“Hey, you, get away from here.” One of Vitellius’s remaining Praetorians drew his gladius, gesturing the man back, but a long sword came hissing out of its scabbard and buried itself in the Praetorian’s neck. His eyes sprang open whitely, and he folded like an unironed tunic. Vitellius halted in the straw-covered passageway, his mouth wobbling as Llyn ap Caradoc calmly booted the body off his blade.

“Get back from the Emperor!” The other Praetorian dived at Llyn, swinging his gladius in a massive slash, but the Briton moved with molten ease, sliding out of reach and then back in with a short brutal chop at the man’s face. His eyes disappeared in a sudden gout of blood, and suddenly the third Praetorian and the last nervously lingering hangers-on were all fleeing and stumbling out of the stables.

“Llyn?” Diana whispered. “No, you can’t—”

He finished off the second guard and moved forward, his gaze fixed on the Emperor. The rage in his dark eyes was bottomless, far outstripping fat trembling Vitellius and his pathetic little sins. It was a rage big enough for all Rome, and any protests on Vitellius’s tongue died visibly.

“Well,” he said dully, “whoever you are, get on with it.”

“Caesar—” Diana began.

“Leave me!” Vitellius roared, and in that moment at least he looked like an emperor.

She found herself kneeling, her hands still full of harness.

Vitellius’s rough hand touched her hair. When she looked up, Llyn was dragging him down the passage by the neck, stumbling and panting.

“Better get out of here,” Llyn called to her, not looking back. They were suddenly gone, the tall figure and the fat one, gone at the end of the passage into the last of the empty horse stalls, and Diana lingered frozen for a moment. But there was a surge of shouting close by, a sudden wave of noise, and it jerked her back into motion.

She scrambled up and went to Boreas, dragging a bridle over his ears, and then got the others one by one and led them out to be harnessed. The racing chariot was too conspicuous with its crusting of gilt and bright blue paint, but there were plain practice chariots in the back shed, and she hitched the Anemoi to one of those. She’d never harnessed a team so fast. She looked toward the last stall once or twice, but no one came out, and she dragged a grubby hand across her eyes.

The Anemoi stood ready, necks curved, noses flared, looking eagerly about them as they smelled excitement. A different kind of excitement today, my loves, Diana thought as she fetched a driving whip and scrambled into the chariot. You won’t smell rose petals today, or palm branches. Just blood.