Diana grinned. Rabbits had been released into the arena below, bounding in all directions, and the leopard chased them down one by one to return them unharmed to his handler in soft jaws. “You know, I thought when we met that your name sounded familiar. My nurse used to tell me the great Caratacus would eat me if I was bad.”

“He had that effect on people.”

Marcella felt a prickle of excitement in her fingertips. Her history of Emperor Claudius had a few lines about the rebellion in Britannia, but she’d gleaned all her facts from books. If she could get a first-hand account . . . surely the great Caratacus’s son would have seen his father’s rebellion at very close range, perhaps even led raids and battles himself. Marcella smiled. “How interesting, meeting a legend. My name—”

“My father was a legend,” he said, bland. “I breed horses.”

“Well,” Diana consoled, “they’re very good horses.”

Llyn laughed. A praetor squeezed Diana’s arm from the other side—“Come place a bet for me, Lady Diana, you’ll bring me luck for the next bout!”

Yes, go, Marcella thought at her cousin as the tame leopard padded out, let me see if I can get the Briton talking. A new source, now that was even better entertainment than a love affair. But Diana shook off the praetor and turned back to Llyn, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “My question stands,” she said. “Why are you here? I doubt I’d want to sit with Roman emperors after growing up trying to overthrow them.”

“I have nothing against Roman emperors in Rome, Lady,” he said mildly. “It’s Roman emperors in Britannia I never liked. And I’m here because I’m an oddity. I’m not quite as good value as my father when it comes to shocking guests, but I’m the only one left from my family, and Emperor Otho likes oddities.”

“He says the same about me,” said Diana. A fleet herd of gazelles had been released into the arena below, galloping in panicked circles. Four lions came roaring one by one from a trapdoor in the sand.

“How long have you lived in Rome now?” Marcella pondered what to call an ex-rebel without family name or title, and substituted a friendly smile for a salutation.

“Eighteen years,” he said briefly, and turned back to Diana. “How are your Anemoi, Lady? The chestnuts I sold to the Red faction.”

“They won at Equirria. Did you see?”

“I avoid the races.” The gazelles were running in panicked circles now, the lions chasing them down one by one.

“Well, Equirria was thrilling. Those wretched Blues scratched, but my Anemoi took the Greens and the Whites as easy as anything. The Whites came up from behind, but—”