Page 68 of Conquer the Highlander

The Ludus Caledonia was packed, as usual.

“It has been years,” Ambrose said, keeping a sharp eye out for anyone he recognized, Titus especially. “I came here with yer uncle. The man likes tae gamble.”

Conan was keeping an eye out, too. The complex of the Ludus Caledonia was truly something to behold in scope and architecture. The massive walls of Caelian Hill were off to his right as the crowd was funneled down into an area that was between a vast village of cottages and the arena known as the Fields of Mars. As the rain fell gently, the Ludus Caledonia was just getting started.

“I canna remember seeing so many people outside of a village,” Conan said. “With this place hidden in the hills, it’s an astonishing sight.”

Ambrose nodded, but he wasn’t interested in idle chatter. Thunder rolled overhead as his carriage came to a halt. He’d brought six men-at-arms with him, men who were assigned with guarding his carriage and possessions, and he left those men settling the horses and parking the carriage off of the main road while he and Conan disembarked.

Ambrose had a destination in mind.

“I must find someone who serves here and knows the games,” he said. “I have… questions.”

Conan nodded. He was of the same mindset. The two of them set off, walking up to an area that contained food vendors and wager tables meant for the exchange of money. It was already busy and heavy with soldiers protecting the money flow. There was a man standing in front of the wager tables, directing traffic, and Ambrose walked up to him.

“Do ye serve here?” he asked.

The man, dressed in a tunic the same scarlet color of the banners that flew over Caelian Hill, nodded. “Aye, m’laird.”

“I have a question about who will be fighting tonight.”

The man pointed to another table that had a canvas wall behind it. It was canvas stretched over a frame of wood and the bouts for the night were written upon it. Ambrose and Conan rushed over to the schedule, which looked like a family tree. The fights were listed by number to make it easier to place a bet. They both peered up at it, but what they saw made no sense.

“The Beast from the East and The Celtic Storm?” Ambrose said, puzzled. “The Flaming Sword against The Glasgow Bull? Where are the names?”

“Those are the names, m’laird,” a man standing near the table answered. He was also dressed in the scarlet tunic of the Ludus Caledonia. “Were ye looking for someone in particular tae wager on?”

Ambrose scratched his head. “I havena been here in many years, so I’ve forgotten how things are done,” he said. “Do we not know the names of the fighters?”

The man nodded. “They are not secret if that is what ye mean,” he said. “But our patrons would rather bet on The Glasgow Bull than a man simply named John. It’s better if they have a more exciting name.”

Ambrose looked up at the schedule again. “Who is the fighter named Titus Stewart?”

“Ah,” the man said, pointing to the bottom of the schedule. “He is a tertiarius, our top fighter. They call him The Eagle.”

“Titus?” Conan blurted. He couldn’t help it. “He is yer top fighter?”

The man smiled confidently. “When ye see him fight, ye will understand,” he said. “He is a guaranteed victory if ye want tae bet on a sure thing.”

Conan’s mouth was hanging open. He looked at his father, who seemed just as surprised. That sullen, short, and petulant young lad they’d tormented all those years had evidently made something of himself. Conan was perhaps the least bit intimidated at that point but unwilling to admit it. He’d always been able to lick Titus, but current evidence was pointing to a change in that usual outcome.

He was beginning to wonder what they would find at the end of this trail.

Ambrose, too, was increasingly curious. The Ludus Caledonia was well known to have the best fighters in the world, so the fact that Titus had made it to the top was quite astonishing. Like Conan, he was the least bit wary of what they would find when they finally came face to face with Titus.

He clearly wasn’t the youth who had left them seven years ago.

“Is there somewhere we can see the warriors before they fight?” he turned to ask the man in the scarlet tunic.

The man pointed over to the east, where the arena was. “Do ye see the fence next tae the arena?” he asked. “The big iron fence that runs between the top of the arena and the building next tae it. See it?”

Ambrose was straining to see, but he did indeed see a big, iron fence with pikes at the top of it. “Aye, I see it.”

“Ye can view them from there,” the man said. “The fence overlooks a staging area, before the warriors go out onto the arena floor. But ye mightna see Titus there. He’s usually inside before his bouts. He’ll go there afterwards, though.”

That was the information Ambrose was seeking. But there was one thing more.

“The man who owns the Ludus Caledonia,” he said. “I’ve forgotten his name.”