After Victor's antics, it was hard for me to focus on the actual match. The wind picked up by the time Laurentius' quad stepped into the arena, with winter's bite in it. Even though I sent Victor backstage in my cloak, I never felt the chill. I only needed to think of him—and he intruded into my thoughts constantly—for the warmth to pulse through me.

If I was agitated, imagine how hard it was for Laurentius' quad to pull it together, Senators! However, they performed better than I had expected. Perhaps, being bested by a man they had dismissed as a clown disciplined them better than anything else. Whatever the case, they held it together. Didius swapped his net for the second sword. While he didn't match Junius in grace, the attack was there.

"Good job standing your ground," I told him when the quad stepped into the exit tunnel after the match. The foursome responded with identical stupid grins. "Saw you flinching, Didius, but you didn't run."

Didius' voice shook with excitement to echo his pounding heart. "Two swords in the face... not honeyed figs! Lanista, that was... that was..."

"I know." I did. The longer one turned tricks with the net, the deeper the instinct to sting like a bee, flee like a rabbit rooted. I saw it time and again in the former tricksters. Broke this habit time and again too, starting with myself. "You did good."

Didius' grin widened so much, it split his face in two. It was possibly the stupidest and the most infectious grin I'd ever witnessed. If I looked at him for a moment longer, I might start grinning like a fool too. So I swiveled my gaze to Junius. My best student hung a little behind, schooling his face to be emotionless and failing miserably at it. A special gleam danced in his eyes. I met his gaze, and that was all it took. His lips stretched in a smile and his after-victory shakes jumped to me like fleas.

I dry-washed my hands to reign the shivers in. "Does anyone need a medic?"

"Laurentius," Junius tattled.

Back to walking on the sand rather than on clouds. I scanned all of them for damage. Quintus limped noticeably, but Junius was on the money. A trickle of red snaking down Laurentius' thigh was the worst injury.

"Fulvia!" I called.

The shriveled crone crawled out of her hole-in-the-wall surgery right off the exit. "Who died?"

"Only our opponents." I lied, but my boys could have gotten a kill in, if the crowd pointed their thumbs down. It was only pre-season, so they didn't and everyone lived to fight another day. "Laurentius needs stitching up."

The big guy heaved a sigh. "It's a scratch, lanista."

"Then it won't take long, right?"

"If it's just a scratch—" Rufius Fulgentius waddled into the tunnel to join us. His eyes gleamed more than their usual oily sheen. My boss experienced victory jitters of his own when he jingled the winners' purse. Knowing what he was going to say, I held it out of his reach. He shut up mid-whine, tracking the prize with his peepers.

"Laurentius quad drew the first blood." I shook the pouch to make the silver coins play their seductive tune. I sang it. "Surely, someone of your wealth, generosity and elevated spirit could spare a few sesterces for surgery? Not to mention keeping them in fighting shape makes money and we don't have a shield-wall better than Laurentius..." until I outwit Victor.

I gave the purse a bigger shake. "Am I right or am I right, noble Rufius Fulgentius?"

While this noble man mouth-breathed, Quintus edged past me. I grabbed him by the back of his tunic. "Since Laurentius doesn't need the full works, fix his ankle too, Fulvia."

"Hmm. A sprain on a youth... my old back would hurt worse from binding it than it hurts him." She chewed her lips. Most of her teeth were gone, but her gums had hardened into a likeness of a tortoise shell. I had seen her snap pig tendons with those gums while she stitched. Scary.

"Old? You? Your back is supple like a kitten's!" I tossed her two sesterces.

With the nimbleness of limb I had alluded to, the crone snatched the coins out of the air. "Fine, fine," she cackled, "I'll do busy work, but only 'cause you're so pretty."

"Thank you, my kitten." I thrust the purse into Rufius Fulgentius' eager hands. "There you go."

