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CHAPTER NINE: TO HELL
There was a long hush. Sydney silently ran through every possibility and turned up no certainties of success. Nigel was listening to her heartbeat, as she had been treasuring his, and let it lull him almost to sleep. However, as he was on the verge of dropping off, his eyes flashed open. It had occurred to him that he hadn't even told Sydney about the ‘progress’ he'd had with the relic. Sydney sensed him start. ‘What is it, Nigel?’ He sat up, shaking himself a little, pulling himself together. ‘I'm sorry, Syd, I don't know what's come over me. I was so caught up in myself… I haven't even told you what I know….oh my God!’ ‘What?’ Nigel’s jaw dropped as he noticed her figure-hugging leather outfit, now uncovered. The fastening of her cloak had slipped open again. ‘Oh, it’s awful isn’t it?’ laughed Syd, ‘I feel like I’m wearing Madonna’s cast-offs!’ ‘It is rather, err, revealing. Although it’s more like in that movie with Pamela And…’ Nigel broke off. Did he really want to shatter his intellectual image by letting Syd know he’d seen that? ‘Um…nevermind. Where on earth did you get it?’ ‘Present from Agroitus,’ confessed Sydney. Nigel raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t too thrilled.’ Sydney refastened the cape, hoping it would encourage Nigel to lie down against her again. She wondered if he knew that having him so close was as much a comfort to her as it was to him. Still, she asked: ‘What do you know, Nigel?’ Avoiding the details of the price he paid for the initial information, he filled her in about the lion’s cage, and the carved heads he'd seen on the far side. ‘If we could only access it from the other side,’ he suggested, ‘I’m sure we'd be able to see a way to get at the relic. And maybe it could help us get out of here… and Derek. ’ Sydney frowned thoughtfully. ‘If I could persuade Demetrius to let you out while I'm in the ring, do you think you might be able to get in, climb down the conduit from the arena if you have to?’ ‘Maybe,’ said Nigel uncertainly, ‘but wouldn’t it be better if you did it before this evening? Then maybe we can get out of here without you having to go on.’ Sydney shook her head. ‘Even if I could escape with you this afternoon, I've no idea how we're going to help Derek. I've got a hunch that I have to go out there tonight. If somehow I can get the crowd on my side, or create enough confusion, all three of us might have a chance, and we can get the relic.’ Nigel felt very uneasy about this. Even in her outrageous outfit, Sydney seemed strangely fragile right now, particularly with the bleeding scratch on her arm and the unfamiliar anxiety drawn on her face. ‘I hate the thought of you having to fight for the baying, jeering crowd. What if you’re given faulty weapons, tricked or…what?’ Sydney leapt to her feet. Demetrius had rounded the corner of the walkway, and was fast approaching the cage with a still-pained grimace on his face. Detecting his former persecutor, Nigel stayed where he was on the floor, staring intently at the ground and avoiding all eye contact. ‘What do you want, Demetrius,’ growled Sydney. ‘The show will go on. Isn't that enough?’ ‘Too right, it will go on, Boudicea! And seeing as you promise me one night only, I want my money’s worth. There’s going to be swords, spears, bows and arrows, chariots, lions, tigers, and recreations of realhistorical battles! I need you out there to practice – now!’ Sydney, reluctant as he was to leave Nigel, realised that this made some sense if she was to survive. ‘Alright,’ she agreed. ‘But you let my husband go as soon as I’m in the ring tonight. Once I’m out there, I can’t run away, so there’s no need to hold him.’ Demetrius snorted as he unlocked the cage. ‘You forget that he is my property. I can do what I like with him…’ This time, it was Sydney’s hand that clamped down hard around Demetrius's neck. ‘That wasn’t the deal. If anyone as much as breaths on him, I won’t lift a finger out there tonight. In fact, you might find me gone…and then you’re the loser. He goes free the moment the show starts this evening’ ‘Fine,’ choked Demetrius. Sydney released him, knowing the dangerous game she was playing was weighted all too heavily against her. ………………………………………….. Nigel was indeed left alone - for a very long time. He listened to various, intriguing and sometimes alarming crashes and shouts coming from the arena. On one or two occasions, he was sure he heard Sydney shout or cry out. Mainly, however, the hours dragged by with just the distant noise of confusion, juxtaposed with his own thumping heartbeat, and eventually, the sound of his