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final dance of death.
    As the struggle began, Tiberius sent a slave for information about my choice. The young secutor 's name was Holtan, we were told. He was a Dacian captive only recently brought to Rome. Nothing was known of him. It was unlikely that he had ever attended a ludi .
    Holtan's unfamiliarity with the arena was apparent from the beginning. "He won't last a round," Livia scoffed. I feared the empress was right. Without gladiatorial school training, what chance did he have? After a few tentative swings, the young gladiator, who'd taken his eyes off his opponent for an instant to look up at the stands, was knocked to the ground. The other man moved in for the kill. Tiberius shook his head in disgust and turned to order wine. In that instant Holtan was back on his feet, sword in hand. He swung this way and that, confusing his adversary, then moved in for the kill, blade slashing cleanly into his opponent's chest. From then on the man was Hercules himself.
    An excited buzz ran through the stands, echoing around us: " Who is that man ?" Tiberius patted my shoulder approvingly. The orchestra played, a frenetic accompaniment to the drama below. Horns and trumpets blared wildly. A woman hunched over the water organ, face changing from pink to purple as she furiously pumped the bellows. Attendants dressed as Charon rushed here and there striking the fallen gladiators on the head with hammers. Pluto, king of the underworld, had claimed them for his own. Body after body was dragged away through the Porta Libitinensis while the slaughter continued. At first I hid my eyes from the brutal melee, but soon the exhilaration of the howling mob infected me with its madness.
    Across the amphitheater an improvised banner was lowered. My whole body tingled with excitement as I read the hastily scrawled words: HOLTAN OF DACIA . I screamed myself hoarse with excitement. We all did. Often Tiberius was on his feet beside me, cheering with the others: "HOLTAN! HOLTAN! HOLTAN!" Incredibly, this young unknown fought man after man until only he and one other, Ariston, remained. Warily, they circled one another. Ariston lunged forward, tripping Holtan with his net, throwing him to the ground. Trident raised, Ariston moved in for the kill. I closed my eyes. Beside me, Marcella shrieked; cries echoed everywhere. Cautiously opening my eyes, I saw Holtan roll sideways, eluding Ariston's blade by an inch. He was on his feet, swinging, slashing. A slicing, sideways plunge, and it was over. Holtan stood above the prostrate form of his opponent, awaiting Tiberius's verdict.
    The emperor turned to me. "Well, young lady, he's your champion. What is your pleasure? What will you have him do?"
    The excitement of the crowd was palpable. Many indicated their own verdicts: thumbs down. "Go ahead, give the people what they want--another corpse," Livia urged.
    "You may be doing him a favor. He looks more dead than alive," Father agreed.
    Just then the fallen gladiator's eyes opened. Though his blood-splattered face was impassive, I felt his plea. The man wanted to live. My heart beat wildly as I felt the eyes of the entire stadium. Smiling shyly, I raised my arm--thumb up. Mitte . Tiberius nodded, then raised his thumb beside mine.

    CHAPTER 3

Aftermath of a Triumph
    I was a heroine at the imperial banquet that followed the circus--at least within our family circle. Agrippina and Germanicus saw to it that I met many of their friends. Clearly, Rome's most prominent families liked and respected them, anticipating the couple's eventual ascent to the throne. Though their reflected glory was heady, I turned away when the conversation shifted to people and places I didn't know, jokes I didn't understand.
    For a time I wandered through the palace, drinking in the magnificence around me. Hundreds of lamps flickered on walls and tables, illuminating the elegant women, some in Roman dress, others in exotic Eastern gowns, their hair piled and pinned into pyramids and