'I will take a ticket, Poppea,' she said before her courage failed her.

Both Claudia and Poppea turned towards her with astonished faces.

'Are you positive about this, Julia?' Claudia asked in quiet voice. 'There are public places and public places.'

'I am more positive about going than anything else I have ever done before.' Julia felt her confidence grow with each word she uttered. 'I want to go tonight and then to the arena tomorrow. I need to go.'

Claudia gave a small clap of her hands.

'Have you been to a feast before, Julia?' Poppea asked. 'It is very dramatic and you should see what some of the women wear.'

'I thought the point was to go to see the gladiators and wish them good fortune,' Julia replied, careful to keep her emotions from showing on her face.

'It is, and for the gladiators to see you.' Poppea giggled. 'But fashions are often started at these feasts. I have had a new emerald-green gap-sleeve gown made for the occasion. I think the hint of flesh is so much more elegant than the plain old-fashioned gowns that covered everything.'

The exhilaration drained out of Julia, leaving her feeling limp and weak. The enormity of what she was about to do washed over her. Having made the promise, she had no idea of what was expected of her, what she should wear. She wanted to look her best, but knew if she wore her usual party clothes—green gown and stola—she'd probably look like a dowdy moth in an array of butterflies. She felt Claudia put an arm around her shoulders and give her a quick squeeze.

'Fear not, Julia,' she whispered in her ear. 'I will make sure you are dressed properly and that Valens will be stunned by your appearance. He will see what he has casually discarded.'

Julia nodded. She had to see him at least one more time, and try to explain.

'Julia may not have been to a feast before, but I have, Poppea. She will not disgrace you. What time shall we meet?'


The banqueting hall of the Aventine baths flickered in the light of a hundred lamps. Valens stood in the doorway, surveying the feast teeming with food and people. From the corners came the just-audible sounds of dice clicking as groups of men huddled over gaming boards.

The central tables groaned with a spread of food fit for the gods: roast wild boar with two baskets containing dates hanging from its tusks, bearded mullet floating in a sauce in such a way that they looked as if they were still alive and rich pastries dripping with rose petals and honey. A pyramid of exotic fruits and berries stood next to a fountain of wine.

Women dressed in brightly coloured gowns drifted about,draping themselves over the nearest male. These were no courtesans, but women with enough money to indulge their appetites. Who knew how many patricians had been sired by gladiators?

One woman caught Valens's gaze and patted the couch beside her, licking her lips in a suggestive manner.

Valens shook his head and passed by. It was not something he needed—meaningless coupling in one of the cubicles thoughtfully provided by his host. There was only one woman who haunted his dreams, and he very much doubted that Julia Antonia would be in a place like this.

He should have said more this afternoon when he saw Julia at the baths, but there had been no time. A thousand words had crowded into his mind, and her friends had been waiting for her. He could hardly drag her away without causing a scene and more scandal.

The one thing he had been conscious of was the huge gaping hole where his heart normally resided. The argument need never have happened. He knew he had been searching for one, trying to find a way out, and the worse part of it was that she was right. He was a coward for not contacting his father. He should have tried. He should not have shut the door on his past.

He wanted his honour back, but he also wanted Julia. Despite everything, it looked like it would be impossible to have both. Honour was a cold bedfellow.

Valens took a glass of wine from a silver tray and tried to concentrate on the scene before him. The buzz was quieter in here where the gladiators of the first hall had gathered than in the other rooms. Unlike the frantic wailing or gorging on food that he had seen in the other rooms where the untried, gladiators and the ones who had only won a single bout feasted, here most behaved with dignity.

The gladiators of the first hall were survivors, and, while they might perish because of an injury, it was doubtful that they would be killed at the crowd's request—their price was too high for the giver of the games to pay to the lanistra. Or at least it was what they told themselves. Valens lifted the cup of honey-sweetened wine to his lips and avoided the outstretched arms of a cloyingly perfumed beauty in lavender.

'Valens, you are here at last,' Tigris said, clapping him on the back. 'Come to partake of the wine, women and song. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we may die.'

