Page 14 of Deliverance
“They must not know that they will face each other until the Prime Round is announced. Have Titus drink the Rochelle’s Bane before his match, I want it to take effect as he fights,” Rama instructed.
Cervantes nodded. “Yes, Dominus, I will make sure of it.”
“Good.”
“One question, Dominus, if I may?”
“What is it?”
“When Mateo takes Titus down, he will then become your Champion. How will you avoid not putting him in future fights to appease the god, Eloy, when this happens, Dominus?”
“One problem at a time. Maybe Mateo takes ill before the next Games and cannot perform. That will buy some time and hopefully the god, Eloy, will take this human he is so infatuated with off my hands. I hope that he rewards me for keeping him safe.”
“Titus may just regain his Champion status once again with Mateo gone. The crowd does love a comeback story, a phoenix rising from the ashes, Dominus.”
“And we will peddle them such a tale to rival all stories to restore Titus to his former glory,” Rama agreed. “The Games are in two days, how long will it take you to acquire the Rochelle’s Bane?”
“I already have some, Dominus. It comes in handy to counter the effects of a well-earned hangover,” Cervantes half-stated, half-joked.
Rama chuckled. “Good. This is the best way to appease both gods and not incur their wrath.”
“The god, Eloy, will be disappointed to see Mateo on the sands, Dominus.”
Rama nodded. “That will be unavoidable. But he will be more pleased once Mateo is victorious.”
Then the god, Kijani, will be disappointed, Dominus.”
“He will, but I would have at least kept to his command to pit the two against each other.”
Cervantes nodded. “I understand, Sir.”
“Go, it is late and I have stressed enough for one night.” Rama dismissed his doctore.
Cervantes rose and left his office, before he returned to where the gladiators rested for the night, he paused to lean against the wall. It was as if the weight of Rama’s words had finally hit him. He was being asked to poison their best gladiator and hope that he did not die in the arena as a result. Never had he done something so devious, especially not to men he had trained, whom he respected. Who was Mateo that he should cause such an uproar? He had slept with the young man on several occasions and though his mouth and ass were the sweetest of pleasures, he didn’t think they should bring two gods to quarrel.
It wasn’t up to him to decide their fates, Titus and Mateo. He would do as he was commanded and let the cards fall where they may. He gathered himself and took a deep breath before returning to his own bed to rest for the night.
Cervantes watched the gladiators get settled in their area of the arena. The journey had been long as always and some of the men were filling their plates with the delicious food that had been provided for the house with the Champion. Four men would fight, and only two of them would be facing each other, yet they had no idea. He stood there, cutting unnoticeable glances at Titus, and wondered when it would be a good time to slip him the drug.
Titus was a gladiator who was strict to ritual and rarely ate heavily for his match. He would only drink an hour before his match as to not have liquid sloshing around in his belly as he battled. He would need to imbibe the Rochelle’s Bane right before his match, which meant Cervantes would have him break ritual. He may suspect something was afoul during the match, and if so, would he have the wherewithal to warn Mateo? Cervantes knew the importance of having the match not raise the suspicion of the gods first and foremost. He was going to have to be his most cunning to pull this off.
He made sure not to do anything out of the ordinary as he thought about the perfect plan. When each of his gladiators went out to face their opponent, he gave them pointers as always and handed them their weapons. They all cheered Shian and Haraka on during their matches. Both men were victorious, but not without sustaining some wounds of their own, which Cervantes tended to. Other matches went on for the pleasure of the audience.
Cervantes took a gander at the gods as they sat in their elevated box above the arena. The mood among them was different, one he could not put his finger on. Eloy’s was the most noticeable, as he didn’t seem to be taking as much pleasure in the Games as he once had. There was great talk about him growing bored of the Games since he had walked out on the last one. Kijani, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying the matches more. Normally, he’d look down upon them with indifference, but tonight, he was obviously engaged. Leaning forward, hands resting on the guardrail as he stared intently as the men and women fighting to the death below.
Another hour passed before it was time for the Prime Round. Cervantes then walked over to the table where the food and drinks were and poured three glasses of wine. In one, he slipped the Rochelle’s Bane, then he gathered the goblets and approached both Mateo and Titus, who had been sitting beside each other in deep conversation. He handed each man a goblet.
“I do not drink before my matches, doctore,” Titus reminded his trainer.
“Make an exception for this one. It is cause for what I hope may be celebration?” Cervantes said.
Titus cocked an eyebrow. “Celebration?”
Cervantes nodded. “You did not hear this from me and I will kill you myself if you spill what I now tell you.”
“I am good with secrets, doctore,” Titus said.
“As am I, sir,” Mateo added.
