“What a bore,” Lepida pouted. “If he’d lose just once—”

Arius yanked off his helmet, raking his fingers through his hair and through my heart, too. He tossed his sword over to the arena guard, strode forward, and jerked his head at the Emperor again. Domitian, playing dice and playing mind games with two courtiers, wasn’t even paying attention to the arena. But Arius paused, drawing out an odd moment, and Domitian looked at him. I saw the tension in the back of the Emperor’s neck and remembered: Even my wife’s afraid under that marble face of hers. But you aren’t. You and one other—you know who? He’s not even a human being. Just a slave, another animal like you. A gladiator; the one they call the Barbarian.

At last Arius tore his eyes away and turned toward the Gate of Life. I’d forgotten the exact dip and sway of his shoulders. Imagine forgetting that.

The murmurs in the stands changed to laughter as a trapdoor opened in the arena floor, and a tiny black-bearded figure skipped out. A dwarf, dressed like a miniature Arius. A comic performer. I didn’t think I could ever laugh again.

Arius stopped a moment, bending his head toward the dwarf. He grinned at some joke, and my insides melted like a candle. So he’d found a friend. He needed friends.

He slapped the dwarf’s shoulder, setting off again for the Gate of Life. But just as I began to relax, four arena guards stepped down and seized Arius. Another trapdoor opened in the floor and out came a half dozen green-kilted Brigantians with swords in hand.

WHILE the midday executions had been dragging on, the slave boy had been engrossed in telling Sabina about his adventures on the way to Rome, which apparently featured flying horses, three-headed dogs, and a gang of forty thieves. As soon as the Barbarian appeared, Marcus noticed, the boy fell raptly silent.

“Whoa. Oh, whoa.” Sitting back with a whistle when the fight was done. “Whoa.”

“What?” Sabina craned her neck. Marcus nudged her back, below the rail. She was too young to see anything that arena had to offer. She didn’t seem to mind, though; her eyes were round as saucers from the slave boy’s fibs, and she hardly seemed to hear the arena’s racket of screams and clashes.

“The Barbarian.” Vix sounded awed. “I knew he was the best, but he’s even best-er than I ever thought. He’s a god.”

“He is very good,” Marcus found himself agreeing. “I always make sure he has a fight after the Senate imposes a new tax. He calms the mob down for weeks.”

Sabina blinked. “Who’s the Barbarian?”

“Where’d you grow up?” Vix looked down at her. “In a box?”

“I’m not allowed to go to the games, usually. I have epilepsia,” she explained, “and excitement isn’t good for me.”

“I never knew anybody with epilepsia.” He eyed Sabina with more interest. “’Cept Julius Caesar, but I guess I didn’t really know him. Y’know gladiator’s blood’ll cure it? I should give you some of my blood. I’m gonna be a gladiator, too, y’know.”