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sandals to my shaggy hair to the amulet about my neck, which, from the twitch of his heavy eyelid, he clearly thought barbaric.
    “Vercingetorix,” said Sabina. “Meet Publius Aelius Hadrian,
tribunus plebis
.”
    “What’s that?” I asked, not bowing. “A legionary officer?”
    “No, that’s a different kind of tribune. Hadrian’s kind is a sort of magistrate. The first step toward becoming a praetor.”
    “There are other responsibilities.” Hadrian’s eyes swept me again. “And who is this?” he asked Sabina.
    “A client of my father’s.”
    “Ah.” Faint surprise. “Senator Norbanus always did have odd clients.”
    “He does,” Sabina agreed. “I like them. One learns so much.”
    “You have strange tastes, Vibia Sabina.”
    “Doesn’t she?” I said. “I think it’s sweet.”
    The tribune’s eyes lingered a moment on my arm, where Sabina’s hand was still tucked, then dismissed me. “If you will not be escorted back to your box, Vibia Sabina, I will take my leave. I dislike the races. Too many horses die, and I hate to hear them scream.”
    Another bow to Sabina and he moved off in blind confidence, rippling a path in the crowd for himself. “Stiff patrician bastard,” I growled.
    That was the first time I met Publius Aelius Hadrian. What a lot of trouble I’d have saved if I’d just killed the bastard on sight.
    SABINA
    How nice, Sabina reflected, to have someone large and male on hand in a crowd. She followed easily behind Vix as he shouldered through the delirious crush of Reds fans—the Reds had taken the final race and won the day’s majoity. “My aunt Diana will never forgive me ifI don’t come congratulate her,” Sabina shouted over the roar of applause as the Reds completed their last preening victory lap, and let Vix bull a path down into the sea of red now crowding the arena.
    “Hell’s gates.” Vix got his first close look at the racing stallions—huge and sweating, champing against the red leather reins. “I’m never getting on a horse in my life if I can help it.”
    “Killed your first man in the arena at thirteen,” said Sabina, amused, “and you’re afraid of horses?”
    “Petrified,” Vix said frankly. “I haven’t met a one that didn’t want me dead. Why would anybody want to—”
    “Sabina!” Aunt Diana came up from behind, flinging her unfashionably brown arms about Sabina’s waist. As usual, her red dress and white-blond hair smelled of hay. “The Reds took five of nine, did you see? I’m having the charioteers back to my villa for a party; you’ll come, of course—”
    “I think I’m going home, Aunt Diana.”
    “Gods’ wheels, girl, at your age I could drink any charioteer under the table! Have it your way, I’m going to check my horses—”
    Off she whirled. “That’s your aunt?” Vix twisted his head after her, admiring.
    “Not really. She’s some sort of distant cousin on my father’s side, but I call her aunt anyway.” Sabina pulled a wilting poppy from her hair, twirling it between her fingers. “Don’t be embarrassed gawping over her. Everyone does.”
    “She must have been something to see when she was young.”
    “Yes, men used to turn and stare whenever she walked into a room. It annoyed my mother no end—she wanted men to turn and stare only when
she
entered a room.”
    Sabina slipped her hand into Vix’s arm again, and they made their way out of the Circus Maximus with the rest of the crowd, treading over the litter of stale fallen food and sticky spilled pools of wine, faded festival flowers, and discarded little banners. The Reds fans swaggered and the Blues fans sulked; children wailed fretfully and couplesslipped off to darker places. The sky was a deep pink overhead, shading toward night. Sabina tilted her head back to see the vast oval shadow of the Colosseum in the distance and wondered how many men had died inside it today. Vix was looking at the Colosseum too—for the first time that day, she saw