A Matter Of Blood: Rivalry

A Matter Of Blood: Rivalry

By Julius Jamaro

Copyright 2015 Julius Jamaro

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This book is also available in Italian.

Chapter 1 - Racitro

Racitro, second in line of succession, examined his father’s stern face as Eristoph’s sands started swallowing that slender body marked by illness.

Racitro peeked at his older brother out of the corner of his eye. Wearing a silk suit, sewed to celebrate what was, to him, a big break, Espio kept his fingers intertwined in pray and his chin pressed against his enfeebled chest. Some tears of circumstance made his eyes shine before the gleaming torches.

What a great performance, Espio.

Racitro rubbed his left eye to soothe a burning caused by the pungent scent of flowers his father’s corpse was giving forth. The grains of sand swallowed one-by-one any of his father’s limbs and separated Racitro from those strained and stern features which had not left his father’s face even after death.

Racitro shut his eyes and let out a sigh. A grumbling drowned out the liturgical cacophony produced by the stamping of the prelate’s and bystanders’ feet on the ground. Racitro turned towards Espio. His brother’s cheeks strained in the stern expression belonged to their father.

Do you think you can intimidate me?

Their mother’s hiccoughs gave Espio a very timely excuse to look away. Espio seized her arm and held her up.

Racitro pattered his boot on the dusty soil and slipped his hands into his pockets. At the first words of condolence by Flania, the boot licker, Racitro took advantage of the throng and headed for the Sapphire Palace.

Once took off those rags clean to the point of making him scratch his neck, Racitro came down the limestone staircase towards the training room. As he made his way towards the Arena of Battles basements, he could hear only the crackling of his steps and the burning of the torch.

Some flashes of light were coming out under the training room door. He came in and found Mallo, the current Champion of the Arena. Mallo glanced back at Racitro just for a few moments. Then, Mallo turned around and seemed to sneer. He arched his back and stood up.

I’m as brawny as you have never been. And this is eating your heart out.

Racitro passed through the gym facilities and reached the weight bench. He threw on a chair a soft linen cloth he had taken with himself to wipe away excretions manlier than tears. Once verified the weight of the plates heaped on the barbell, he wrapped his fingers around it. He searched for the better position for his back on the bench and synchronized his breath with the muscle contractions. He lifted up. He went on pumping till a trickle of sweat slid along his temple and trickle down his hot face.

Mallo’s face appeared before Racitro’s eyes.

I’m sorry for your loss, fop, Mallo said. It’s a shame your father won’t see you become the Champion. I know how contrary he was to your pastime.

Pastime? Racitro grinded his teeth. You should kiss the sands he had been buried in. If he didn’t reject my request for a rematch with you over the last three years, by this time, you’d languish deprived of your title and honors in the cold barn you had grown in.

Mallo pressed the barbell against Racitro’s throat. Racitro tightened his fingers around the barbell and lifted. But he couldn’t. His burdened throat shut. He tried to get some air. The sweat in his hands weakened his grip. He panted, looking for some air. He grinded his teeth again and lifted. He gave up. He panted. He tried again and again. Everything turned black before his eyes.

Mallo drew his hands back and burst out laughing. Racitro started coughing.

I might have finished you off if I only had wanted, Mallo said. Do you really think something has changed over the last three years? Your broad shoulders just make you look handsome. But it’s not the amount of flattering sighs the young ladies address you with, when you pass before them, that makes you a warrior, fop.

Mallo headed for the door. Racitro sat up on the bench. Someday, I’ll deprive you of your title and honors. Time is ripe to coronate a new King of the Arena.

Mallo turned around with a scornful smile on his face. Then, it seems I’ll have to curry favor with your brother, the next King. His quips aren’t so bad, after all.

Mallo shut the door after himself. Racitro jumped up and punched the punching bag. The hook on the ceiling creaked. At the abrupt bag recoil, Racitro’s right knuckle started burning. He shook his right hand in the air and went on punching the bag with the left one.

Someday, I’ll sit on your throne, Mallo. And, then, on Espio’s one.

The fresh morning breeze blew on Racitro’s forehead and raised heady and tickling puffs of dust. Standing in the middle of the Arena battle field, Racitro ran his wrist on his forehead and dried the sweat wetting his bangs.

Casl came out from one of the holes in the Arena limestone walls, tall three times him, and reached Racitro.

I knew you’d have been the first this morning, as usual, Casl started examining Racitro. How long have you been training? Since the dawn?

