He felt sick, though, his stomach sending him pains of warning. He swiped grease from his beard and leaned back in his chair.
He was not alone at the table; at least fifty or sixty other men were also stuffing their bellies to overflowing. They were the survivors, the victors, of the fighting pits. Maquin had seen Orgull sitting further along, too far away to talk to. The big man had tried to catch his eye, but Maquin had looked away. He still felt ashamed of what he had done in the pit, what he had become, and he knew Orgull would share his disgust.
He has killed today, just as I have.
This all felt like a dream.
Men were standing in the shadows, guarding the men and women bringing the food and fresh jugs of wine. One pit slave grabbed a woman and dragged her onto his lap. He was quickly taught that he had crossed a line – his arm was held flat on the table and a finger broken.
The servants were left alone after that.
A man walked into the chamber, the barrel-chested man who had led Maquin to the pit.
‘I am Herak,’ the barrel-chested man said. ‘I am your mother, your father, your sister and brother. I am the closest thing to family you will have here.’ He smiled at them all. ‘And you are my children. I am going to train you, discipline you. No doubt I will have to punish you, and I hope that I will have cause to reward you.’ He waved a hand at the table. ‘You have done well today, and for some of you this will just be the beginning.’
‘Beginning of what?’ a man said, small, dark skinned.
‘Of your new lives. You belong to the Vin Thalun now. As you have started, so you will continue. You will fight for us in the pits. You will kill for us and make us rich.’ He nodded, grinning at that. ‘And some of you will earn your freedom. Emad, step forward.’ One of the guards moved closer, huge, as big as Orgull, with skin as dark as the small man who had just spoken. His beard was knotted full of rings.
‘Emad came here as you did – an oar slave. He was fifteen summers then. How long ago was that, Emad?’
‘Nine years,’ the big man said.
‘Nine years. He fought in the pits and earned his freedom. He was given a choice and chose to join my family. You could do the same – or a ship’s crew, or just walk away, if that is what you wish. You will fight for your freedom, and that is what we will give you.’
‘Fight who?’ the small man asked.
‘Whoever is in front of you.’ Herak shrugged. ‘I will train you now. Most of you think you know how to fight, but I promise you, you do not. Yet. Then we shall put you against the pit-fighters of the other islands – Nerin and Pelset. If you live that long, then we shall talk of what comes next. That is all. I shall see you on the morrow.’
He turned and strode from the chamber. Maquin felt his stomach lurch and only had time to lean in his chair before he vomited onto the tiled floor.
Maquin spent the night in a cell underground, part of the labyrinthine complex that formed the fighting pits. He was led out into the ruins that he had seen before, the sunshine making him blink, and given breakfast along with the men from last night’s feast. He did not indulge, only chewed on some fried goat’s meat and warm bread. He washed it down with water.
Herak greeted them with a score of guards. Maquin didn’t like the look of the whips wound at their belts, or the wicked-looking knives that they all carried.
‘This is where it begins,’ Herak said. ‘Follow me.’ He turned and moved into a loping run, heading off up a wide paved street. Maquin and his companions milled around, looking at one another.
‘You heard him,’ a voice barked. Emad, the guard from last night. He cracked his whip. Maquin saw Orgull run after the disappearing Herak. He followed Orgull, others joining him. The ones who were slower felt the touch of whips as other guards lashed out.
Soon they were all running through the ruined city. The ground was littered with rocks and debris; Maquin had to concentrate on every step. More than once he heard someone cry out as they fell, and cry out again as they were whipped back onto their feet by the guards who ran with them.
Maquin’s lungs were burning, his legs felt as if they were pumped full of iron, and the sun was burning hot. Sweat sheeted him, blurring his vision. He focused on every step, every breath, willing himself to carry on. He had already vomited as he ran, bile splattering his feet and legs. He became aware of someone running next to him. Orgull.