Matthew noted chains hanging from the ceiling, ending in a set of manacles, and what appeared to be leg irons hammered into the earth directly beneath the chains. Whatever this was, it did not bode well.

Seated on one of the benches on the uppermost row of the circle were Lash and, a few feet away, Cardinal Black. Lash leaned forward to watch the procession file in, while Black simply sat staring down into the pit as if oblivious of everyone else.

Lash said, “Take your seats, wherever you wish. All the views are sufficient.”

Matthew and Julian sat down behind and to the right of Lioness. Off to their left a distance was Victor. The others spaced themselves around the circle.

“What is this, a fucking dungeon?” Merda asked, his childlike voice echoing off the stones.

“My house is built over a Roman bear-baiting pit,” Lash answered. “I didn’t know it until the builder found it. Actually, there are Roman tunnels all through this area and leading under the park as well.”

Matthew saw an oak door down in the pit’s wall. As he was looking at it, there was the noise of a bolt being thrown and two of the guards came through dragging a naked man. A third guard followed behind. Rapidly the three men set about chaining the unfortunate’s wrists to the manacles and then his ankles to the leg irons. The victim tried to struggle but obviously he was in no shape to do so, for his pale and thin body already bore an ugly patchwork of bruises from earlier rough treatment. When they were done, the naked man was stretched to full length by the tautness of the chains, his arms up above his head and his body curved in what was nearly a half-moon crescent so that his chest jutted forward.

Matthew realized it was a position of complete helplessness. Whatever was to follow, the man might shake from side to side but he could not protect any portion of himself.

“I ain’t done nothin’!” the man called out, his voice mangled by what must’ve been swollen lips and broken teeth. “Hear me?” He rattled his chains and his body swung a bit but no more; his arms appeared so strained they were about to be disjointed from the shoulders. He lifted his head and looked up at the gallery through terrified and bruise-slitted eyes. “Listen … please … I ain’t done nothin’!”

“What kind of entertainment is this to be?” Montague asked, as the guards retreated to take up positions around the pit. “I fancy there is violence involved?”

Matthew was sure of it. He was braced for what was to come, and all he could do was sit and watch.