.’ She pulled him back into a hug and held him for a while, in silence. Nigel wondered if she expected him to cry and thus almost willed himself to do so. A solitary tear escaped, as he relived the horrific visions of her dead that had haunted him the night before, but he could manage no more. How could he reach such depths of despair when he was in her arms, even if it was in the middle of hell?

After a few moments, he ventured to ask: ‘What’s the plan, Syd?’

Sydney had been absorbing the gentle rise and fall of Nigel’s breath as she held him to her, taking comfort in the heart she felt beat steadily in his chest and the warmth of his arms clasped around her. A pang of anxiety and of immense responsibility now hit her.

‘Go with the flow’ seemed woefully inadequate. What was the plan?

 

Continued to chapter 9