Since the dusk.

Casl raised both eyebrows. Dang. I should have known better, he bent his head. You’re a man of few words this morning.

I’m not in mourning. You know. I prefer to let my muscles speak.

Casl turned his eyes to the half-ripped archery target and to the javelins, lying on the dusty ground, Racitro had practiced with in the previous two hours.

How about a challenge? Racitro said.

Casl looked at the javelins and sneered.

That’s a yes.

Casl kneeled down and Racitro stepped back. Racitro’s friend picked up the javelin at his feet. Racitro peeked out of the corner of his eye at the closest javelin.

Casl assaulted with a downcut from right. Racitro dodged it and moved his feet swiftly in the dust, two steps leftwards and backwards. Casl raised the javelin over his shoulder and dealt a downcut from left.

Way too predictable.

Racitro drew another step back. Then, he charged with his shoulder and hit Casl on the chest. Casl crashed to the ground in a big din. Racitro rushed towards a javelin placed ten Steps on his left. He heard a hiss. He swerved two steps leftwards. Casl’s javelin brushed by Racitro’s right knee. It touched the ground and started pirouetting and overturning.

That was smart of you. But you didn’t ponder well the consequences. You’re unarmed, now.

Racitro picked up the javelin and advanced towards Casl, who, like a prey, turned his back to the lion. Racitro halted, turned the javelin with the tip pointing towards his back, charged on the left foot and threw. The javelin tucked between Casl’s legs and this man tripped in a puddle of mud. Racitro reached his friend, ready for some scuffling.

Casl rolled over, back on the ground and hands stretched forward. Ok. Ok. I give up.

A giant spot of damp mud expanded on Casl’s shirt from one shoulder to the other.

Racitro ran his hand on his forehead and attenuated the discomfort caused by a couple of drops of sweat.

You’re sweating. It seems I gave you a hard time, today.

Racitro puffed. This one? It’s just what remains of my long night or, perhaps, it’s due to the sun which is starting to warm me up.

Glad to see your loss has not deadened your good spirits, Casl stood up and started cleaning his dirty shirt. Racitro pointed his finger at Casl’s chin.

Uh, is my face dirty? Casl raised his chin and puffed up his chest. I’ll proudly keep this mud on my beard to prove my bravery in challenging you.

What about a rematch?

Swords?

It seems you enjoyed your bath in the mud.

Racitro leaned forward and picked up a pair of javelins.

Casl did the same. Have you heard about the fray?

Racitro stared at Casl. Which fray?

The one which will take place tomorrow evening. One of the many events to celebrate the coronation of your beloved brother as King of Ridget.

Beloved? You’re pulling my legs, aren’t you? Don’t be silly. If someone had scheduled a fray, I’d have been the first to know.

I couldn’t be more serious, Prince. Calico told me your brother impulsively decided to sanction it. The winner of the fray will be honored with the chance of challenging the Champion of the Arena the night of the coronation.

Racitro twirled the javelins in his hands and smiled.

I’ll defeat Mallo Cerzo in Espio’s great day to be crowned King of the Arena. Espio’s such a dumb. What does he think the troubadours will sing the praises of? His unbounded ability to lower his callous buttocks on the throne? Or my legendary feats on the battle field? I’ve been biding my time waiting for a chance like this over the last three years. It’s my great opportunity, Casl.

Casl persisted in a circumspect silence. His brown eyes looked away from Racitro.

What’s the matter with you?

Casl sighed. I never wanted you to hear it from me.

Racitro’s left arm started tingling. A hot flush ran from his belly all the way up to his chest. He took some deep breaths.

Please, tell me he didn’t do what I think he did. Do you mean…

I’m sorry.

The two javelins Racitro had in his hands crackled on the ground. He can’t. He has no rights about it.

Soon your brother will be King. His wish is our command.

Racitro kicked the javelins, which crackled in their haphazard bounces. He headed for the Sapphire Palace, rumbling his feet on the ground.

Racitro stamped the mud under his boots soles on the marble steps, hand-polished by the servants, inside the Sapphire Palace. It was like he was treading on the sparkly armors of those warriors Espio had not allowed him to compete in the fray with. He stamped his foot among the jaws of the Lion featured in his family’s coat of arms inlayed in the big entrance hall floor. Racitro accessed the stairs leading at the royal apartments.

