In my mind’s eye I saw Arius cradling the poor crushed Amazon.

“—and when he just stalked out afterward like he didn’t even hear the cheering! He doesn’t care about the applause; he does it because he likes it.” Lepida stretched her arms languorously over her head. “Do you think he’s handsome, Thea?”

“I don’t know, my lady. Do you want the pumice stone for your feet?”

“Yes, the pumice stone, and put your back into it. You do too think he’s handsome, Thea. I saw your face when he was fighting.” She turned with a little laugh. “Well, these rough types appeal to those with lower instincts.”

“Mmm,” I murmured. “And how does my lady’s betrothed appeal to her?”

“Marcus?” She snorted. “Do you know he’s forty-six? His son is two years older than me! Really, I don’t know why I can’t marry the son instead. What’s the use of being young and beautiful if it’s all going to some boring old man with a crooked shoulder? He kept telling me about his books. As if I cared about his stupid library.” Lepida reached for the wine cup. “If that’s the best Father can do for me, well, he’ll just have to look harder. I want someone young, someone exciting. I want a real man.”

She twined a curl of hair around her fingers. “What do you suppose this Arius is like in person?”

I didn’t like his name in her mouth.

CONGRATULATIONS, Barbarian!” “Good show!”

“Not a bad—hey, where are you going?”

Arius brushed straight through the Mars Street dining hall, not looking to either side. Dropping his cloak in an unceremonious heap, he leaned over the long table and grabbed the wine jug.

“Hey, that’s for all of us!”

He drank straight from the jug, gulping without thirst. The other fighters, piling in with their congratulations and their envy, gradually fell silent.

He rocked back on his heels and dragged a hand across his mouth as a single drop of sour wine fell from the lip of the jug to the floor. For a moment he contemplated the jug, swinging by its handle from one finger, then he drew back and hurled it against the wall. Everyone swore and jumped back as clay shards crashed to the floor.

“Bloody sour barbarian,” a Gaul muttered.

Arius turned and kicked out in one lightning-smooth motion. The Gaul yelled as his stool collapsed underneath him. Then he yelled in earnest as a table knife clipped a chunk from his ear. He charged like a bull, and they thrashed across the floor in a vicious tangle. Gladiators piled in, shouting.

“Nail him! Nail him!”

“Get the bastard!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Gallus shouted from the doorway.

The gladiators fell back. The Gaul, streaming blood from the side of his head, tore loose and staggered to his feet, swearing in his native tongue. Arius rose in silence, brushing his hands off and regarding his lanista coldly.

“Well, well,” said Gallus. “Congratulations, dear boy. You’re living up to your name, I see. In the streets they’re already calling you ‘the Barbarian.’ ”