They nodded, and he beamed in return. ‘Good, good.’ He slapped the water in delight and stood, climbing from the pool as he spoke. Brann heard the noise but was oblivious to the words. Completely naked and puce from the heat of the water, Cassian eased himself out of the tank and trotted over to the third pool, launching himself without pause or shred of elegance into it with a resounding crash of splashing water. He emerged like a sea monster of legend, drops flying in all directions, whipping water from his face with both hands and gasping for breath. Brann watched the man, mouth agape and eyes wide. Grakk watched Brann, mirth creasing his face. ‘Oh, that’s good!’ the man exulted. ‘There’s absolutely nothing like a cold plunge to get the blood flowing.’
He walked up steps at the far end of the pool and came towards them. The boy’s despairing panic from just moments before was overwhelmed by a very different horror. Brann eased back against the wall to give him as much space to pass as possible, a move that almost caused Grakk to double up with suppressed laughter.
The elderly man beckoned with a finger as he headed towards the door to the antechamber. They followed, Brann fixing his eyes on the pelt of curled grey hair covering a latticework of old scar lines on his broad shoulders and trying desperately to avoid letting his gaze drop to the sagging and jiggling parts lower down. Cassian took a towel from the shelf and started vigorously drying himself, causing far more jiggling than Brann was prepared to endure. He stared determinedly at the man’s face as he spoke, hoping it would appear courteous rather than an attempt to avoid noticing anything he would really rather not see.
‘Now, you have this fight tomorrow, each of you, don’t you?’ He sounded as if he was discussing a polite gathering of old friends in a tavern, and Brann’s spinning brain was so overwhelmed by the sight, and the potential but so far avoided sight, before him that he was able to listen to the words this time without terror paralysing his mind. ‘It is not much time, not much time at all. So we must prepare you as we can, and hope to see you again afterwards, should Barollon will it.’ He noticed Brann’s puzzled look. ‘You are from the Islands in the Cold Sea, yes?’ The description was apt enough for Brann to assume he was talking about his homeland, and nodding seemed the easiest response. ‘Yes, of course you are. Your god of war Arlod, is our god Barollon, though we see him chiefly as the god of good fortune, for in the chaos of every battle, that is the biggest factor in whether or not a man will be there to face the next day. But without good preparation, you won’t be around to benefit from any good fortune that comes your way, so we will prepare as we can, won’t we?’
Brann at last found his voice. ‘You mean you are going to teach me to fight?’
Cassian had pulled a tunic – identical to those of the other men he had seen here, but white where theirs were red and with the symbol in red where theirs were white – over his head and was securing a broad belt around it that bore a scabbarded short broadsword, similar to the weapons carried by the soldiers they had seen at the citadel. He laughed. ‘No, no, no, my boy, in the time we have, we could teach you nothing to the standard needed for it to be of use in the situation you face. You would forget all of it as soon as the first blade swings and any that you did somehow remember would not be natural. No, we must try to remove the unfamiliar. Then the rest is up to you, the gods, and your fate. But mainly you.’ He smiled happily yet again. ‘The good news is that in this sort of fight, you will be free to choose your own weapons.’
He walked over to Grakk, studying the tattoos. ‘You are of the Tribe of the Desert?’ Grakk nodded. ‘Scholar?’ Another nod. He took Grakk’s hands in his, turning them palm up, looking them over and rubbing the area between thumb and forefinger on each hand with his own thumb. ‘And your preference is to fight with dual swords?’ Another nod. ‘Though you are trained in many weapons.’ Before Grakk could answer, he clapped him cheerily on the arm. ‘You need not answer that one. You are a Scholar of the Tribe of the Desert. I expect I will see you here for dinner tomorrow. I have no worries about you. Should you need a practice partner, let my friend Salus know.’ Grakk nodded his thanks.
He turned to Brann and examined his hands. ‘You are not trained in arms.’
‘I am a miller’s son. I did not choose this.’
‘Oh, dear boy, few in this city chose the life they live. It was an observation, not a criticism. You are what you are. I am merely trying to determine what it is that you are.’ His fingers traced the thick line of hardened scar tissue under the boy’s hair. ‘And what you are is someone who has survived some sort of action, I see.’ He pulled the neckline of Brann’s tunic to one side to peer down inside at his upper arm. He whistled softly as he saw a portion of the tattoo. ‘Oh my.’ He looked at Grakk. ‘Survived with some distinction, I see.’
The tribesman’s voice was even. ‘He has his moments.’
‘Let us hope he has one tomorrow.’ He turned back to the boy. ‘You have a weapon of choice?’
Brann shrugged. ‘A sword, I suppose. I don’t know anything else. To be honest, I don’t really know how to use a sword either.’
‘Hit with the sharp edge, stick with the pointy bit, that’s a sword for you. You should indeed choose sword and shield then, they are simple solid basics. Good.’ He looked at Salus. ‘Would you mind, good Salus? Make the unfamiliar familiar?’
‘Of course, boss. Now?’
‘The sooner we start, the better. Then we must attend to their jewellery, or the authorities will be most displeased with us. Thank you all.’
And with that, he wandered out of the room.
Brann looked at the other two. ‘What in the darkest depth of hell was that?’
Salus was beaming as always. ‘That was your welcome.’
Brann shook his head. ‘Is my land the only place that exists where people don’t wander around bollock naked without a care in the world?’
Grakk wiped a tear from the corner of one eye. ‘No, young sheltered one, customs and sensibilities vary around the known world more than you can imagine, and I expect they vary even more in the unknown world. In this city, it was the fashion not long ago for the well-to-do ladies to wear robes that left their right breasts exposed, in other countries within the Empire men and women cannot show their faces in public once wed, in yet others a woman will take many husbands, and in another men and women are clothed from the waist down only.’
Brann’s jaw dropped as images took hold. Salus also had a faraway look in his eyes. ‘Ah, yes, Posamia. I dream of retiring there.’ He shook his head, as if flinging away images. ‘Anyway, things must be attended to. Come with me and we shall attend to them.’
Brann frowned. ‘It seems that much of the public nudity involves women. Are there not places where men show off their… bits… as well?’
Grakk shrugged. ‘Some, but very few.’ He looked pointedly at Brann, stopping his next question. ‘You have just witnessed the sight you did, and yet you are about to ask why so few? And you refer to it as showing off? You do realise, do you not, that