“Will that be all, my lady?”

“Yes, you can go. I’m quite finished with you.” For now, at least. Once I had the Barbarian in my bed, I’d make her watch.

GALLUS had begun letting Arius out in the evenings. He tried running, but these days he was recognized before he got ten steps. No use. Easier just to get drunk.

“Water,” he bit out, ducking through the door of the Golden Cockerel, a flood of his fans banging raucously after him. “Wine. Food.” He flipped a coin at the tavernkeeper.

“No, no, everything for the Barbarian is free! Such a splendid fight this afternoon! When you disemboweled the Greek—”

“Forget the food.” Arius flung himself down at the corner table. “Just wine.”

Drink and fight. Blood and wine. Drink the blood, dear boy, spill the wine; it’s all the same thing. He stared into the mug.

“Careful,” someone whispered nearby. “Just last week he broke someone’s jaw for getting too close—”

Drink and fight. Take it, swallow it, choke on it; it’s all you get.

The mug made a fine crash against the opposite wall. His fans cheered and followed suit, nine more mugs shattering to the sound of drunken applause. He could have pitched them all out into the darkening street.

Then a section of brown tunic and a neat work-hardened hand blocked his vision. “Arius.”

He knew the sound of her voice before it had finished his name. “Get out,” he said quietly.

“For God’s sake, I’ve spent half the night tracking you down. My mistress won’t let me back in the house until I’ve found you. The least you could do is be civil.”

He curled his fingers around the wine jug.

“I have a message to deliver.” Thea’s voice was toneless. “My mistress wants you to meet her in the Gardens of Lucullus tomorrow at midnight. She’s already bribed your lanista. You understand? Good.”

For the first time he looked up, but she was already vanishing into the throng. He saw her briefly at the door, buffeted by a crowd of drunks as she slipped out into the street. He half-rose from his bench.

“Better hole up here for a while, Barbarian.” The tavernkeeper thumped down another brimming mug. “Looks like the first of the winter storms is on its way. Only the pickpockets and the murderers are out tonight.”

A crowd of plebs flooded in, struggling out of their cloaks and swearing. Arius grabbed his cloak, making for the door. A cluster of fans rose to follow him, but he rounded on them.

“You follow me,” he said, “and I’ll kill you.”

Some followed anyway, but he knocked a few heads together, tossed a third man into the hearth, and while he was yelping and putting out his blazing hair Arius ducked out the door.

It wasn’t raining yet, but it soon would be. He could smell it when he lifted his nose up to the iron-colored sky. The wind blew cold for the first time in months, and he shook back his hood. The first rain since . . . how long? He’d missed it.