This chapter is dedicated to the very wonderful Cinilla, who I think must spend as much time writing her comments as she does reading the chapters themselves. Her feedback is always encouraging and insightful, and her keen eye for clarity has already helped to improve this work in so many ways.
If you are not already familiar with her work, I would heartily encourage you to pay her a visit. Go and follow in the footsteps of Claudius, as he leads you down the road to scandal.
What can I say about Claudius Pulcher?
A man with aspirations of political greatness, to be purchased by the profits of war.
A gambler, a liar, a charmer, and the originator of the notorious eel scam.
A man entwined in an incestuous relationship with his sister. Lover of fine wine, deep fried doormice, orgies, and other people's wives.
The list goes on.
Many of these qualities he can be forgiven for, because he's a Roman. The others? Well, you'll just have to decide for yourselves.
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"High Lance-master Tzarren."
The man's voice was formal, but his face held a wicked grin.
"High Madriel-master Sprak," replied Master Tzarren, with equal formality.
The short, stocky Madriel-master leant against the wood of a thick beam tree pen, his rough trousers and vest reinforced and patched with thicker hide. His grey hair had been cut close to his scalp, revealing its disfiguring old scars, and his arms, folded above his expanse of stomach, bore similar mended wounds. The heavy stick hanging from a loop at his belt was as deeply scarred from teeth and claw as the Madriel-master was himself.
"And this must be Kraf's boy!"
"I am Grifford," said Grifford indignantly. "Pride-commander Kralaford's son."
Madriel-master Sprak scratched at some small irritant behind his ear.
"Who your father is has no importance here, boy," he said as he scratched.
Grifford opened his mouth to reply, but Master Tzarren placed a hand on his shoulder.
"These are the Enclosures, Grifford. This is Master Sprak's territory."
"Yes," said Grifford, but he continued to scowl at the short, scarred Madriel-master.
Master Sprak came off the pen's side, took two steps forward and stopped with his face a few scant centimetres away from Grifford's, his brutal eyes piercing and his breath stinking.
"Do you challenge me, boy?"
Grifford continued to meet the glare of the Madriel-master's small hostile eyes.
"Grifford!" warned Master Tzarren.
Grifford lowered his eyes deliberately, staring instead at the front of Master Sprak's patched tunic. He would not give the man the satisfaction of seeing him lower them any further than that.
"Good enough," said the High Madriel-master, the grin returning to his face.
He stepped back and resumed his position on the side of the empty pen.
"Where are you holding the litters?" asked Master Tzarren.
"The nursing block. I've put them all together to let them fight out their place. We'll get a good steed for the boy out of them."
"Shall we go?"
"Soon," said Sprak "There is someone else who will be choosing today."
"Who?" demanded Grifford.
Sprak smiled wickedly and pointed over his shoulder.
"Her," he said.
Grifford looked round. Walking towards them was his mother, accompanied by a small figure in a light dress, which would have looked elegant had it not been for its many rents and tears, and the various colours of dirt engrained in its embroidery.
"Hello, brother." Tahlia performed a quite convincing curtsey to the two Masters. "Hello, Master Sprak, Master Tzarren."
"Hello, child," said Master Tzarren. "Lady Tahlessa."
He inclined his head, and Grifford's mother returned the gesture with a half curtsy.
"My apologies. In my current condition, I am unable to display accepted decorum."
"You have to give allowances to a bitch when she's carrying her young," interjected Master Sprak.
Grifford glared at him, and so did his sister.
"Thank you for your most gracious understanding, High Madriel-master," said their mother.
Master Sprak grunted as she turned away to look at Grifford.
"Hello, my son."
"Mother," said Grifford as he bowed.
"Enough pleasantries," said Master Sprak, "Let's get on."
He gestured with his head and they followed him between the pens, where the air was thick with the musky smell of madriel. A Field-hand was wheeling a small cart towards them, filled with freshly killed slabs of karabok meat, wrapped in leaves to keep the circling flies off. He wheeled his cart hastily aside to let them pass, his head lowered.
The pen that Master Sprak took them to was lower than the others, and its sides were more tightly fenced. There was a small pool in its centre, and the grassy slopes surrounding it were scattered with boulders and piles of tanglebrush wreathed rocks. Up and down the boulders, and in and out of the spaces between, young madriel played, stalking each other and rolling around in the dust, fighting, biting and grappling. Sometimes a pair would charge together and then rear up, striking out with half sheathed claws.
The cubs were yearlings, most of them standing no taller than Grifford's waist, but their horns had started to develop, though not to any significant size.
Master Sprak took Grifford by the shoulder and pushed him up against the pen so he could get a better view of the fighting beasts.