A curtain hiding the entrance to Fulvia's layer was stitched from hides of wild beasts so ancient, its edge split into fringe. She pushed it to one side of the ash pole. This inviting gesture unleashed the smell of herbs and soiled bandages, making Quintus wriggle his nose in dismay. He forgot to complain about the stench though. His widening eyes took in the sights, his jaw hung open and trembled. Sure, he took plenty of beatings in his childhood, but rarely saw the medic. The latter could be scarier to someone unaccustomed.

The table dominating the surgery room had spider-webbing cracks throughout its top, but clean. Many bodies wreathed on it over the years, polishing the wood till it shone and blood washed off nicely.

Metal-bound chests of all sizes stood flash with the wall; hooks stuck from every inch of free spaces. Fulvia needed every one of them to hang her saws, scissors and pincers.

Right by the entrance, a bucket of wooden sticks covered with bite-marks, advertised her services better than anything else. No delusions, eh?

I fished one out and waved it at Quintus. "This one was mine for seven years. Black cedar. Finger-licking good!"

Fulvia shot me a dirty look. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart," she told Quintus. "Come in, come in and sit over there, while I fix who actually needs fixing."

Quintus squeezed around the table, trying to conceal his limp, and lowered his butt on a chest in the farthest corner.

"Don't fret!" the crone ordered, squinting into the dark. "And for Hecate's sake, don't touch anything!"

He paled, as if a thought of anything in here touching him made him queasy.

"It's not going to hurt," Fulvia crooned. Her toothless grin promised otherwise.

"Lanista?" Quintus crouched into a little ball. I understood his reluctance to lean back against the wall with all that finery. A man older than him would have hugged his knees. His fingers drummed the heavy lid he was sitting on. "Maximus? Could you ah... maybe come in and sit with me?"

Laurentius climbed onto the table. "Stop being such a baby."

"Yakes! I just touched... I don't know what it was." Quintus folded his hands in his lap like a virgin. Fear flickered in his widened eyes. "Maximus?"

Pity twinged in my heart, but it would be a tight squeeze. "Sorry, no. Fulvia needs the space to work."

She croaked her agreement. "Where is that thigh?"

As much as Laurentius scoffed at Quintus' nervousness, he also winced before pushing the armored strips of his breastplate's skirt out of the way.

Fulvia grabbed an oil lamp from some cranny, lit the wick and leaned over to look at Laurentius' columnar thigh. The cut was deep, with a jagged edge, and didn't stop oozing red.

Fulvia looked.

And looked.

Then she craned her old neck to one side to look some more.

"Tsk!" she said and Quintus jumped on his chest. "Wh-what?"

"Stop it," Laurentius barked.

Quintus hiccupped. "M-maximus... Lanista?"

"How did it go?" Victor's voice said behind me at the same time.

The rookie must have left the holding pen where he was ordered to wait. I half-turned and frowned at him. His gaze passed between Quintus and me. The expression that flickered across his face set my teeth on edge. He had no business observing us, let alone drawing conclusions.

"I told you to stay in the back," I snapped.

He glanced above my head. "So it went well."

Stupid tall barbarian. Involuntarily, I twisted my head to see what was going on in the surgery.

Fulvia finally had her fill of studying Laurentius' lower body. She was palpitating the slash on Laurentius' thigh with knobby fingers.

"Seemed like it ended before entering the groin," she announced her conclusion. "Missed the important things, eh big boy?"

Laurentius barked out a laugh.

"Blood vessels and tendons, I mean, not your tiny prick."

"Tat! Were you a woman, not a carcass picked over by vultures, I'd introduce you."

"In your dreams, barbarian," Fulvia grunted and bit off a length of gut suture.

Victor didn't leave even when Fulvia pulled her disgusting thread through the eye of a needle and started sewing. She was whispering non-stop, but I could only make out one word, Hecate. As if the Goddess of Midnight heard her, blood stopped seeping down Laurentius' leg. He would be fine, despite looking like he was ready to keel over.

