While busy struggling to block the barrage of strikes targeting his every move and following any direction he turned, Diarmuid was praying that his little friend Oscar had already made his escape as far as his shackled legs allowed or at least had found some convenient spot to hide in, but when he turned around, the young boy was balled on himself on the ground, to his shock and frustration, staring terrified at the sword about to be plunged through him. Having no choice, the lancer jumped quickly and stabbed the soldier in the back. Oscar gasped in a mixture of relief and fear turning into a profound expression of guilt as he was confronted by the lancer's face bleeding with shame and repulsion, not at the boy but at himself. The cost of saving of his little friend's life was so painful to the lancer's honor and code of chivalry, and though the boy knew the latter did not regret it, Oscar still could not forgive himself for his own hesitation and weakness.
The soldiers and guards took advantage of this incident, uttering spiteful words of mockery and degradation. The lancer was not proud of his act either, and wreaked his wrath at the soldiers. He charged and actually managed to injure the arm of one soldier, but it was a futile fight; he was outnumbered and his injuries hindered him as the shackles he got rid of would had. Soon, he fell to the ground receiving deepened wounds. Oscar, captured again, screamed and gestured pleading for mercy. The Roman soldiers couldn't comprehend what he was saying, his tears of plea was enough to move the solid stones, but it only earned him a beating from the soldiers.
After finishing with the smaller one, the guards' attention was brought back to the rebelling lancer. One of them suggested:
"Should we not teach him a more severe lesson?"
He said this pointing at the whip in his friend's hand. The latter gladly embraced the idea; they could not risk the spread of an infection of the idea of escaping or rebelling among the other slaves, so the man grasped his whip and stood at the thrown lancer's head. Oscar screamed again and kept pulling the cloak of the guard capturing him, but the latter was too excited by the show that was about to take place and he did not bother to give attention to the lad's begging. The eyes of the remaining slaves, peered through the bars like an unearthed coal, grim and lightless, fully realizing what was about to go down, most having experienced it themselves first hand, yet their shattered wills crumbled even further as their bravery sunk just as deeper.
Before the show of discipline could begin and satisfy the slaves traders, much to the lancer's fortune if anything about the current situation could be called that, the soldiers that were hanging at the back of the convoy throughout the entire road stepped in the scene preventing the man from laying his black whip at the Celtic prisoner. The guards protested but the soldiers silenced them stating that this prisoner specifically did not belong to them, he was their general's property and that was the sole reason for them escorting this ominous looking company. However, they clearly stated that they can do whatever they desired with the blond one, as his fate did not matter to them but it did not matter either to the merchants as he presented no danger and was in a fairly pretty good condition that they did not wish to exploit yet. That naïve boy was no threat and did nothing serious beside screaming and tripping like a mad child. Still, they were ought to discipline him for the sake of the other slaves, giving him few quick lashes, realizing as his older friend yelled and cursed, that this was a perfect punishment for him as well.
Thus, the two Celtic prisoners joined the traders once again.
***
Though their broken eyes did not give the slightest shred of light or hope, and their tied bodies did not show the hint of motion or twitching, the slave traders were still so furious about the failed escape attempt. They feared the zeal will get to the others and soon the entire group will riot not only two men. Therefore, acting with caution, they connected the merchandise chains all together with shorter ones, rendering their movement handicapped and difficult, leaving them unable to even organize their steps together.
Feeling guilty, Oscar buried his head between his knees and didn't say a single word. He knew he was not strong or capable but did not think of himself as a coward yet yesterday he proved himself to be one. What was he thinking? Did he really prefer the life of slavery to the risk of losing his life on a freedom attempt? He totally failed Diarmuid while bound by fear and hindered by calculations, and did not care about his teacher's feelings. The latter was a renowned knight, and this current situation was the most humiliating conclusion he could ever reach as a warrior and yet he still did not think of escaping without his weak companion though he probably would have managed to free himself and flee if he were on his own but in the end he made a noble choice; he did not forsake him. And on top of that, he could not erase from his mind the look of caged frustration and humiliating apologies on the lancer's face after last night's incident.
"I am sorry…"
Knowing it wouldn't fix anything, Oscar mumbled the words to himself as if he did not dare to say them out loud.
" I am sorry too."