"Watch them carefully, Grifford, son of Pride-commander Kralaford. See which one you think would suit you best."
He unhooked the heavy, scarred stick from his belt.
"Just remember that the choice you make now will be for your life, so you had better make it a good one."
"They are fine specimens," observed Master Tzarren, who had come to stand beside Grifford.
"Not that runt."
Sprak pointed to one of the cubs with his training-stick. The beast was substantially smaller than the other males and was crouched by the pool, eagerly eyeing them as they fought. Suddenly, with a quick run and a spring, he launched himself onto the back of one of the other males. He grappled onto his chosen foe with his front claws and sank his teeth playfully into its neck. The other male dispatched its smaller opponent with a swift blow from his scarce grown horns and the runt tumbled off. He immediately regained his feet and charged again, shocking his enemy with the swiftness of his attack, so much so that the beast ended on his back with the smaller madriel clawing at his stomach and biting at the fur of his muzzle.
Master Sprak laughed.
"He's got the spirit, I'll give him that. But not a steed for a knight."
"What about that one there?" asked Grifford, pointing at a fourth male in the thick of the playful fighting.
"Throwback," said Master Sprak in simple reply.
The animal seemed the largest of the youngsters, but the other males would still constantly harass him, attacking in pairs, which he would fight off with powerful paw strikes or a thump from his horns. Grifford could see now that its horns were malformed. The left one was crooked, with a strange spiral shape, and the other was split, one part curving forward normally but with another small protrusion curving downwards under the jawbone.
"Those horns would be a great disadvantage in the ring," said Lance-master Tzarren. "Not a good jousting beast."
Master Sprak grunted in agreement, then leant into the pen and separated a group of the fighting animals with his stick. "One of these should suit you."
Grifford inspected the three animals, which were growling at Master Sprak's intrusion. They were all fine specimens, with large paws and good horns, but Grifford's attention was still drawn to the larger, malformed animal. It had padded away into the shade of a large rock, and was sitting there, watching the other animals with keen eyes. Meanwhile, the small runt had crept round behind him unseen, and without warning, launched itself onto his back. It dug in with its claws and began gnawing at the thick ridge of hair at his neck. The larger beast ignored it for a while, but then, with one irritated movement of his shoulders and flick of his head, sent his small adversary sprawling into the dust.
"I like that one," said Grifford, pointing at the large animal with malformed horns.
"Then you're a fool," said Master Sprak.
"I would think carefully about your choice, Grifford," said Master Tzarren.
Grifford had not intended his comment to be taken as a choice. He looked at the three that Master Sprak had selected, then turned back to the larger beast, which was now watching him with its luminous eyes, one of which was deep orange, the other one green. When imagining his chosen beast, he had always seen a perfect specimen, with wide curving horns and a flawless hide. The throwback's coat was a mess of black and tawny colour, the fur on the face being the most discordant, with a great patch of black covering one side and twin black stripes on the other.
"Make your choice, boy," said Master Sprak. "Which of these three is it to be?"
"That one," said Grifford, pointing at the big misshapen animal.
Master Sprak shook his head.
"Fool!" he said.
Master Tzarren shrugged.
"It is the boy's choice, Sprak."
"I won't be responsible when he makes a fool of himself in the ring. Make it clear to Kralaford that the boy's choice was against my advice."
This last was directed at Grifford's mother, who was standing looking thoughtfully at him, with her arm on Tahlia's shoulder.
"Oh I will, High Madriel-master. I assure you."
Master Sprak grunted again, then leant into the pen once more to separate one of the females.
"This one, I think, will do for the girl."
Tahlia had been standing quietly by the pen, watching the animals play. She looked down at the animal that Master Sprak had selected.
"Why that one?" she asked.
"She's even-tempered and attentive. She'll make a good hunter."
Tahlia looked down at the animal again.
"No."
She did not look up at Master Sprak as she spoke.
Grifford rolled his eyes at his sister's typical behaviour.
"No!" repeated Master Sprak, in a voice caught between shock and ferocity. "You do not tell me no!"
"High Madriel-master," said Master Tzarren. "The laws are quite clear."
"The laws are a formality," spat Master Sprak. "The girl will choose the beast that I tell her to choose."
"The laws are the laws," said Master Tzarren. He turned to Tahlia "Which one did you have in mind, child?"
"That one," said Tahlia, pointing at a female who had just chased one of the fighting males up onto the back of a high boulder. The youngster was standing with her forepaws high on the rock's side as the male stood above, swiping at her with unsheathed claws. The female seemed to give up the fight and slinked away, sniffing at the ground before disappearing from view behind the boulder. The young male sat down, safe on his high ground, and began cleaning his paws with a long pointed tongue.
