Chapter 1

The hot Mediterranean sun beat down through the silken canopy erected to shield the praetor's family in their enjoyment of the gladiatorial games held to celebrate the emperor Hadrian's safe return from his travels, the pacification of the Roman British rebels, the construction of the great wall against the barbaric Caledonians, and the completion of the rebuilding of the Pantheon. The empire was at peace, the coffers bursting with trade, and patricians and plebeians alike had been promised a spectacle they would never forget. The amphitheatre was filled brimful with people, and Emma could just pick out her father's head from where David Aurelius sat with the other senators and consuls. As the praetor urbanus in the imperial administration, he was rarely allowed to leave Rome, a state of affairs that Emma found very dull. David, a more permissive husband than most, maintained an allowance for his wife, daughter, and widowed stepmother-in-law to visit his villa on the coast, but that was the extent of their travels. Maria, Emma, and Regina were generally left to concoct their own amusements, remaining discreetly out of sight as was proper for the womenfolk of such a great man, and the games were their first proper outing in months.

Emma adjusted her stola, watching intently as the combatants entered the ring to the roar of the crowd. The first round, they had been promised, was a dual feature: a pair of savage British fighters, taken home in chains from the rebellion, against a pair of lethally trained Roman gladiators. The crowd had their favorites, and cheered the gladiators lustily, but Emma was watching the two rebels. One was lean and dark as a Celt, the other tall and blonde. They had been supplied shortswords, shields and armor, and they handled them as if they knew quite well what to do with them. Around her, the spectators were taking wagers, reckoning that the barbarians wouldn't last long against proper soldiers. Who, indeed, could stand against Rome?

"One denarius," Emma said, ignoring the censorious look from her mother. It was not considered seemly for a woman to wager, but she had the money. She dug the gold coin from her purse and held it out. "On the rebels."

This was met with further surprised looks: a praetor's daughter openly backing the opposition? She was just wondering if she'd gone too far when Regina smiled sleekly. "I'll better that wager," she said. "Two on the rebels."

Emma met her step-grandmother's eyes in some surprise, but Regina shrugged, as opaque as ever, and pulled her scarf up over her dark hair. She always seemed to have an ulterior motive; one of the most beautiful and infamous women in Rome, she was rumored to have had affairs with powerful men of every stripe, and commanded a network of clients as influential as any patron's. Emma doubted that every scandalous story about her was true, but as gossip was the empire's third-most-important fixation after taxes and war, there were certainly plenty to pass the time. Living with her was like living with a coiled venomous serpent, always potentially prepared to strike. Emma never felt comfortable turning her back for long.

Before she could ask what Regina had meant by backing her, the bell sounded. The combatants took their positions, and after an invocation to the gods and the emperor, the match began.

No matter how hard she tried, Emma couldn't take her eyes off the dark-haired rebel. He fought like a man possessed, clearly knowing that the victor's laurel or death were the only possible outcomes in the arena. Roman society accepted citizens from every far-flung corner of its domains, but this man would only ever be a slave, his only hope of winning his freedom lying in prowess and glory. Where had he come from, in Britain? How had he found himself here before a baying crowd, fighting to the death to laud their victory?

Emma shifted uncomfortably, glancing over at Regina. To her surprise, she found the older woman was also watching one of the rebels just as intently — the tall, blonde one. They shared an unspoken look, as if promising not to mention it, as the combat grew ever more intense and bloody. The rebels were clearly looking out for each other, guarding each other's backs, and their display of skill had the public sentiment slowly but surely shifting to their side. When the dark-haired man was the first to take down his foe, the commons roared. Emma wondered what the senators thought of that, if they were wondering if it had been a bad idea after all to allow the British rebels any sign of competence or victory in this spectacle. Surely they would order the lions released, the terms of the game changed back.

If that was what they meant, it was too late. The blonde-haired man and his foe were still locked in combat — but a moment later a vicious slash took the gladiator's arm off at the elbow, and a second dropped him like a stone. Bloodstained and sweating, teeth bared, the rebels stood back to back in the crimson-soaked sand, swords upthrust, as the colosseum thundered its approbation and Emma and Regina held out their hands to collect their denarii. Even as she tucked her winnings away, however, Emma knew this couldn't last long. They couldn't get away with it. It was blood the masses came to see, and defeat. Not like this.

The dark-haired gladiator stood very straight.

She thought his eyes were blue.

"Father," Emma said, when the games were done for the day and their slaves were leading them out to the chariot. "Who were those two men? The rebels?"

"What?" David appeared somewhat distressed by this choice of conversational topic. "Oh… prisoners from Britannia. They fought well, I suppose."

"Very well," Regina put in sleekly. She enjoyed tormenting her son-in-law and stepdaughter for their proper adherence to custom and protocol more than apparently anything. "What do you know about them?"

David frowned. "Why?"