I jerked the curtain shut on this intimate scene, nearly dislodging its metal rod and wheeled on Victor. "Why did you disobey me and come here? Want to be cursed?"

"I..." Victor stopped and shrugged. He was unused to taking orders. So I took him by the elbow and led him back to the prep room where Rufius Fulgentius was counting our winnings.

"I need the rookie for an errand," I told him, like I also brooked no objections. "We'll return to the barracks before the curfew."

Rufius Fulgentius was so absorbed, he barely nodded his permission.

Fortunately, while I was overseeing the fight, Victor had dressed in a tunic, sandals and breeches. He had a short cloak of his own, while mine lay on a bench, folded neatly, with the fibula nestled in the fabric. He rushed to bring it to me like a peace offering. "There. And thank you."

Despite the obvious care he took with the garment, I flapped it in front of me a few times. Not a grain of sand dropped out of its folds. I shook it out once more, before whipping it over my shoulders. If Victor had obeyed and had waited for me here, I would have commended him for cleanliness. Since he didn't, I draped the cloak like it was a toga, pinned it with the silver-and-jet fibula and pointed at the side-passage down the tunnel. "You won the bet. Let's go get your reward."

This time, Victor didn't talk back. Perhaps, I'd petition the Senate to erect a Triumphant Arch to celebrate the occasion.

Once outside, I set a brisk pace, wanting to be done with the stupid bet and my stupid life-story. However, the streets surrounding the Coliseum and the public buildings lining them were new to Victor. He craned his neck to gawk at the gray facades decorated with columns and bas-reliefs, statues of Jupiter and Mithras with bulls; plenty of stone eagles; fountains beset by tritons and naiads; lovingly carved penises pointing towards the best brothels.

We used to paint the local marble, but the pigments, even if they started as yellows, browns and reds, had the tendency to fade to purple and teal. The Fidelis heroes ended up looking like the barbarians, unless layers and layers of pricey color was lavished on them every summer. For the rains of fall, winter and spring to laugh at the efforts of men.

The tradition gave way to practicality some time in the second generation. At first mocked as bones of civilization, as years passed and the weathering revealed the stone's natural color, the pale structures gained a stamp of elegance. They seemed eternal whenever they caught the sun, as opposed to graffiti to be rubbed off or covered over by the latest pearls of wit.

Thinking that Victor hadn't seen a house taller than a mud-hut in the middle of the woods, I slowed my steps. Let him take in the grandeur without tripping over his feet. Maybe it would wipe out the sour twist off his lips.

However, his first question didn't concern architecture. He stopped short and asked, "Where are we going?"

I felt like a matron with a spoiled first-born. "The public baths. It's not far now."

"Baths? Want to wash a dirty barbarian? Would Fidelis even let a barbarian in?"

"Yes. It's a public bath."

"In case a Fidelis needs a slave to apply scented oil to his pampered ass?"

A cuss hung on the tip of my tongue before an unexpected pang of pity cut it off. As large as Victor was, in the wide-opened Forum and the central avenues of Fidelium, he looked no bigger than a ruffled rooster. His glance didn't stay on me after the jibe either, but traveled past. Swiveled around wildly, barely lingering on the statues or graffiti or anything else. Lost. Victor felt lost in my city.

I called upon the God of Patience, whatever his name was. "Baths are a place where a private conversation remains private, unlike the barracks or tenements. The story you won in a bet from me is only for you to hear. Also, if you are worried about anointing my ass, they have trained slaves to do that."

He chewed his lip. "Slaves. Always with the slaves!"

His barb wasn't worth acknowledging, since he started walking again. He gawked. I pushed him out of the way of the mounted vigils and mule-drawn carts. It was nice.

Without bickering, we soon came upon the best public baths in Fidelium. Even when I lost, I preferred to do it with style.

"Here we are," I said, pointing at the colonnade, and my heart sped up.