~ Fires of Belenus ~

by

William H. Russeth

The background murmur of the crowd grew silent. Wascla entered the room. The warrior strutted with the authority of a young rooster, naked except for his plaid cape and the belted scabbard that held his sword. He wore the belt high around his chest with the sword on his right side. His legs, arms and torso were covered with blue tattoos of serpents and he had caked his hair white with a lime wash. If he had been drunk before, he did not show it now. Bryn’s hopes sank. His eyes moved down the figure of the lean and well-muscled prince. His penis and testicles were large and relaxed. They swayed flaccidly as he paraded into the center of the room. Finally, he caught sight of her amidst a group of young women. Dismayed, he saw they were enjoying Wascla’s exhibition. He felt his own equipment shrink with gnawing, persistent fear and he was glad to be wearing his braca. Bryn felt clammy and sick as beads of cold sweat dripped down his forehead.

The sensation of someone tugging at his shirt brought him back. Cei had returned with the potion and his father was removing his shirt to rub the potion into his body. Everyone winced at the pungent odor released when Cei opened the vial. “Ugh, what is this foul smelling concoction?” Bryn asked.

“How would I know? Maighread makes it, not I. She would never reveal the secret of one of her potions to a man, although, I have gathered the herb borage for her to make it. Also, I have seen her mix in a little horse urine and flax oil. Unfortunately it smells a lot better than it tastes.”

“Ugh,” Bryn protested. “I am not going to drink this vile potion.”

“Well, suit yourself, but if you want a chance in this contest, I would urge you to drink it.”

Athair, Eoan, and Cei moved in closer. Athair pulled Bryn’s arms back. Eoan tipped his head and Cei poured the remainder of the mixture down his throat. Bryn quivered and thrashed like a fish out of water, making disgusting sounds and gagging convulsively.

The shock of the foul brew slowly dissipated and Bryn finally stood erect, without aid.

Oddly enough, he had become calmer and more self-assured. The potion on his body gave a pleasant burning sensation and helped distract his mind from fear. His senses seemed more acute. He heard the individual conversations of people sitting in the crowd and saw details of people standing in the shadows. Even more amazing, he was not ill. He had been certain the potion would have him retching on the floor in front of the crowd; instead, it settled his stomach. Best of all, he was calmer and more at ease.

Seeing that Wascla had returned, Mogh started pushing the crowd back while Ogar marked off a large circular area on the floor with a thick white rope. Ogar was to judge the match.

Bryn watched as Wascla turned his back and began a series of ceremonial motions. Though he felt better with the potion, his confidence was fading. He just hoped it would end quickly and his wounds would not be too deep. To make things worse, he was feeling foolish, because he had gotten into this trouble over his beloved Alicia, who seemed more interested in his opponent, and was not at his side.

Finished with the potion, Athair wiped the excess oil off his hands and turned to Eoan to receive the sword he had retrieved from the wagon. Bryn took the sword in his hands and looked at his father.

“This is a new dueling sword I created. It is not much to look at, but I think it may give you the edge.” Athair smiled. Bryn returned a blank look, not catching the pun. Athair continued, “It is extremely light, with no frills, jewels, or embellishments. The blade is a bit thicker than the usual sword, but this is because it is also narrower. The thickness gives it strength, but overall, there is about one third less material and weight than a normal sword. It is a fine grade of iron and, trust me, it is as sharp as they come. This will make you even quicker and should the contest last a long time it will help your endurance.”

Bryn took the sword and held it out at arm’s length, studying the blade. Then he started to warm up with parries and thrusts. After a few moments, he looked at his father. For the first time Bryn felt a glimmer of hope. “I like it!”

Cei had gone over to the vat of beer and returned with four cups spilling over their tops.

“Careful with that,” Athair said. “What are you doing?”

“I have a one more trick that might help tip the odds in Bryn’s favor. In fact, I bet my best heifer that Bryn will win. The boy is going to make me rich.

Athair looked at Cei with surprise. “You have a heifer?”

Cei ignored the question. “Bryn, take these two mugs and hold them out to Wascla as a salute to his honor and drink them down. I have watered yours down so the drink will have no effect on you. Wascla will see your salute and drink down at least three mugs, not to be bested. This will slow him and affect his judgment.”

Bryn took the first mug, stepped forward into the ring and held it high in the air, saluted Wascla, and chugged down the entire contents. He turned to Cei, who handed him a second mug. He saluted and downed that one as well. Then as Cei was about to drink his beer, Bryn snatched it, saluted and drank. It was gone before Cei could protest.

Seeing this, Wascla grabbed a large drinking horn of beer from Buic, saluted and drank it down, then another and another. It was better than Bryn had hoped. Wascla laughed and drank, and made jokes with his retainers. “They are trying to trick me into drinking too much. But I am no fool. It takes more than a few cups of beer to slow my game.”

Bryn took a deep breath and one last look into the crowd for Alicia. There was still no sign of her. Just as he was ready to move to the center of the combat area, she sprang out of nowhere, throwing her arms around him and squeezing her cheek next to his with all her strength. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Bryn you cannot start this duel without a kiss for luck!”

“Where have you been? I was afraid you were not going to come.”

“I went outside with my friends and we did not hear about the duel until we followed Wascla into the meeting hall.” Sensing Bryn’s mistrust, she hugged and squeezed even harder. “Bryn, I love you. Yes, I was with Wascla last summer. Believe me; I do not want a husband who is always away from home collecting heads and concubines. I love you.”

“By the great Goddess of Light, you had better love me!”

Bryn took another breath and pried Alicia’s arms from around his neck. He turned to face his opponent. Wascla already faced him, staring directly into his eyes. If Wascla had any fear, he did not show it. Behind him, his retainers were laughing, making jokes and interacting with the crowd, taking all bets. Wascla removed his cloak and scabbard and stood tall, wearing only his belt. Sword in hand, he moved to the center of the contest area.

Bryn took a step forward but Alicia grabbed him again and held him back. “If you were to be injured, I would never forgive myself.” Her lips quivered, tears streamed down her face.

Bryn looked at her intently, searching her heart through her eyes. His heart softened and he gave in, squeezing her hard in return. “I will most likely receive three cuts in this match. I am hoping they will not be too serious. It will be over. Wascla will have his honor and I will have you. Now give me another kiss for luck.”

They embraced tightly and kissed each other on the mouth, while Wascla’s eyes smoldered in jealousy. Bryn felt her warm body react to his embrace. He gently exhaled a moist breath in her ear as she had done to him and, he suspected, to Wascla as well. Then he whispered, “Just be in the wagon tonight to tend my wounds and ease my pain.”