Along the upstairs aisle, he chanced upon Maire Valesi’s outraged frown. As he passed by her, an ignoble stench rose from his armpits. He bent his head and looked at his chest dotted with soil and sweat stains.

The rumbling of his boots on the floor hushed up the nattering of the noble ladies crowded along the aisles and sparked interest in the workers busy adorning the Sapphire Palace for Espio’s ceremony. The entire aisle had been filled with tapestries and posies with the sole purpose of glorifying Espio’s supposed feats. A riot of bright colors which badly matched with the plain, but regal, background of columns and arches built by Racitro’s ancestors and which debased all the sumptuousness of the sapphires set in the capitals.

What an eyesore. But, if you don’t acquiesce to my requests, I promise that won’t be the last, brother.

He stormed into his brother’s bedroom, but found just a servant, busy lining a pillow, who froze in her tracks. Racitro retraced his steps and headed for Espio’s study, where, given the time, Espio was certainly busy talking with Master Tobiarte for breakfast.

The study door opened wide well before Racitro could stretch his hand to seize the handle. The graceful figure of his mother, wearing a long blue linen dress embellished with white laces, stood out in all her magnificence among the statues of the great Kings and Queens of the past. Espio uttered a bleat intended to greet their mother. She returned Espio’s greet with a smile and waved her right hand fingers in a loving gesture.

You’ve never greeted me that way.

Racitro?

Her gentle smile turned in a glower full of indignation. Her brown eyes started examining him from head to foot. Why are you here? And look at the state of you. Your attire doesn’t befit the regality of the place where we’re. And what this stench is… she held her nose with those same fingers she had used to greet Espio. Is it your intention to request an audience with Espio in such an indecorous state? For Eristoph’s sake, you’re a Prince. How many times your poor father told you?

Far too many. And, if I’m not wrong, he used to remind me that I was born to be Prince and I’d die as such. I beg your pardon, mother. It’s my intention to converse with Espio about matters of the utmost importance.

For Eristoph’s sake, not even the vilest of the boors ever dared to come before the King bare-chested.

Oh, really? Can you recall the last time you saw a boor talking with a King?

I recall your father used to grant audience with many worthy representatives of the people. Just a lunarquarter before his death, poor him, he granted audience with shepherds and winegrowers.

Yes, but with the sole purpose of having the best cut of meat and the most aged Angusta red wine on his dining table.

If your father heard you… She clutched her dress skirt and wrinkled it. Show some respect for who grew you. And show it to your brother as well. He’ll be your next King.

I have no time to waste, mother. My brother is accustomed to see me sweaty and dirty.

You and your unwholesome obsession of the Arena. When will you set your mind at rest? How long do you want me to spend my nights pining away after you and praying Eristoph that nobody cuts you off a hand, a foot or something worse?

I don’t recall the last time someone has met one’s death. But, since you brought up the subject, tell me, this foolish idea of ruling me out of the fray, is it yours?

The wrinkles on her dress sharpened in correspondence with her fists. Don’t use that tone with me. I’m the Queen and, most of all, I’m your mother. For Eristoph’s sake. Where did you get such insolence? From the wrong crowd you hang around with, certainly.

It’s a discourtesy not to answer a question.

She muttered. It was my decision. Espio just willingly approved my suggestion.

As usual. You’re taking his side to your own detriment. Ok. Let me converse with my brother to redress your mistake.

Espio is busy with more exigent duties. Soon he’ll be King and he’ll have responsibilities much more important than the result of a silly battle.

The tension in her neck veins dropped and she mellowed. Even if you often squabble, I know that your brotherly bond overcomes each of your divergences. The reason why Espio decided to rule you out of the fray is that he loves you.

A hot flush spread through Racitro’s chest.

He swerved beside his mother, determined to grab the handle. His mother clutched his left biceps with her gentle hands.

You can’t come in without announcing yourself, his mother scolded him.

He found Espio and the eye-catching green and gold doublet he was wearing. Espio was sat on the other side of the ash wooden table wide from one wall to the other. Beside him, there were master Tobiarte and three large goat skin labeled tomes written by the master himself. Espio flaunted his irritating imperturbable composure. Master Tobiarte’s eyes radiated spirals of disdain and his lips got ready to spit poison.

How dare you? the master said. He leaped up, but, a moment after, he bent his head with contrition. My Queen.

Racitro peeked at the bristly adolescent beard Espio had let grow over the last days with the puerile purpose of appearing less puny and wiser before those same courtiers he was going to govern. Racitro turned at his brother’s brown eyes, imbued with pleasure, and clenched his fists.

