He cut down the first two as they got to the top of their little ladders. But there were two more clambering over the other sides, and their blades rushed to meet his with a bite of iron.

The Colosseum was on its feet shrieking, and so was I. Once I would have felt pity for the Spaniards, who wanted to stay alive just as badly as Arius, but love had made me vicious and I just wanted them dead. Arius hewed a Spaniard’s sword arm off at the elbow, and in the midst of all my terror for his life I felt a rush of fierce pride in his skill.

He whirled and slashed, unable to move three feet on that tiny square of space, but still cutting them down on four sides. The crowd settled back in their seats to place bets, the odds dropping. Just when I began to breathe again, it happened.

Such a little thing. He ducked a wild swing of a curved blade, and for a bare moment lost his footing. Teetered.

Fell.

He landed squarely on his back, only a few feet down, but I could see the breath go from him in a rip. I saw his lips skin back as he gulped a convulsive breath, already raising his blade, and then the Spaniards were on him. Three Spaniards delirious with triumph, their bright weapons raised—and even so he managed to stab one through the knee before disappearing from sight.

I heard Lepida’s fidgeting cease abruptly. I heard Quintus Pollio set down his goblet. I heard every spectator in the Colosseum inhale.

I dropped the flagon, feeling the wine splash across my feet as I leaped forward, falling against the marble railing and marshaling all the power in my lungs.

“MITTE!” I shrieked, and every Roman within a hundred yards turned their heads. “MITTE, MITTE, MITTE!” Let him live. Oh, God, let him live.

And because it was a fine afternoon and the games had been very good that day and the Barbarian really had fought splendidly, other voices joined mine. “Mitte! Mitte! Mitte!”

When I saw a bruised and bloody Arius drag himself grimly to his feet, my own limbs gave out underneath me and I hit the ground. Roaring filled my ears and something granite-cold cracked open inside me, melting like ice in the rain.

“Thea? Thea, whatever is the matter with you?”

I looked up dizzily. My mistress’s face was a pale irritated oval. “Sorry, my lady.”

“Screaming in public—a slave never speaks unless spoken to.” Her sharp-toed sandal prodded my side. “Get up.”

I levered myself up, clinging to the railing. The blood roared so loud in my ears that when Lepida poked at the ribbon around my neck I could only look at her vaguely.

“Well, well, what’s this? Charms, Thea? So many of them, too. Whatever for?” She turned over a copper amulet inscribed in Latin on the back. “ ‘Warding away the bite of all weapons and blades.’ And ‘Invoking the protection of Mars against violent death.’ Goodness, I don’t beat you that hard.”