"You're as big a fool as your brother," said Master Sprak.
Grifford stared in fury at the back of the man's thick neck.
The male, meanwhile, perched high on the rock, gave a sudden startled growl as Tahlia's chosen female came hurtling from behind, knocking him flying so that they both ended on the ground, in a ball of flailing claws and angry snarls.
Master Sprak laughed.
"That one will claw you bloody."
Grifford grinned, for once happy with the tiresome man's opinion.
"I will tame her," said Tahlia confidently.
The grin left Grifford's face and Master Sprak stopped laughing.
"You will get nowhere unless you listen to the advice of your betters," he said.
"That is the way of the young," said their mother. "Not everyone can be as old and wise as you, High Madriel-master."
"You will both be here tomorrow at first light," said High Madriel-master Sprak, glowering at Grifford and his sister. "You can start your training then. Providing I can find someone foolish enough to teach you."
"I am sure that you can find someone with the talent," said the Lady Tahlessa sweetly.
"Their task will not be easy," grunted the Madriel-master. "You can be sure of that."
"Teaching children never is. And speaking of which, what lessons have you got to occupy yourselves with this afternoon, children?"
"We are with Master Hepskil," said Grifford.
"History," said Tahlia, sounding irritatingly happy.
"Well that, at least, is one lesson I will not have to have you escorted to."
"Of course not, mother," said Tahlia.
Grifford scowled.
"Come then, children; you may accompany me back to the solarium and join me for my noon meal."
"Of course, mother," said Grifford.
"High Lance-master, High Madriel-master," his mother said in farewell.
"Tomorrow at first light!" Master Sprak called after them, as their mother led them away. "The training arenas. Don't be late!"
* * *
Once the Lady Tahlessa and her children were out of earshot, Master Sprak spat into the dry earth and then turned and leant on the nursery pen beside Master Tzarren, who was watching the young beasts beyond its thick timbers.
The throwback that the boy had chosen had withdrawn to the top of the pen, from where, with his aggressive mismatched eyes, he watched the other males fighting. Meanwhile, the beast that his sister had chosen was stealing through the long grass along the pen's edge, making her way up the hill.
"Can you find someone to train them?" asked the High Lance-master.
"I have already found them."
Master Tzarren raised an eyebrow and Master Sprak grinned.
"Do you think I would simply allow them to make such seemingly stupid choices?"
"I have known you for too long to think that, my friend. I merely hope that you know what you are doing. The Commander will not be pleased with his son's choice."
Master Sprak shrugged.
"I don't give a pile of borak crap how Kralaford feels. The choices are made, and even he can't do anything to change them."
"And what about that pitiful beast?"
Master Tzarren indicated the small runt, which had gone to lie close beside the throwback, its head stretched out between its rangy legs. Its ears were twitching in irritation at the girl's vicious little female, which had leapt suddenly from the long grass and had begun to stalk him, hissing and growling to get his attention.
"I have a use for that creature."
"Oh, yes?"
"I have someone picked out for it, but I doubt the boy in question will be happy with my choice."
Master Sprak gave a grin of wide malevolence.
* * * * *
"What!" said Maddock, almost choking on the larakkos skin he had been chewing.
"You heard, boy," said Master Grellik from the doorway of the bunkhouse. "Master Dramut has need of you."
"But why does he want me?"
The young Field-hand, Cirric, was standing beside the Herd-master, leaning on the door jamb and grinning.
"Because you passed the tests, of course. Why else?" he said.
"Him!" said one of the other boys, climbing angrily from his own bunk.
Maddock had been in the bunkhouse with the other boys for half an hour, eating a meagre mid-day meal. They had already recounted to each other how their tests had gone. Every boy's story had been almost identical, and when the last boy had finished his tale they had all sat, sharing the same desultory silence, each one wrapped in a mantle of failure.
Then Master Grellik had arrived.
"But he's just a Farm-boy!" sputtered the boy who had spoken. "How come he's passed the tests?"
"Master Dramut didn't confide," said Cirric.
The boy still stood there in brooding anger.
"You've to report to Madriel-master Dramut at the Master's quarters in the morning," said Cirric.
Maddock scratched his head, still trying to work the realisation in.
"Am I still baling for the rest of the day?" he asked.
"No more baling for you, boy," said Master Grellik. "You can sleep here tonight, or go home and say your farewells to your family. The choice is yours"
"Can't say goodbye to my brothers. They ain't there."
"So say goodbye to those that you can. Off with you now."
Thus dismissed, Maddock ducked out of the bunkhouse door and into the glorious sunlight outside. He would do as Master Grellik suggested, but not straight away. He still had his appointment with Dak, and as he turned and ran across the grasslands of the hub, that thought lifted his mood still further.