Mother, the cozied up to the throne said. There’s no need for you to hang around. I know you’re plenty of occupations which require your attention. Please. I assure you that it won’t take us more than a few minutes to settle the question Racitro wanted to bring to my attention.

The mother nodded; then, she squawked something incomprehensible and slammed the door after her with unusual bad manners.

How dare you come before your King in such an indecorous state? It seemed Tobiarte could faint at any moment. Oh…your father would have saddened so much if he had seen how undisciplined and vulgar you are.

Don’t you get upset, master, Espio said. Please. If my brother has come here in the royal apartments without taking the trouble of making himself more presentable is certainly because he has business of the utmost urgency to bring to the attention of the next King, Espio pointed his finger at the master’s seat. Please. Take a seat and let Racitro enlighten us.

I can’t stand you when you talk that way.

Racitro faced their two inquiring gazes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. I heard you announced a fray I can’t take part in.

And that’s why you came here? The master said.

Don’t dispraise him, Espio seized the master’s arm to limit and appease the master’s ardor. I guess Racitro has come filthy and smelly because he wants to make us aware of how important is for him to fight in the Arena.

You’re way too patient, my King, the master glanced at Espio with a sly face. Then, his eyes full of poison turned to Racitro. You could learn a lot from your brother.

Be quiet, master, Racitro said. Then, he addressed Espio. So, is it your intention to settle this question?

Truth to be told, my dear brother, I long mused on this question. You’re brawny, you’re skillful, and who most deserves a combat with Mallo, if not you? But, then, I thought better of it. You already had your chance with Mallo Cerzo. As you know I’m going to be King and, as such, I’ll be in charge of administering justice. That’s why I thought it was fairer to give a chance to those who had not a chance so far.

You think you’re smart, huh? Let’s see if you enjoy your same dish. But what we’re talking about is not just any battle. It’s the one to celebrate your coronation. And who could bring you more honor than me?

But, dear brother, in the fray the competitors employ real swords, cutting swords, not like the training ones you use to brandish for your own delight.

Racitro felt his forehead veins pulse.

He’s trying to provoke me, to induce me a violent reaction just to feed his own smugness. If dad taught me something is that a submission is worth a thousand words. Tell me what you want.

Espio hardly refrained from rubbing his hands. My dear brother. I was well aware we’d have this kind of conversation the moment I decided to rule you out of the fray. However, far be it from me to think you’d have stooped to agree to my terms in such a submissive manner. I expected much more theatricality on your part. You could have beaten up one of the other competitors and took part in the fray under the mysterious appearance of an unknown warrior.

That was Terzito’s stratagem. Far be it from me to think you had not yet cudgeled your brain to avoid I could have made use of it. So, get to the point.

Beautiful. I’ll satiate your desire of blood and sweat. You’ll take part in the fray.

Under what terms?

Let’s see, Espio drummed his forefinger on his cheek and he pulled a ravenous face.

I know you don’t need to think about it. You’re sole purpose is to prolong your amusement.

I demand… Curse you. You bring my crown on the green velvet goose down cushion along the nave of the Temple of Eristoph the day of my coronation before the entire royal court and the most distinguished representatives of the commoners.

Racitro clenched his fists.

I might put the signature of my knuckles on your face and make you the first King to ascend the throne with a black eye.

In addition, I demand you physically put the crown on my head as a sign of your loyalty.

Racitro studied his right knuckle, his fingers clenched into a fist and the dirt under his nails.

Lastly, I demand you are the first to kneel before me and pronounce the traditional proclamation formula.

Racitro smashed his right fist in his left palm before his chest. He started wheezing and the bitter taste of humiliation started spreading in his mouth. He stepped towards his brother, determined to shatter that pleased snout. His right leg had a cramp, forcing him to stagger. He desisted.

Think. He started breathing long and deeply. The Arena. The Arena is more important. The Arena is my Kingdom.

He released his right fist from the left hand and bent his head in a deep breath.

Fine for me.

Then, Racitro left the room with the sole regret of not having contemplated longer his brother’s lost expression.

Chapter 2 - Espio

Espio dug with his buttocks in the doeskin couch stuffing, trying to relieve the muscle tension which has been gripping his back since he woke up. He folded his arms and started tapping his fingers on the left biceps. A King shouldn’t be stuck to wait a bunch of filthy fighters for so long. Shortly, I’m granting audience with the cooks to decide which courses will be served for my coronation feast.