Oscar raised his head surprised, for these words did not come out of his mouth. He turned his wide sleepy eyes at the dual spear wielder who was looking warmly at him. Apparently, Oscar was not the only one feeling guilty and responsible for the failed attempt. Diarmuid was feeling the same as well albeit it was for other reasons. In his enthusiasm, he had totally forgotten about his little companion's feelings too, he was young, inexperienced and frail. He recklessly forgot or did not care that the boy had never been through any similar life or death situations before, and for him, this was his first and gravest one. Yet, he took the matter solely from his perspective, preferring death over life, and dragged the innocent kid to the horrible experience of last night. Oscar's terrified face did not part his imagination for a second, in the lad's dreamy eyes; he witnessed the pure manifestation of fear. He had no right to make him go through this, even as his instructor, how then as his friend?
"I am sorry, Oscar. I had no right to put you through that frightening experience the way I did yesterday… it was so selfish of me… even encouraging you to participate in that battle in the first place when you were clearly not ready yet…"
No matter what, that kid has the right to keep his life safe, it was his choice. The lancer should have not forced him to anything but Oscar knew very well Diarmuid's desire to escape with him emanated from his love for him not his selfishness. There was no way he could get away by himself leaving his friend to an ambiguous fate; he would never be able to forgive himself. But to hear the last part of that confession was what hurt him the most. Most boys become men in their village by the age of thirteen, romancing, hunting, fighting and battling but he was not built like the other boys, he was weak by nature and stature and despite his lacking, Diarmuid, the famed dual wielder took him under his wing and promised to teach him everything about fighting, but despite the two years they spent together, it was apparent through the lancer's words that Oscar did not change, neither becoming stronger or more dependable. And while he knew it was true it still hurt to hear it from the person he admired the most and who never gave up on him, even as he once again disappointed him last night. The boy understood Diarmuid meant no insults in his words, he was speaking out of an unjustified guilt, adding to the boy's hurt.
"You got beaten… and I…"
Diarmuid was still going on as the boy was sinking in his unpleasant thoughts and interpretations.
"It is all right, nothing serious happened…"
Oscar quickly interrupted the apologizing man, wishing to erase any unnecessary guilt the latter felt, while squeezing his arms trying to hide the shiver that went through his spine. He got a few whips indeed, and it was painful as hell, and even then Diarmuid tried to struggle and help him until he drove himself into unconscious, absent from the most cruel part of the whipping. This was better, Oscar did not want him to witness it because if he were to he would never forgive himself, and maybe he would do something crazy where his life would not be spared like yesterday.
Then, another thought plagued the blonde's mind. To hear the number one spear wielder speaking this way… speaking of one's life before honor… it was so painful. As a warrior, they were never allowed to think this way and Diarmuid seemed so strict about this, but despite his proud radiance that delivered this message about his code of honor, Oscar knew Diarmuid was a kind person, and for some reason he was so lenient with him, he considered him like a younger brother more than a trainee. For the young blond, he was never a monster as his enemies and allies described him alike. He was so gentle and caring, simply affected by the misery of others and used his weapons to defend the weak. He loathed tricks and deception and always sought a fair fight. After all, it was his amiable spirit and honorable traits that made Oscar's village welcome the homeless lancer who appeared out of nowhere amidst a rainy night seeking shelter, accompanied by a graceful hooded woman.
Despite knowing all of this, hearing him speaking in that broken tone felt so wrong to the point of pain. Has the lancer's heart really weakened by this defeat?
"You have nothing to apologize for, Dia, I was a fool and ruined everything…"
Oscar whispered not daring to look the lancer in the eye. If he was already missing his family, was Diarmuid not missing that fair lady as well?
"Nothing was your fault"
The lancer smiled gently at the ashamed lad reassuring him. If he could, he would have patted on his hair as he used to do whenever the lad showed improvement in his training but with these chains it was impossible. Still, the intention of the act and its warmth reached the boy, drawing a bitter smile on his ashen face.
Rocking along the carriage, it did not take long for Oscar to fell asleep gradually like a little kid. Left alone, the lancer stared at the sky that was supposed to be a one uninterrupted veil of empyrean blueness, not cut into pieces by the bars of their cage ceiling. He had to stay by the lad's side no matter how the circumstances were to unfold and turn, this was the least he could do for him.