stomach. Nobody brought him any food all day. At great length, Nigel heard more footsteps and voices, this time coming in hundreds and thousands. Once again, none of them came too near; he realised that it must be evening, and the show was imminent. He wished he could curse each one of those horrid spectators individually: how dare they come to see his Sydney, and laugh and point as she fought for her life. Tired of leaning against the uncomfortable bars, he curled his arms around his knees, hugging them to him as a poor substitute for Sydney, and buried his face in them. In the blackness, all he could see was her, standing alone, marauding hordes descending upon her with swords, axes and bludgeons. Praying to whatever deity would listen, he willed her to win, willed her to survive. Thus, he did not see a guard approach, and only looked up in surprise as he heard the large key grind in the lock. Nigel backed up quickly against the bars, expecting only the worse of the large man he saw with the keys. The guard, however, simply held the door open and said, ‘off you go, then.’ Nigel stared at him. ‘I can go?’ ‘Yes. She won’t go out there until she sees you, so you’d better hurry.’ Nigel would have jumped to his feet and ran, but in the circumstances the best he could do was to pull himself up using the bars and limp over to the door. The guard, who hadn’t expected the famed warrior princesses ‘husband’ to be so boyish, pale and ragged, surveyed him with some sympathy. ‘Had a few quarrels, lately?’ he asked jovially. ‘A few,’ replied Nigel, ‘but you should have seen the other guys!’ The guard chuckled, and Nigel quietly congratulated himself on having met a Roman who was actually nice. Maybe there was hope for the Ancient World yet! …………………………………. When Nigel approached the edge of the arena, the action had not yet started, but the atmosphere had already built to a near-frenzy. The stands were packed way beyond anything permissible by 21st century health and safety standards, and punters were still scrumming their way in. Three rows of people were standing on each of the stone flagged levels that were supposed to accommodate just one. Trumpets were wailing and drums were beating. This had been billed as a night to remember, and the whole city of Nevium was there. The guard helped Nigel push his way through the smelly, boisterous crowd and into a private box, the front of which was currently veiled from the arena and the rest of the punters by plush red curtains. There, wearing her leather fighting gear, which was now decorated with a few tastefully placed jewels, was Sydney. ‘Syd!’ Nigel flung his arms around her. ‘You can’t do this. There must be another way. We’ve got to get out of here.’ Sydney was queerly unemotional, although her eyes were sad: ‘You’re okay, Nigel?’ ‘This isn't about me, it's about you.’ He turned to the guard, who was embarrassedly looking the other way. ‘Please, you can help us to get out of here…’ The guard confessed that he couldn't: ‘I’ve got a wife and children. I’m sorry, but I couldn't risk it. Demetrius would kill them.’ ‘Too right he would,’ came an ominous growl. Demetrius stepped out from behind the curtain. ‘As it is, you're dismissed, so they can starve instead!’ As the guard scuttled off, and the trumpets blared louder than ever, Sydney clasped Nigel to her and kissed him. ‘Go find it, Nigel,’ she whispered, her voice muffled in his hair, and she slipped a small dagger, which had been concealed in her outfit, into his hand. Betwixt his general dismay, Nigel could not help wondering where on earth Sydney had found space to hide a dagger in that outfit. She really was a woman of many talents! Moving in front of Nigel while he clumsily hid the weapon behind him, Sydney turned to Demetrius with a look that could have cracked diamonds, and said ‘Let’s go.’ ‘Yes, Let’s go. All of us.’ Sydney looked perplexed. ‘What do you mean. My husband goes free or I don’t perform.’ Demetrius cackled. ‘I have an odd notion that you will perform even better out there, if you have something to fight for, someone to defend. Of course, you can both try and escape, but I think you’ll find your chances are no better than they were earlier. There are six of my best guards behind that curtain…’ Nigel, overcome by the horror of Demetrius’ suggestion, and failing to find anywhere to hide it in his scanty clothing, accidentally dropped the dagger to the floor. Demetrius, seeing the weapon, gave another chortle. ‘I see you’ve armed him, you sneaky wench, so I won’t have to bother. I’m loath to send him out there in such a tatty outfit, but somehow, it goes with the image of the lamb to the slaughter, doesn’t it?’ Sydney slapped him. ‘Newsflash Demetrius: The only person dying tonight is you.’ Demetrius, still caught up in his mirth, although with no better idea of what a ‘newsflash’ was than Agroitus, drew back the curtain and pointed the way down to the arena. ‘Let’s go, my pretty friends.’ …………………………………………. ‘Sydney, I’m dead!’ As they made their way to the centre of the arena in front of the whistling and jeering crowd, Nigel decided it wasn’t even worth trying to stop himself shaking. She knew he was terrified. ‘No you’re not, Nigel,’ Sydney’s rejoinder was confident, despite the dread she felt in the pit of her stomach. ‘And you won’t be if you just stay with me. I know what’s coming – I’ve been rehearsing this carnage…I mean, performance…all afternoon. ’ ‘What’s coming, then?’ ‘Well first we have some guys in a chariot. They’re going to throw some spears at us, and I’m going to swing at them with my broadsword. Just duck.’ ‘Okay…’ Nigel wrapped him arms around himself, as if already appropriating a protective stance against the flying missiles. ‘Then I’m going to get a horse…’ ‘But I’m allergic to horses…’ ‘Nigel!’ ‘Sorry…’ ‘Then I’m going to get to ride a horse and fight off the Roman legions in a recreation of Boudicea’s victory over Petillius Cerialis near Colchester.’ ‘You’re going to slaughter 70,000 Romans?’ Nigel knew his Tacitus. ‘God, I hope it won’t come to that…at least I’m supposed to win.’ ‘Yes…that’s something. But who am I suppose to be?’ Sydney had no time to answer. The trumpets sounded a fanfare and the hostile chariots pounded in. She stepped purposefully in front of Nigel, reaching back briefly to squeeze his hand encouragingly before placing her own on the hilt of her sword. The action was beginning. …………………………………………. The first part of the ‘entertainment’ went perfectly to plan. The chariots thundered around them in circles, hurling spears only roughly in Sydney and Nigel’s direction. They had to evidently been instructed not to aim to kill - it was far too early in the evening for the star of the show to bite the dust! Dodging from side to side, Sydney was becoming increasingly worried about Nigel. He had dropped his only weapon and was having difficulty keeping up with her. Running was clearly causing him a lot of discomfort. By the time their opponents were out of spears, and she was able to approach the chariot for a bit of arm-to-arm combat, Nigel had slumped down against the side of the arena, gasping for breath and clutching his ankle in pain. The crowd were already jeering and throwing rotten fruit in his direction. ‘Come on, Nigel,’ she willed him, under her breath. ‘This is only round one…’ As the first comers departed in defeat, she ran over and handed him back the dagger. When he didn't stir himself, she hauled him to his feet, and brushed off the remnants of the fruits that had hit him. The red juice looked disturbingly like blood on the remains of his tunic. ‘Syd, I can't do this…I can’t run. My ankle…it hurts too much…’ ‘Then you've got to get on the back of the horse with me. I'm sure you can ride a bit… and I don't care how much you sneeze.’ A beautiful white steed galloped into the ring, as the crowd cheered. Sydney whistled and it cantered over, as obedient as a dog. ‘She’s a good girl.’ Sydney patted the animal on the nose. ‘She won’t throw us… not if we galloped through hell and back. Come on.’ Nigel still looked doubtful. ‘If you can only get me over the other side of the arena, I might be able to get out through the conduit, like we planned. Maybe we could both escape through there?’ Sydney severely doubted this was possible, at least for her, in front of the guards, the rabid crowd and the assaulting legions, but smiled and nodded nonetheless. ‘Good idea. I'll see what I can do.’ She helped Nigel onto the back of the horse, and then mounted in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist, their bodies melded close together. This time, the heart-beats they felt in each other's chests were far from steady: both soon raced as one, fuelled by adrenaline, uncertainty and fear. The trumpets blared again and, this time, two-dozen men ran out to greet them. Some were on horses and others were armed with broad swords. More still had bows and arrows, or spiked balls on chains that they swung menacingly. Sydney felt Nigel clasp her even tighter and bury his face in the back of her shoulder. For once, Sydney’s emotions overruled her candour: ‘I love you, Nigel.’ Her voice sounded strange, as if it were not her own. Yet it rang truer than she had ever known. ‘I love you too, Syd,’ he whispered. ‘Is this the end?’
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