'Something like that,' Valens said and tried to keep his mind away from the horrors with which he knew tomorrow would be filled. Time enough for nightmares in the small hours of the morning. He gave a brief laugh and gestured at the gladiators who lounged on the couches. 'I come to watch and make sure you and the others stuff your faces. It will make my job easier tomorrow afternoon.'

'No, seriously, why are you here? You generally avoid these gatherings like the plague. Your views and Maia's are the same—maudlin overblown spectacles that demean the dignity of the gladiator.'

'I've made an exception, at Strabo's insistence. He is our manager after all.' Valens raised his cup to the lanistra, who waved back from where he lounged, surrounded by young men. 'These parties are not the way I want to relax before a bout. But the paying guests will want the top of the bill, according to direct orders from Caesar. Who am I to disobey?'

'You delight in talking riddles.' Tigris poked a finger at Valens's chest. 'You may want to believe that, but I know you are here for another purpose.'

'Believe what you like,' Valens said and put his cup down on the table, disturbed that Tigris had read him that easily.

'Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll leave. I have fulfilled my contract, Strabo has seen me and I can now look forward to the bout tomorrow without worrying about my fee being docked for non-attendance at the feast.'

Valens looked around the hall at the gambling and the women. He counted at least six men who could recognise him from his youth. The only thing that might prevent a confrontation was the story of his death. 'There are too many shades of my misspent youth here.'

'You might have cause to linger.' Tigris leant forward and whispered 'She's here, you know. I saw you searching for her earlier. You can't fool me, old friend, with your talk of counting gladiators and orders from Strabo, I know you too well.'

'Who's here?' Before he finished forming the words, Valens knew who Tigris meant—Julia.

'Julia Antonia, the woman you proclaimed you were finished with. The woman you stood transfixed by this afternoon, or so Maia tells me. I recognised her from Maia's description. Shaking your head in disgust at me will do you no good,' Tigris laughed and then sobered. 'But if you want her, you'll have to move fast.'

'Why?'

'It appears Aquilia has taken you at your word and is treating her as fair game.'

Valens's jaw clenched as he followed the line of Tigris's finger. There in a knot by the door stood Aquilia speaking to a vision in rose-pink.

Despite the stylised hair and the gown so thin it left little to the imagination, he knew from the way she tilted her head that it was Julia—a suspicion confirmed when he heard the echo of her laughter over the din of the crowd.

As he watched, he saw Julia try to disentangle herself from Aquilia's heavy grip, only for the former pirate to wrap his arm around her waist.

Their eyes met, and Valens fancied he saw desperation in them. Why had she approached Aquilia? She knew what he was like. Aquilia was not the sort of man to pay attention to any woman's wish. Nobody would come to her rescue, not here, not at this feast. More likely they would be wagering on whether or not she'd manage to take him to bed. Anger at Julia, at Aquilia and most of all at the system washed over him. He squared his shoulders and started towards the pair.

'Valens, what are you going to do?' Tigris grabbed on to his arm. 'Remember, Strabo gave you clear warning to stay away from Aquilia. He will find another to amuse him shortly.'

'Would you be so quick to find excuses if that was Maia?'

'The lady might welcome his attention…' Tigris began. 'You did say you two were finished. Perhaps she merely wants a gladiator…'

His voice fell silent as Valens glared at him, feeling the anger surge through him. He was uncertain whose neck he wanted to wring more—Aquilia's or Julia's. Although he was pleased to see her, she should know better than to be here.

'That is what I am going to find out.' Valens shook off Tigris's arm and took another stride towards the couple. 'She appears to be in need of assistance and I intend to offer it.'


Chapter Fifteen


Julia tried to disentangle her hand from Aquilia's broad one for the third time. Talking to this overgrown cretin had been Poppea's idea. Ask him where your gladiator is, she had hissed with a giggle and a hard shove to her back.

Before Julia could explain or interrupt Claudia's discussion with a soldier about the merits of extra armour on the torso to ask her to explain, Poppea had simpered up to the man, spoken to him and then had pushed her forward. With a flick of his wrist, his paw had closed around her arm. His eyes glittered with the same intensity as they had after the weapon-giving ceremony.