Celete shook his head as he had just awoken from that lethargy he seemed to fall in every time Espio gave him a break. The elder’s eyelids blinked asynchronously. Aclezio will be here any minute now along with the five favorites for the fray. But I wonder if it’s wise to waste so many efforts in these minor matters considering your impelling schedule.

Espio puffed.

I gotta treat myself to something which could satisfy my delight.

Espio put his left elbow on the couch arm and laid his chin on the knuckle. He dawdled shaking his goblet, half-filled with nutmeg mulled red wine. Then, he started sipping, again and again.

I didn’t expect Racitro to come to terms. I can’t let him win in the day I’ve been waiting for twenty-four years.

Someone knocked on the door just before the sores formed on Espio’s buttocks forced him to change sitting position. Judging by the deep, though cheerful, voice, it was Aclezio; the man was wearing a doublet adorned with emerald-green sequins far more vivid than the sober charcoal tunic the elder Celete was wearing. Five brutes came in after Aclezio, like chicks following mother hen. They were all a head and neck taller than Aclezio. They looked strong, their muscles standing out like in the ancient heroes’ sculptures. Aclezio had gussied them up, but their pumped up bodies had strained the refined shapes of the court doublets, most of all around the shoulders and the waist.

My supposed champions are nothing more than five barely polished rocks wrapped in linen festoons.

The five guys lined up before Espio and made a great display of their ungraceful oblique postures. Two of them, in particular, had unnatural hunched backs. A big scar, departing from the left ear and furrowing the wooded beard along the mandible shape, flashed on a third man’s face. The evasive pupils of a fourth one suggested he was affected by strabismus. The last one, who was the youngest, showed a better composure which suggested he was of noble origins, or, at least, accustomed to the noble manners. He persisted in fiddling with his blond curls, which went on falling before his eyes.

Your Majesty, Aclezio bowed. Let me introduce the five favorites for tonight’s fray. I’m pretty sure that, at the end of the strife, you’ll give your praise to one of these five valiant fighters. I daily saw them sweating, getting dirty, falling, getting back on their feet and fighting without ever surrender.

You’re good at jabbering. But you didn’t touch on what intrigues me the most.

Tell me. Who, among these youngsters, can match up with my brother?

The study fell on silence.

"It’s clear that none of these fearless fighters can match up with my brother, isn’t it?

You’re right, Majesty. As usual. But I can assure you that all of them can boast outstanding abilities in fighting with sword and spear. And they are strong enough to lift your brother over the head and fling him in the dust.

Are you telling me you don’t know who the best is?

Aclezio hesitated. You see, sire. Given your thorough experience, I thought I could entrust you of the choice.

And since when, if you please, have I become experienced in fighting?

On his stuffed chair, Celete came back to life. Why not relying on all of them, Majesty? The combined abilities of five participants out of twenty will assure you a greater probability to win the dispute against your brother. I had seen a lot of frays and all of them had been characterized by a continuous evolution of alliances and betrayals. If one of them can’t defeat your brother, five will do the trick.

That’s why I wanted you by my side. But that’s not enough. I can’t rely on fragile alliances. Your idea is enticing me, but it needs the King’s personal touch, Espio addressed the five warriors. Personally, supporting one of you over the others doesn’t spark my interest. As tradition, the Arena will crown the winner. But, just to be clear, you must impede my brother from being crowned winner. I’ll lavish you ten gold coins per head if you agree to collaborate to eliminate my brother from the combat. In addition, I’ll lavish ten gold coins to the one of you who personally forces him to surrender.

The five brutes raised their heads at unison and got cocky at the prospect. They looked at each other with complicity and whispered in their uncouth language of the jungle. Espio dismissed them, not eager at all to listen to their disputes.

I made my move, brother. I’m eager to see how you’ll answer back.

Espio emerged on the Arena bleachers. He was welcomed by the shrill blare of the trombonists. The commoners raised their buttocks to pay respectful homages to the most illustrious person’s entry. Espio waved his hand just to make that heap of Ducats-squander slobs happy.

Thanks be to my ancestor Caiano who imposed to these boors to pay a fee to enter the Arena. The reward on Racitro won’t bite into the royal coffers.

Espio walked through two sides of crowd the royal guards were keeping at bay. Nonetheless, fetid gusts of underarm miasmas pestered Espio’s nostrils.

Once on the royal dais, Espio