Vix didn’t bother answering, just began to rain blows on him. None at his face, Titus saw—even a boy as rash as this one clearly was didn’t want to be responsible for blinding the Emperor of Rome. But the cuts came fast and hard at shoulders and ribs, and it was all the Emperor could do to keep up. Vix looped a quick cut at Trajan’s outer shoulder, and he brought his shield up to counter—only he wasn’t carrying a shield. The blade opened his arm instead, and the breath froze in Titus’s throat. Blood spilled, glossy in the lamplight, and the guests drew a shocked breath. The Emperor examined his arm, blood trickling between his fingers. Vix fell back a step, gray-faced, and the Emperor’s guards closed suddenly in a taut unsmiling circle.

Trajan threw back his head and laughed. “Victory to you, boy.”

“Not really, Caesar.” Regrouping. “If you’d had a shield—”

“But I didn’t, and I forgot. Bad habit. Victory to you, and welcome.” He waved the guards away, clapping a hand on Vix’s shoulder. “Maybe there’s something to that haymaking style of yours after all. What’s your name?”

“Vercingetorix, Caesar.”

People began to descend fussing at the Emperor’s arm, but he waved them off. “A scratch, that’s all, I’ve cut myself worse shaving.” His eyes were on the young guard again, friendly as if they’d just been two friends sparring in a gymnasium. “I take my legions north next year, Vercingetorix. There’s a Dacian king up there who wants a good drubbing. I need good men—always do. You’d be an advantage in my legions. Want to help me make war?”

“Maybe, Caesar.” Titus could see him wavering. With that hand on my shoulder and those eyes on mine, I’d probably be signing up for the legions myself—me, the boy who would rather be eaten by wolves than be a soldier.

“Maybe nothing, Vercingetorix,” the Emperor was saying. “I’ll make a Roman legionary of you yet. The point beats the edge, just remember that.” He clapped the sturdy shoulder again and turned. “Anyone else want a crack at this young warrior here? Legate? Young Titus? Maybe you, Tribune Hadrian?”

“Not him.” Vix’s voice was loud and scornful. “When’s the last time anyone saw him get dirty?”

Trajan laughed, and the rest of the party laughed with him. “The boy’s got you there, Hadrian,” the Emperor said, sheathing his sword. “Be a man for a change, take a sword in hand!”

“Thank you, Caesar.” Hadrian, among all the laughers, did not even smile. “I can do more damage with a pen.”

“My sword, your pen.” Vix raised the blade again. “Let’s see who wins.”

More laughter and Hadrian opened his mouth, but Titus to his own astonishment felt himself speak first.