While Victor and I bathed, clouds crawled down from the Appian Peaks to spit corn snow over Fidelium. The merchants lowered their awnings, children squeezed into corners, and donkeys flipped their ears in annoyance.

I pulled the cloak tighter to save some of the heat I'd soaked up in the bathhouse. The snow was more difficult to ignore, as the kernels pelted my cheeks. I lengthened my strides, hoping to get out of the weather and anxious about the summons.

Victor didn't spare the frowning sky a single glance. Instead, the gaze of his blue eyes wandered from the cobblestones to the back of Quintus' head, then to the cobblestones, then to the back of Quintus' head and so on, as if willing our wing-footed messenger to speak.

If Quintus felt the negative attention, he didn't show it, or he was too out of breath with the efforts required to stay ahead of me.

"What's happening?" Victor asked.

Quintus maintained his hopping gait and remained mum, an unheard-of phenomenon.

I envied Victor his ignorance, because Quintus's tight-lipped rush tipped me off about the identity of the VIP. If I was right, I wasn't looking forward to this meeting. She was incredibly patient for a woman, but she made you pay for it, so I pressed on even harder, crossing half-Fidelium at a trot.

When we piled into Rufius Fulgentius' office, I was panting from both the exertion and nerves. I rarely cast a shadow over my boss' sanctuary, but he kept it neat. The furniture consisted of the same giant writing desk, three-legged brazier, two round stools and one comfortable chair as on my first day. The floor was swept, scrolls stuffed into their honey-comb stands and a metal-bound chest stood discreetly in one corner.

Nothing changed since my visit except for the graffiti on the white-washed wall. These changed with ebbs and flows of arena's luck. Messages, propositions, offers to the gladiators... this wall had seen it all.

This was where I spotted the first-ever drawing of my penis by a hard-core fan and the sum she offered for its services. It had been in the right corner, scribbled in bold strokes of the charcoal sticks Rufius Fulgentius always had on hand for that purpose. If a customer wished to be more discreet, they could use a wax tablet stacked on a tiny side-table for private letters.

I wouldn't call our visitor shy, but she turned her back on the wall with its lurid images. A modest stole covered her piled-up braids. Her cloak was equally modest, if of the finest wool. All gold was removed from her person except for the half-moons in her ears and the natural shine of her hair. Emeralds in the center of each earring set off her eyes.

I was right about her identity. "Ave, Messalina Augusta!"

Kneeling in front of the Empress gave me a moment to collect my scattering thoughts. I had always suspected that she would forgive me and visit, eventually. What surprised me was that she picked today to do so.

As happy as I was about Laurentius' quad's performance, this wasn't the best they had ever done, and the real fighting didn't start until the Sacred Night of the Behemoths.

Why, why did Messalina Augusta choose to show up today, after spurning me for years?

Alas, a guy like me doesn't get to ask Empresses what brings them to his humble abode. His boss' humble abode. So, I waited on my knees for Messalina Augusta to enlighten me. Behind my back, Quintus did the same. I didn't actually have the eyes in the back of my head as some of my students complained, but I could sense motion or the absence of thereof. Victor remained standing.

Despite appearing in disguise, Messalina Augusta didn't tolerate this breach of the etiquette. Her green gaze stopped on Rufius Fulgentius, the obvious culprit where behavior of his slaves was concerned.

He sweated another bucket, putting us one regal frown away from mopping up a puddle. Pallor overtook red in his cheeks. His mouth contorted into a breathless, "Kneel."

After the understanding of the Imperial customs Victor had shown today, I was sure he was dallying on purpose, not because he misinterpreted Rufius Fulgentius' command. Not going to lie, a sigh of relief left my lips when our rookie unhurriedly bent his soft knees. A moment later, an itch started between my shoulder blades: turn around, see Victor on his knees...

I kept my eyes forward, on the Empress.

Once everyone assumed the submissive pose, Messalina Augusta said, "Congratulations, Rufius Fulgentius. You've finally discovered someone of talent."

Four gray-veiled figures occupying each corner of the office, tittered. Even though their height was excessive for women, their voices sounded high-pitched. Yet, any fool could tell them from the ladies-in-waiting. Even in Claudius Caesar's absence, the Empress didn't wish to advertise her visit to a gladiatorial school by parading a full Praetorians' escort. The women in gray were her personal, hand-picked, fiercely loyal bodyguard. Some citizens were more afraid of them than of the red-cloaked Praetorians.

"What you lack," Messalina Augusta continued, "is talent in another department."

There! Our special smile twisted her lips. Years sharpened its edges and polished its facets. The same smile, yes, in the same sense as the cut diamond is the same gem as the diamond-in-the-rough.