"We're only curious," Emma said blandly. "They were brave men."

"One's a Hibernian. The dark one, Killian, I think they called him. The other some Saxon. Robin. They'll be well feted tonight, I suppose." David frowned. "Doubtless not the outcome the emperor had in mind."

"I want to buy their freedom."

David Aurelius stared at his daughter. "Whatever for? They're slaves, Emma. Rebels. There's nothing they can do but fight, and eventually die. It's not fair, perhaps, but such is the way of the world. What would you do with them, take them into the household guard? They can't be trusted. And after today…" He paused. "One of them must die at the other's hand in the games tomorrow. The point is that Britannia has been subdued, not been made victorious."

"Somebody erred rather grievously, then," Regina said maliciously. "They should have chosen two men with less to fight for."

David looked baffled at the idea that barbarians could have anything they possibly valued enough to believe in and defend. But as Emma and Regina had inexplicably teamed up against him as effectively as the rebels had in the arena, and he was not used to telling his daughter no, he sighed and turned to the servant at his side. "Go and find if the two British slaves are for sale. Hurry. And don't let yourself be seen."

The man bowed and hurried away, returning shortly with the news that regretfully, the slaves were not. Emperor Hadrian had his heart quite set on their combat tomorrow. While not a bloodthirsty or warlike man, instead rather of a peaceful and prosperous mind, Hadrian nonetheless keenly appreciated the power of spectacle. Letting the British rebels win, after the trouble and expense he had gone to to quash the uprising and build the great wall in the north, was not the sort of image he wished to promote at his triumphant homecoming.

"Not even for the praetor urbanus?" David persisted. "Not even if it was his personal wish?"

Once again, the servant expressed his regret. It was royal decree.

David looked unhappy. He was likewise not the sort of man to enjoy butchery or bloodshed, and his keen sense of fair play was likewise something of an anomaly in the imperial administration and the forum, among bureaucrats and generals and imperators all cutting throats and scrambling to consolidate their own power and position. He suggested that Hadrian could avoid further embarrassment simply by making the slaves disappear, rather than parade them out and giving them further opportunity to win public sympathy. The end result of all his bargaining was that he, Emma, Regina, and a few guards and slaves were shown down into the dim stone catacombs beneath the colosseum, to where the rebels were being kept in preparation for their final fight.

Killian and Robin stood up as the praetor and his family entered. They were both still clad in their bronze armor, having apparently refused a wash and a festival banquet; they would not give their captors any further amusement, like dancing bears or talking parrots. Neither of the men spoke much Latin, but they made themselves quite clear. They would take no Roman sympathy, had no interest in Roman charity. They would refuse to fight each other tomorrow, and they knew they would die for it. After being stolen from Britannia, losing their wives (Killian's named Milah, Robin's named Marian) and their homes and their hope, they still had their honor. They would make an end as pleased them.

"What if I told them that they did not have to?" David asked the slave serving as interpreter. "That I was willing to purchase their freedom?"

Killian and Robin glanced at each other, clearly suspecting a trick. Why would the praetor do such a thing? Mercy? It was scarcely renowned as a Roman virtue. But it was given to them to understand that the praetor's daughter and mother-in-law had taken a particular interest in them, had wagered on them to win their combat, and were quite insistent that they be freed. For the women, if they could accept it.

Killian regarded Emma coolly. She had never seen a man of such striking looks, or such utter darkness and hatred in his blue eyes. Likewise, Robin stared back at Regina without flinching, sparks clearly flying in the hot air. The desire not to be freed as the result of a woman's pity was warring with the desire to survive, and both of them must possess that in spades, if they'd made it so far. Yet their bond was strong enough that rather than killing one and letting the other go, they'd made a pact to die together. Any Roman legion could respect and understand such loyalty, perhaps not even hope to match it.

Very well. The rebels agreed. They would accept the praetor buying their freedom from the arena, as soon as a message was sent to the emperor to receive his approval. David was a particular favorite of Hadrian's; if anyone could hope to dissuade him from his chosen path, it was he. It took some time for the slave to return, but his tidings were good when he did. Hadrian had reluctantly given permission for David Aurelius to purchase both slaves, on condition that neither of them were spotted in public life again. If they caused any further trouble, they would be executed without trial or ceremony.

Emma, watching the two men, wondered uneasily just how well they would take to that prohibition. As they were handed over to the household slaves, she could still sense a stiffness in them, a refusal to look down at their captors. But it was done. They'd not fight.

As they were returning to the chariot, to drive to their villa on the seventh hill, Killian's eyes met hers again. He smiled. He clearly had gone far past the place where he cared about such things as propriety and whether or not he should address a praetor's daughter directly, and Emma was oddly and dangerously intrigued by his effrontery. And as he stepped past her, he whispered in her ear, in broken Latin, "Ave, beautiful. I hope you're ready to play."