"Yes," Cailin said, "I sometimes miss Britain, majesty. I was happy there, but," she amended with a sweet smile, "I am happy here with my dear lord Aspar. Wherever he is will be my home."

"Well said, lady!" the emperor approved, smiling at her. "How charming she is," Leo continued after the couple had returned to their own box. "Aspar is a very lucky man, I think."

Justin Gabras squeezed his wife's hand in warning, for he could see she was near to another angry outburst. "Breathe deeply, Flacilla," he instructed her softly, "and rein in your nasty temper. If we are banned from the court because of your ungovernable behavior, you will live to regret it, I swear it!"

The angry color slowly faded from her face and neck, and swallowing hard, she nodded her acquiescence. "I will never be happy again until I can find a way to revenge myself on Aspar," she whispered.

"Let it go, my dear," he told her. "There is no way."

"The fat cow is going to have apoplexy," Casia giggled wickedly in Aspar's box. "She's positively purple with rage. What did the emperor and the empress say to you that has infuriated her so greatly?"

"She has no reason to be angry with us," Cailin said, and then she repeated the conversation she had had with the royal couple.

Suddenly there was a flourish of trumpets, and Casia said excitedly, "Ohh, the games are about to begin! I was visiting with my friend Mara at Villa Maxima yesterday, and I saw the gladiators there. Justin Gabras has taken it over for the entire term of their stay. The public is not allowed. He said he wanted his gladiators to have the very best while they were in Constantinople. Jovian is in his glory with all those beautiful young men about, and Phocas, I am told, is actually smiling, so great a price did Gabras pay him. Wait until you see the champion they call the Saxon! I have never before seen such a beautiful man. Castor, Pollux, and Apollo pale in comparison. Ohhhh!" she squealed. "Here they come now!"

The gladiators marched in procession into the Hippodrome, parading around it until they reached the imperial box, where they stopped. Weapons raised high, they saluted the emperor and their generous patron with a single voice. "Those about to die salute you!"

"There is the Saxon," Casia said, pointing to the tallest man in the group. "Isn't he magnificent?"

"How can you possibly tell?" Cailin teased her friend. "That helmet with its visor virtually renders him invisible."

"True," Casia agreed, "but you will have to take my word for it. He's got golden hair, and blue, blue eyes."

"Many Saxons do," Cailin replied.

Aspar leaned over and said, "The first matches will be fought with blunt weapons, my love. There will be no blood shed for now, and it will give you an idea of the skills involved."

"I think I will prefer it to what must come later," Cailin told him. "Must all these men fight until only one of them survives?"

"No," he told her. "Six specific matches will be fought to the death. That is the number that Gabras purchased from this particular troupe of gladiators. Two death matches will be fought today, two tomorrow, and two on the last day of the games. The Saxon, who is the unbeaten champion, will fight today and on the last day. His main rival is a man called the Hun, who must fight all three days. If he survives the first two days, they will probably pair him with the Saxon on the last day. That should be quite a match."

"I think it horrendous that someone must die," Cailin said. "They are young men. Why, it goes against the very teachings of the church to allow such barbarity, yet there sits the patriarch and all his priests in their box on the other side of the emperor, enjoying this."

Aspar put a gentle hand on hers. "Hush, my love, lest you be overheard," he warned her. "Death is a part of life."

The battle had begun below them. Young men with small shields and blunt weapons fought one another en masse. The crowds loved it, but eventually they began to tire of the mock engagement.

"Bring on the Saxon! Bring on the Hun!" they screamed..

The trumpets sounded a recall, and the fighters ran from the arena. The groundskeepers came forth and raked the ground smooth. Then silence descended upon the Hippodrome for what seemed several long minutes. Suddenly the Gladiators Gate in the wall opened and two men stepped forth. The crowds began to scream with their excitement.

"It is the Hun," Aspar said. "He will fight with a Thracian."

"He has no armor," Cailin said.

"He needs none but the leather shoulder pads he wears, my love. He is a net man. Other than his net, he has but a dagger and a spear to fight with, but I think net men the most dangerous of gladiators."

The Thracian, who was helmeted and wore greaves on both legs, carried a small shield and a curved sword. It seemed to Cailin a very unfair match, until the two men began to fight. The Hun tossed his net almost immediately, but the Thracian sidestepped it, and leaping behind his opponent, slashed at him. The wily Hun, obviously anticipating the ploy, moved quickly and was but scratched by the tip of the Thracian's blade. The men fought back and forth for some minutes while the crowds screamed their encouragement to their favorites. Finally, when Cailin had begun to think these combats were vastly overrated for ferocity, the Hun leapt in the air and, with a deft flick of his wrist, swirled his net out gracefully. The Thracian, unable to escape, was enfolded in the web. Desperately, he thrashed at it with his sword, the crowd shrieking with their rising blood lust. The Hun jammed his spear into the ground, drew his dagger out and flung himself down upon the struggling man. It happened so quickly that Cailin wasn't even certain she had seen it, but the sandy floor of the arena was swiftly stained with blood as the Hun cut his opponent's throat and then stood victorious, acknowledging the cheers of the howling mob.

He was a man of medium height, powerfully built, and bald but for a horsetail of dark hair sprouting from his skull and tightly wrapped with a leather thong. He strode around the ring, accepting what he obviously considered his rightful due. While he did so, the groundskeepers ran forth, two of them dragging the lifeless body of the Thracian from the arena, out through the Death Gate; the other two sprinkling fresh sand atop the blood and raking it vigorously.