Rufius Fulgentius caught the corner of her cloak into his sausage-thick fingers. I hallucinated he would mop his brow with her silk-lined wool, but he smooched the cloth. The weave so fine deserved adulation.

"Augusta is wasting her wisdom on someone insignificant," he rasped.

The Empress shook her head so slightly, her half-moon earrings barely shivered. "This once, I may forgive you for your stupidity."

"Thank you, Messalina Augusta," Rufius Fulgentius wailed. What might have been a genuine tear slipped down his cheek. "My gladiators would slit their own throats to please you!"

"They most definitely would not," Messalina Augusta said with a martyred look of someone sick of flattery. "Besides, your gladiators please me. It's your lanista who is incompetent." She sent another soul-withering smile in my direction.

I rested my hand over my pounding heart. "Would it please you, Augusta, if I slit my throat?"

"No, it wouldn't," she snapped at me, then leaned to Rufius Fulgentius, as if ready to confide her heart's secret to a dear friend. "Maximus isn't very good, is he? I didn't have time for the circuses lately, with Claudius Caesar leaving our state in my weak womanly hands... I am so busy!"

She wasted her theatrical sigh, for Rufius Fulgentius gurgled from terror instead of consoling her. She pinched her lips into a tight line, which was still better than our smile.

"Today I stepped in for a brief diversion, just to find respite from the important affairs, and what do I see? Your lanista uses a fighter of a sublime skill as a jester!"

"Ah..." Rufius Fulgentius cleared his throat.

"I fancy myself somewhat of a connoisseur—"

Rufius Fulgentius scuffled forward on his knees, finally regaining his voice. "We're all ignoramus before you, Messalina Augusta! Say a word—and I would fire Maximus!"

Could I really blame him for tossing me under the chariot?

"I can always return to hoeing my familial plot. I shall endeavor to coax oats and millet from the stoney soil," I mused. "Such a humble, honorable existence!"

"Spare him in his senility," Messalina Augusta, who was barely two years younger than me, said.

Rufius Fulgentius whimpered. If he wasn't so eager to show me the door, I'd pity him. Even I didn't completely understand why Messalina Augusta delighted in messing with my life. She would ignore me for months, even years, then a deux-ex-machina would nudge a piece into place, and I would find myself flat on my face. The interference was too surgical to be fate, and I could only think of the Empress as the force behind it. She could destroy me if she wanted, but she preferred to torment me.

After her husband gave the rudis to me, I thought I'd seen it through. A lanista wasn't nearly as fun to jerk around as a famous gladiator, but now she wanted to get to me through Victor? But, but, but... there was no way for her to perceive the hope for a triumph Victor sparked in my heart, let alone anything else, more personal. She only glanced at me across the arena!

"Your recruit should gather the commoners' accolades for his prowess!" Messalina Augusta exclaimed. "He shouldn't be subjected to jeers!"

Maybe she wanted a new toy? I couldn't be the only one to notice how attractive Victor was. I inhaled, uncertain how to feel about this... she half-smiled at me... and my breath hitched. No, she hadn't released me from her jaws. Some instinct told her of what I wanted, and she was going to take it away from me.

Victor shifted on his knees. It wasn't hard to guess what words he would spout, for the guy rehearsed them plenty and hated changing his lines. Cold sweat bathed my spine when I imagined the effect the 'I-won't-fight-my-brothers' would have on our Empress.

Same thought must have occurred to Rufius Fulgentius, because we spoke up in one voice. "He's not ready yet," I said, while he insinuated the barbarians were simply too stupid to be trained this fast.

Victor sighed again, but mercifully kept his trap shut, but I sensed another small motion from him. Messalina Augusta stared at him, drawn by his heaving chest or something else. What was it? What was Victor doing behind my back, aside from locking gazes with the Empress of Fidus Empire? Nothing good or my name was Brutus!

"If you have this from your lanista, Rufius Fulgentius, then our Maximus has been a better gladiator than he's a mentor. Though if Maximus was the true Champion of Champions, would he have accepted the rod so fast?"

"Luck..." Rufius Fulgentius whispered. "The luck of the draw."

Heat rushed into my face, evaporating every thought of Victor.

"I want to see the jester fight for real," Messaline Augusta said. My sister Rhea would have spanked her toddlers for speaking thusly. From an Empress every word was an order to be disobeyed at one's own peril. I prayed that Victor's knowledge of Fidelis customs was as extensive as it appeared, or he would doom us.

I sucked in as much air as I could through clenched teeth. "Give us one more chance, merciful Messalina Augusta!"

"Why should I?" She sounded genuinely curious.

