Whatever Margo's host and slave thought, the heated bath was extraordinary. She didn't want to leave. Ooh, a person could get used to this ....

She lazed in the heated pool of water half the day, just soaking away aches and bruises and scrubbing every inch of herself clean. Then she ate an equally lazy lunch in the courtyard garden, listening to the tinkling splash of fountains and wishing Malcolm were here. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow she would find that opportunity to escape her host's clutches.

Unfortunately, her host had other ideas.

Margo didn't walk to the Circus.

She was carried there, in a sedan chair supported by long poles. Perched on the shoulders of four sweating slaves, the chair carried Margo well above the heads of the surrounding crowd She felt ridiculous, conspicuous, and foolish. And utterly helpless to climb down and get away. Another sedan chair a few paces behind carried Quintus Flaminius.

Achilles, eyes bright despite the limp which he struggled to hide, followed Margo's chair. Outside the Circus Maximus, thick crowds fought toward the entrances. Dozens of stalls marked the locations of shops selling food, wine, even glass bowls and cups with circus racing scenes molded into them. Commemorative sports glasses, Margo marveled. Who'd have guessed? Other stalls housed "bookies" who took bets on the outcomes of upcoming races and the combats scheduled for afterward. Crowds of men thronged the betting stalls, shouting for their turn to place bets before the games began, collecting their markers, handing over their coins.

She'd read somewhere, in one of those endless books in La-La Land's library, that betting on the games had been illegal in Rome. If that were the case, those charged with enforcing the law apparently didn't mind looking the other way most of the time.

Quintus' slaves set the sedan chairs down near an arched entrance to the great arena. Margo thought seriously about bolting through the crowd, but Quintus took her arm, smiling and chatting, and guided her straight toward the entrance. He paid her admission and collected three red handkerchiefs to cheer on the faction favored by the emperor. At least, she was pretty sure red was the color Claudius favored, since she overheard the words Imperator and Princeps used in connection with the red handkerchiefs. He handed her one handkerchief and handed the other to Achilles, then dismissed his own slaves.

He gave Achilles some copper coins and dispatched him on some errand; the boy returned sooner than Margo had expected with a basket of food and a jar of wine. Then Quintus escorted Margo into the Circus Maximus. She slowed to stare, overawed. Quintus grinned, then led her to seats midway up a wooden section of the stands, in the second tier near the first turning post. Everyone she saw up in the third tier was either collared as a slave or dressed as a foreigner: no togas. She smiled grimly, pleased she'd understood that all on her own. Doubtless the only reason she was seated here, rather than up there, was because she was the guest of a Roman.

The Circus itself was nothing like she'd imagined. The vast course wasn't an oval. One short end-where the starting gates were located-was essentially straight. Two long straight-aways created an oblong ending in a semi-circle. Three levels of seats, some wooden and some stone, rose in tiers. Including the seats, the huge arena was by Margo's estimation just short of a full mile from starting gates to the back of the seating.

Sand over packed earth-except for down near the starting gates where the surface was paved-the track caught the sunlight with an unnatural glitter. She noticed slaves carrying baskets down the track, sprinkling something shiny onto the sand Some kind of glittering mineral, maybe? She'd seen flakes of mica in granite catch the sun like that. Expensive, but pretty.

A long barrier wall perhaps six feet high ran down the center of the track, decorated with tall marble columns which held gleaming female statues some winged, some wingless. Miniature temples held altars to gods Margo couldn't identify. Crossbeams supported stone eggs and dolphins. A gleaming gold statue even she recognized as Cybele ring a lion stood near one end Next to the Magna Mater rested a cluster of marble trees, but they didn't look like Attis' sacred pine. She wondered what they were.

In the center of the barrier wall rose a towering Egyptian obelisk. Now who brought that here? It must have been quite a feat, getting it across the Mediterranean by sailing ship. A golden flame set onto the top caught the morning sunlight like fire. On the long Aventine straightaway rose a magnificent colonnaded temple built right into the stands. Below it rested a platform. Bet that's the judges' box, she decided, spotting a white line chalked in the sand just beneath it.

Visible beyond obelisk and statues, another temple gleamed in the morning sunlight. High above it the Imperial palace rose on the Palatine Hill. Whatever it was, this second temple had been built directly into the lower tiers of seats with a series of columns and a beautiful triangular pediment above a broad stone porch. A number of empty couches awaited occupants. I wonder if that's where Claudius sits.

Down at the starting gates, grey and red marble columns decorated the arches of the starting stalls. There were twelve, barricaded at the moment with double wooden doors. Metal grills blocked the tops. An elaborate viewing box with a stone balustrade took up the center portion of the marble facade. Low, round pedestals supporting tall, squarish pillars topped with stone heads stood between each gate. White chalk marked lanes led from the starting gates to another white line that crossed the whole width of the track at the end of the barrier wall.

Wonder what that's for?

Just below Margo's seat, down on the track itself, stood a small square shrine with columns, resting on circular stone steps. A little tree of some sort grew up from the earth of the track itself beside the shrine. Between the track and the podium wall ran an immense, ten-foot-wide moat filled with water. A high metal grillwork rose from the podium wall in front of the first tier of seats all the way around the elongated horseshoe of the arena.

The turning posts weren't actually part of the central spine, Margo realized. Three tall, tapered stone columns rose from half-moon shaped pedestals. Each tapered column, covered with bronze plaques, ended in an eggshaped tip. They reminded her uncomfortably of a man's...

Huh. Given Roman preoccupation, with sex, l wouldn't be at all surprised.

The stands filled up quickly. Margo was surprised how fast an enormous crowd could enter, the Circus. She tried to estimate the seating capacity, multiplying by the lines scored into the bleachers, and came up with more than a hundred fifty thousand. Surely that was too high? A group of laughing men and women took seats behind her, jabbing her uncomfortably in the back with their knees. Margo had to sit with her own knees tucked almost to her chin to avoid hitting the people in front of her. Well, maybe I didn't guess too high. They were cramming people in like sardines. She hoped the wooden bleachers didn't collapse under the weight.

The stands were almost full when a blare of trumpets signaled activity at the far end. Men on foot appeared, bearing tall standards that glittered brightly in the sunlight. Golden eagles surmounted rectangles marked SPQR. A roar rose from a hundred-fifty thousand throats. The whole stadium surged to its collective feet. Margo stood up, too.

What? Where?

Quintus Flaminius was pointing down the track.

A man had appeared behind the eagle standards, limping awkwardly onto the track from an entrance down near the starting gates. Robed in gleaming white, with broad purple stripes along the edges of a white woolen toga, he was the instant focus of attention. The crowd had gone wild Whoever he was, he moved on unsteady legs. Drunk? Margo wondered. Surely not?