Most of the Senate would travel to the games in carriages, pulled or carried by slaves and horses. Gaius's father scorned this and chose to walk through the crowds. That said, the imposing figure of Tubruk beside him, fully armed as he was, kept the plebeians from shoving too rudely.

The mud of the narrow streets had been churned into a stinking broth by the huge throng, and after only a short time their legs were spattered almost to the knees by filth, their sandals covered. Every shop heaved with people as they passed, and there was always a crowd ahead and a mob behind pushing them on. Occasionally, Gaius's father would take side streets when the roads were blocked completely by shopkeepers' carts carrying their wares around the city. These were packed with the poor, and beggars sat in doorways, blind and maimed, with their hands outstretched. The brick buildings loomed over them, five and six stories high, and once, Tubruk put a hand out to hold Marcus back as a bucket of slops was poured out of an open window into the street below.

Gaius's father looked grim, but walked on without stopping, his sense of direction bringing them through the dark maze back onto the main streets to the circus. The noise of the city intensified as they grew close, with the shouted cries of hot-food sellers competing with the hammering of coppersmiths and bawling, screaming children who hung, snot-nosed, on their mothers' hips.

On every street corner, jugglers and conjurors, clowns and snake charmers performed for thrown coins.

That day, the pickings were slim, despite the huge crowds. Why waste your money on things you can see every day when the amphitheater was open?

"Stay close to us," Tubruk said, bringing the boys' attention back from the colors, smells, and noise. He laughed at their wide-mouthed expressions. "I remember the first time I saw a circus-the Vespia, where I was to fight my first battle, untrained and slow, just a slave with a sword."

"You won, though," Julius replied, smiling as they walked.

"My stomach was playing me up, so I was in a terrible mood."

Both men laughed.

"I'd hate to face a lion," Tubruk continued. "I've seen a couple on the loose in Africa. They move like horses at the charge when they want to, but with fangs and claws like iron nails."

"They have a hundred of the beasts and two shows a day for five days, so we should see ten of them against a selection of fighters. I am looking forward to seeing these black spearmen in action. It will be interesting to see if they can match our javelin throwers for accuracy," Julius said.

They walked under the entrance arch and paused at a series of wooden tubs filled with water. For a small coin, they had the mud and smell scrubbed from their legs and sandals. It was good to be clean again. With the help of an attendant, they found the seats reserved for them by one of the estate slaves, who'd traveled in the previous evening to await their arrival. Once they were seated, the slave stood to walk the miles back to the estate. Tubruk passed him another coin to buy food for the journey, and the man smiled cheerfully, pleased to be away from the back-breaking labor of the fields for once.

All around them sat the members of the patrician families and their slaves. Although there were only three hundred representatives in the Senate, there must have been close to a thousand others in that section. Rome's lawmakers had taken the day off for the first battles of the five-day run. The sand was raked smooth in the vast pit; the wooden stands filled with thirty thousand of the classes of Rome. The morning heat built and built into a wall of discomfort, largely ignored by the people.

"Where are the fighters, Father?" Gaius asked, searching for signs of lions or cages.

"They are in that barn building over there. You see where the gates are? There."

He opened a folded program, purchased from a slave as they went in.

"The organizer of the games will welcome us and probably thank Cornelius Sulla. We will all cheer for Sulla's cleverness in making such a spectacle possible. Then there are four gladiatorial combats, to first blood only. One will follow that is to the death. Renius will give a demonstration of some sort and then the lions will roam 'the landscapes of their Africa,' whatever that means. Should be an impressive show."

"Have you ever seen a lion?"

"Once, in the zoo. I have never fought one, though. Tubruk says they are fearsome in battle."

The amphitheater fell quiet as the gates opened and a man walked out dressed in a toga so white it almost glowed.

"He looks like a god," Marcus whispered.

Tubruk leaned over to the boy. "Don't forget they bleach the cloth with human urine. There's a lesson in there somewhere."

Marcus looked at Tubruk in surprise for a moment, wondering if a joke had been made of some kind. Then he forgot about it as he tried to hear the voice of the man who had strode to the center of the sand. He had a trained voice, and the bowl of the amphitheater acted as a perfect reflector. Nonetheless, part of his announcement was lost as people shuffled or whispered to their friends and were shushed.

"…welcome that is due… African beasts… Cornelius Sulla!"

The last was said in crescendo and the audience cheered dutifully, more enthusiastically than Julius or Tubruk had been expecting. Gaius heard the words of the old gladiator as he leaned in close to his father.

"He may be a man to watch, this one."

"Or to watch out for," his father replied with a meaningful look.

Gaius strained to see the man who rose from his seat and bowed. He too wore a simple toga, with an embroidered hem of gold. He was sitting close enough for Gaius to see this really was a man who looked like a god. He had a strong, handsome face and golden skin. He waved and sat down, smiling at the pleasure of the crowds.

Everyone settled back for the main excitement, conversations springing up all around. Politics and finance were discussed. Cases being argued in law were raked and chewed over by the patricians. They were still the ultimate power in Rome and therefore the world. True, the people's tribunes, with their right to veto agreements, had taken some of the edge off their authority, but they still had the power of life and death over most of the citizens of Rome.

The first pair of fighters entered wearing tunics of blue and black. Neither was heavily armored, as this was a display of speed and skill rather than savagery. Men did die in these contests, but it was rare. After a salute to the organizer and sponsor of the games, they began to move, short swords held rigid and shields moving in hypnotic rhythms.

"Who will win, Tubruk?" Gaius's father suddenly snapped.

"The smaller, in the blue. His footwork is excellent."

Julius summoned one of the runners for the circus betting groups and gave over a gold aureus coin, receiving a tiny blue plaque in return. Less than a minute later, the smaller man sidestepped an overextended lunge and drew his knife lightly over the other's stomach as he stepped through. Blood spilled as over the lip of a cup, and the audience erupted with cheers and curses. Julius had earned two aurei for the one he'd wagered, and he pocketed the profit cheerfully. For each match that followed, he would ask Tubruk who would win as they began to feint and move. The odds sank after the start, of course, but Tubruk's eye was infallible that day. By the fourth match, all nearby spectators were craning to catch what Tubruk said and then shouting for the betting slaves to take their money.

Tubruk was enjoying himself.

"This next one is to the death. The odds favor the Corinthian fighter, Alexandros. He has never been stopped, but his opponent, from the south of Italy, is also fearful and has never been beaten to first blood. I cannot choose between them at this point."