I thought fast and spoke even faster, slanting my eyes at Victor, willing him to stay silent for just a little longer. I could fix it, so long as he appeared demure. "Commission us for the Sacred Night of the Behemoths. You won't be disappointed."

Victor's brows came together in a frown when he heard the name, 'behemoth'. Judging by his expression, our cultures shared the feelings about these hideous beasts.

"Oh?" the Empress tapped her beautifully etched lips.

The desire to keep my head attached to my neck infused me with inspiration. I was a bountiful fountain of ideas. "Our jester was an expert hunter of his tribe. He'd slain a mountain lion..."

Victor scowled, and I flung huge, frightening eyes at him: lion, tiger, behemoth... anything, just stay silent. "... and a mountain tiger when he was still a boy! You should see his scars!"

He frowned, but opened his vest and lifted his tunic all the way to the dimple on his chin. Mithras be praised! I didn't have time to guess at what was behind his sudden meekness, but I prayed it would last. My life would become so easy...

Messalina Augusta glanced at his abs. No way she'd refuse to invite us to the season's opening after this close-up!

"Prickus Colossus would be the best beast-fighter the Colosseum had ever seen!" This was for Messalina Augusta. For Victor, I reiterated my last point. "He'll fight with the other slaves against the beasts. He would protect them and help his brothers survive, just like our brave ancestors did."

The Empress clapped with girly enthusiasm. "There might be hope for you, Maximus! Let it be done."

I bowed. My tunic glued itself to my straightening spine under the cloak. I'd just out-sweated Rufius Fulgentius! Never say never, eh?

One of the gray-veiled women grabbed a wax tablet from Rufius Fulgentius' stockpile. I hoped it was a clean one, because it was the shyest customers who had the dirtiest imagination. "Commission Rufius Fulgentius' company for the Sacred Night of the Behemoths, Messalina Augusta?" she asked her Empress.

The smallest jerk of Messalina Augusta's chin interrupted any potential requests to reconsider. The woman scribbled. "What's the slave's stage name?"

Messalina Augusta's plucked brows domed up. "Prickus Colossus, I gather. Is that so, Rufius Fulgentius?"

My boss nearly choked on his tongue. "He... he is too new, Messalina Augusta, so he hadn't been named for the arena. This is just... among the boys... Forgive us for this crudity! My men are barbarians."

His terror was without cause, for Messalina Augusta's eyes glowed. "Then I shall name him! I have a perfect name for a perfect gladiator in mind. Let him be named Victor. I'll root for him to win with all my heart at the Sacred Games."

"Victor," the scribe-slash-bodyguard repeated after her Empress, writing the name down.

I hated the name, for she loaded it with expectations, but I prepared to hit Victor in the teeth if he dared as much as whisper in protest. He didn't, contending himself with a lopsided smirk.

Damn me to Tartarus! His agreeable mood was creeping me out, but at least I averted the immediate catastrophe. Our heads rolling off our shoulders, our school banned from Fidelium, and the thousand other unpleasant ways Messalina Augusta could punish us. We could worry about the fresh disasters tomorrow.

Messalina Augusta didn't honor us with her company that much longer. She read the tablet over, heated her signet ring on a lamp lit by Rufius Fulgentius, depressed the wax with it and strode out. Four veiled figures trailed her like shadows.

Once the door closed behind them, I slumped to the floor and closed my eyes. Finally, some peace.

"Maximus," Rufius Fulgentius bleated. "Maximus!"

I sighed and opened my eyes.

His hand clutched his throat, as if fighting his mouth's attempts to gasp for air.

"I want a bonus for securing the best commission we'd ever seen, noble Rufius Fulgentius," I informed him.

If I sounded smug, I had every reason to be. Not only I averted the dangers inherent to denying Empresses their whims, but I also secured the most coveted gladiatorial contract in Fidelium. The opening night of the season!

"Our boys, the beast-fighters for the Sacred Night, noble Rufius Fulgentius! Can you picture that? Arsenius and his motley crew would eat their hearts out!"

"But Victor has to be there. What if he..." Rufius Fulgentius opened his flask with a shaking hand, took a swig from it and winced as if he'd swallowed a cup of vinegar. "What if he screws up?"

"Then we'd be rid of a liability and will be paid handsomely for our troubles. Either way, you win," I said. "Mind you, Victor won't screw up."

I got up from my stiffened knees and offered Victor a hand. "Am I right?"

"I'll only fight the behemoths? Not men?" He sat on his heels, ignoring my gesture. Like I said, his knees were softer than butter.

"Yes, you'll only fight the beasts during the Sacred Games. All the other gladiators will be your allies and brothers."

He scratched his chest, where his vest and tunic covered the old scars. "Then you're right. I won't screw up."

This was music to my ears and the balm to my soul.