“Bow,” the Praetorian hissed, jabbing a spear haft into his back. Arius jerked his head toward the most powerful man in the world.

“So.” Emperor Domitian’s eyes raked him. “This is the Barbarian.”

“Yes, Caesar.”

A small frown flickered in the Emperor’s forehead.

“Lord and God,” hissed the Praetorian.

“Lord and God,” said Arius.

“Well fought, Barbarian. I’ve watched you for eight years—a long time. Why have you not hung up your sword?”

“I’m a slave, Lord and God.”

“They say slaves are cowards.” The Emperor reached out idly and snapped his fingers. A slave came forward with a silver tray. On the tray—

Arius’s breath stopped.

“A rudius.” The Emperor tapped the plain wooden blade. “For you, perhaps. Shall we see?” He snapped his fingers again.

A tubby little man bustled forward. He had a fringe of ringlets around his bald head and a Greek freedman’s robe. “Nessus,” said the Emperor. “You read the future as easily as the rest of us read the alphabet. What does this man’s future hold?”

Arius looked from the astrologer to the rudius, and back to the Emperor.

Nessus held out an imperious hand. “Palm, please.” He peered at the lines, chanted a line or two of mystic gibberish, poked at the sword calluses and scars. Then he peered back at Arius’s face. “How interesting.”

“Interesting?” The Emperor leaned forward. “What do you see?”

“I see—well, Lord and God, it’s a very strange hand. I see three deaths.”

“Three?” Emperor and gladiator spoke in unison.

“Three. Odd, really—most of us only get the one, don’t we? He will die once by fire, once by the sword, and once as an old man.”

“You see no rudius?” The Emperor’s broad ruddy face was inscrutable.

“Um.” Nessus flicked a nervous glance at Arius. “Well, no.” Arius felt a dull jolt. The drifting rose petals seemed to freeze in place.

“Pity.” The Emperor settled back into his golden chair. “I would have said he’s earned it by now. Take it away,” he told the slave.

Dumbly Arius watched his freedom disappear.

“ ‘By fire, by the sword, and as an old man,’ ” Domitian mused. “How interesting. Well, it’s a prophecy worth testing, isn’t it?”

For a moment their eyes locked, and silent words were exchanged.

You want to kill me, don’t you? said the Emperor.

I’ll slaughter you.

Prefect Paulinus Norbanus looked back and forth between them. “Caesar?”

Domitian waved a casual hand. “Take the Barbarian back to his barracks, and send the Imperial physician to tend his wounds. We won’t cheat the gods of his first death. The death in the arena.”

GOT it out of your system, now?” Hercules ducked. A mug shattered on the wall where his head had been. “I don’t see what you’re so sore about. You wanted to die. You’ve been moping around trying to die for eight years. And now, hey, it won’t be long. Not when the Emperor’s got that curious eye of his on you.” Hercules ducked a bowl. “Quit hurling crockery, you big bully. You’re scaring your dumb dog.”