Cailin was stunned. "It was so quick," she murmured. One moment the Thracian had been valiantly defending himself, and in the next instant he was dead. He had not even cried out.

"Gladiators are not usually cruel to one another," Aspar said gently to her. "They are generally friends or acquaintances, for they live together, eat, sleep, and whore together. Death matches are rare today, and Justin Gabras must have paid well for them. Or perhaps these gladiators are just desperate men who do not care. Some are like that."

"I want to go home," Cailin said quietly.

"You cannot go now!" Casia cried. "The last match of the day is about to begin, and it is the champion himself. The Hun is an amateur compared to the Saxon. If it becomes too bloody, you need not look, and we will just gossip, but you must see him without his helmet. He is a god, I tell you!" Casia enthused.

Aspar laughed, and turning to Basilicus, said, "I think I should be worried about Casia, my old friend, if I were you. She is obviously quite taken, nay, fascinated I think a better word, by this gladiator."

"He is beautiful to look at," Casia replied before the prince might say anything, "but I have usually found that beautiful faces and bodies are all men like the Saxon can offer. There is nothing else, neither wit, nor culture. After one has enjoyed a good romp in Cupid's grove, it is nice to lie back and chatter, is it not, my lord?"

Basilicus nodded silently, but his eyes were twinkling.

"Ohh, look!" Casia said. "Here are the combatants. I should hate to be the poor fellow fighting with the Saxon. He must know he has no chance."

"How sad for him," Cailin answered her friend. "How terrible to know that he is facing his death on this beautiful bright day."

Casia looked discomfited, but then she said brightly, "Well, there is always the chance that he just might get lucky and beat the champion. Wouldn't that be exciting? At any rate, they will put on a good show for us, you may be certain."

The Saxon and his opponent were both armed in the Samnite fashion. Each man wore a helmet with a visor. Each had a thick sleeve on the right arm and a greave on the left leg only. The men's waists were encircled with a belt. They carried long shields and short swords. Their combat would be a very close encounter. Saluting the emperor and their patron, they immediately began to fight. In spite of herself, Cailin was fascinated, for this match seemed more even than the previous one.

Metal clanged upon metal as the two men thrust and parried with their weapons. Cailin soon realized that the battle was not so evenly matched after all. The Saxon's antagonist was not his equal in skill. The champion jumped and twirled in a series of maneuvers deliberately executed to please the crowd. Twice the other man left himself open to attack, but the Saxon feinted to distract attention. Finally the crowd began to catch on, and they screamed with outrage.

"There's few his match," Basilicus noted. "He's but tried to give them a good show, but they want blood. Well, they'll get it now, I think. The Saxon should have been saved for the final day instead of having him fight two days. Gabras obviously wanted his money's worth."

The combat took a different turn now, with the Saxon attacking his opponent vigorously while the other man fought desperately to save his life. The champion, however, refused to draw it out any further. Relentlessly he drove the other Samnite across the ring, his opponent getting few blows in and striving to protect himself with his shield. The Saxon rained blow after blow upon it, until finally the man fell back, exhausted, his defense falling from his hand. The Saxon swiftly and mercifully pierced the other gladiator's heart with his sword. Then he walked across the ring to the cheers of the spectators and saluted the emperor with the bloodied weapon.

"Remove your helmet, Saxon," Justin Gabras said loftily, "that the emperor may see your face when he congratulates you on your victory."

The Saxon removed his helmet and said, "There is no victory against a weaker man, lord. In two days' time, however, I will fight the Hun. I will bring you his head upon a silver salver, and then I will accept your congratulations for a battle well fought."

"You do not fear death?" the emperor said quietly.

"No, majesty," the Saxon replied. "I have already lost everything I ever held dear. What is death but an escape? Yet the gods have willed it that I must live for now."

"You are not a Christian, Saxon?"

"Nay, majesty. I worship Woden and Thor. They are my gods," came the reply, "but the gods, I think, do not concern themselves with little men like myself, else I should have had my heart's desire."

Cailin stared at the Saxon as if mesmerized. She could not hear what was being said, but she knew he was speaking, for his lips were moving. It could not be. He looked like Wulf, but it simply could not be. Wulf was in Britain, on their lands, with a new wife and child. This man could not be Wulf Ironfist, and yet… She needed to hear his voice, to see him up close.

"I told you he was a glorious creature," Casia purred in smug tones. "Even covered in sweat and dirt he is beautiful, is he not, Cailin? Cailin? Cailin!” She tugged at her friend's sleeve.

"What? What is it, Casia? What did you say? I was not listening, I fear. You must forgive me. I was momentarily distracted."

Casia giggled. "I can certainly see you were, and by what."

Cailin smiled. "Yes, he is a beautiful fellow," she replied, regaining control of herself, "but despite it all, I do not like these gladiatorial combats."

"My lord Aspar?" A guardsman had entered the box. "The emperor would speak with you a moment."

Aspar hurried from the box. When he returned several minutes later, he said to Cailin, "There are emissaries here from Adrianople. It seems the peace there grows more fragile with each hour, and fighting is threatening to break out again between the religious factions. I am going to try and mediate this here in the palace with Leo tonight. Do you mind going home alone, my love?"

Cailin shook her head. Actually she was relieved. She needed time to think. The resemblance between the Saxon and Wulf was amazing, though his hair was lighter than Wulf's corn-colored locks had been. "Keep the litter," she told Aspar. "Whatever time you come home, you will need transportation. I will go with Casia to her house, and then her litter will bring me to Villa Mare."