“Well,” Marcus said mildly. “This is interesting.” Beside him the slave boy hung open-mouthed on the rail.

Arius fell to his knees when they released him. The sword dropped from his hands.

Kill them, howled the demon, but it seemed very far away.

Couldn’t breathe. He ripped off his helmet, flung it aside. His fingers curled in on themselves.

Kill them, whimpered the demon. He could imagine Gallus smiling, settling back in his chair. “That should bring out the old Barbarian,” he would be saying happily. “Enjoy the show!”

Arius rocked back on his heels. The Brigantians gazed, panting, swords wavering in damp hands.

Arius spread his arms. His hands were bleeding from where the nails had dug in, but he felt nothing. “Kill me.”

They stared at him.

“Kill me,” he roared. “Kill me, you bastards!”

His voice echoed around the death-silent Colosseum. He flowed to his feet and took a ferocious step forward, spreading his bared hands. “Kill me!”

Muttering, forking the sign of the evil eye at him, they backed away.

THEA

IN the Imperial box we were frozen like statues: me with my hands pressed to my mouth to keep from screaming; Lepida with a handful of sweets halfway to her lips; Paulinus open-mouthed; the Empress shedding her usual calm to look surprised; Flavia’s sons frozen in fascination.

Then Domitian erupted out of his chair. “Iugula,” he shouted as loudly as Arius, and turned his thumb in the sign for death.

A scream strangled in my throat as the Brigantians circled in. But Arius turned, his empty hands spread wide.

“Who’s first?” he asked, his voice blasting us all. “Who’ll take the first hack at the Barbarian?”

Their eyes flickered. They licked their lips. They looked at each other.

“Kill me!” He took a wavering sword blade and pressed it against his own throat. “Do it.”

The boy dropped his sword.

Arius turned on the others like a lion, and five swords hit the sand. A half-dozen boys in the prime of strength backed away, their faces white as a senator’s toga, as a single aging gladiator bore them slowly down with his eyes.

Then he began to laugh. He flung his head back and roared laughter up at the sky. He jumped lightly at the Brigantian boys, and they backed away shivering, rings of white showing around their eyes.

He turned his back on them and advanced on the Emperor—the Emperor, standing rigid at the front of the Imperial box.

“Care to take a crack, Caesar?” Arius shouted, spreading his arms. “You blood-sucking Flavian whore.”

WHOA,” said Vix. “That was stupid. He’s in trouble now—” “What?” Sabina rose from her stool, craning her eyes. “What’s all the noise? What’s—”

“I think it’s time we left, Vibia Sabina.” Marcus scooped her up, gesturing to the steward. All around, the crowd stood utterly silent, transfixed by the scornful gladiator. Dear Fortuna, what would the plebs make of this?

“What about Vix?” Sabina peered over Marcus’s shoulder as he carried her out. “We left him behind.”