Her eyes widened again. “Are not.”

“Are too.” The boy aimed a thrust at the wall with an imaginary sword. “I’ll be even better than the Barbarian.”

“You’ll get in trouble.”

“You get in trouble no matter what you do,” Vix said sagely, “so you might as well do everything you can.”

A philosopher, Marcus thought. What an appalling child. And Sabina looked entranced.

“Hey, they’re opening the trapdoor.” Vix leaned forward over the rail. “What’s next?”

WHAT—” Arius twisted as the guards grabbed hold of his arms. “My fight’s done.”

“We’ve got orders,” one of the guards said shortly. “If you know what’s good for you, hold still.”

They wrenched him around, two holding each side, and he saw a trapdoor open in the sand to disgorge a half-dozen green-kilted boys from Brigantia. Fanning out, swords held wide, toward a puzzled Hercules.

“No.” Too late, Arius began to struggle.

Hercules looked around, confused. His comic act came next: “Arius the Barbarian mowing down the heathen,” the heathen being played by twenty peacocks. But there were no peacocks in sight . . . just a half-dozen boys with their swords out.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh.”

The comic wooden sword dropped from his fingers.

He ran.

They fell on him.

THE boys fanned out into a circle, and Arius saw Hercules stagger. Run for an opening. Go down in a welter of rising and falling sword hilts.

From a long way away he heard himself cursing, felt himself wrenching at the guards. A blow fell across the back of his head and he went to his knees.

Panting and sobbing, Hercules wriggled free. Dashed for escape on his short legs. A howl of laughter went up from the stands as he made a great scrambling leap and tried to climb the wall.

They pulled him down.

Arius got an arm free and crashed his fist into the face of one of the guards. A shield boss clubbed down on Arius’s shoulders, and he ate sand.

Hercules was screaming.

Arius erupted off the ground and took a guard around the knees. He clawed his hands up to the man’s belt, and got his dagger.

Hercules was screaming his name.

Arius found a gap in the armor and stabbed. Blood pattered on his face. He rolled off the body, surged to his feet, and took a great lurching leap before three guards hit him from behind and he went down again.

For a moment his eyes got clear of sand and saw Hercules’ face. A white oval pressed into the ground, two blind eyes filled with blood, a smeared mouth opening in a black howl.

Arius felt his mouth opening, his whole body cracking, and somewhere inside his head he howled back. A long unending scream consumed him, a dreadful backdrop to the thuds of the sword hilts against Hercules’ body as the Brigantian boys leisurely beat him to death.

His vision went black as the demon reared its head and screamed.

They gave him his sword and let him go.