By this time, there were murmurs in the back rows, murmurs that sounded angry. Skeeter didn't dare hope that note of anger was for him and the foul treatment he'd received.

"And then," Ianira Cassondra cried out, raising both arms in a graceful, possibly symbolic motion, "our Skeeter defeated the champion and refused to kill his opponent! The Caesar-"she pronounced it Kai-sar "gave him both laurel crown and purse as rightfully his. Aware that only more slavery awaited him, victory and prize notwithstanding; aware also that he had not yet freed his friend, who stood with his evil master on the great balustrade above the starting boxes for the races, Skeeter did what only a man with the smiles of the gods at his back could possibly have done."

She deliberately stretched out the tense silence.

Then, all but whispering, as if in holy awe herself, "He galloped his horse for the starting- ate wall. Leapt to his feet on the galloping horse's back---- " a number of people, men from the sound of it, gasped in shock "then dug the butt of his spear into the blood drenched sand and spun himself up and over the balustrade. While every guard on the balustrade gawked just to see him there, instead of fifteen feet down in the arena, Skeeter tossed the heavy purse that was his well earned prize to Marcus' new master as payment for his friend's freedom."

Somewhere behind them, a ragged cheer broke out. Skeeter began to pray with the tiniest smidgen of hope that he might yet live through this.

"And then?" Ianira's voice demanded of her audience. `When our resourceful Skeeter arranged for them to impersonate more highly placed persons than they were, to throw off the slave trackers after them. They hid. They changed disguises and hiding places, again and again. And when gate time came for the Porta Romae, Skeeter caused a great diversion so that he and Marcus could win through to the time gate and come safely home.

"Now," and her voice turned abruptly hard as diamond and angry as a rattlesnake stirred up in the rocks, "I ask you, members of The Found Ones, what was his reward for this? A monstrous fine from that evil group calling itself Time Tours whose employees use us badly and care not a bit for our health, our dependents left behind should we die, our very lives squandered like spare change without anyone ever warning us of the dangers! They actually had the gall to fine him! Both directions! And what followed that? Imprisonment by Station Security-during which he was starved, beaten, humiliated!

"I ask!" she cried, sweeping off her mask, shaking out her hair, revealing her face, alight now with startling holiness-it was the only way Skeeter could find to describe the light that seemed to flow outward from her-"I ask you, each of you, is this any fair way to treat a man who has risked his very life, not once, but many times, for one of us?"

The roar echoed in the confined space like a Mongolian thunderstorm trapped in the confines of a canyon deep in the high, sharp mountains.

Very, very slowly, Ianira allowed her head to fall forward as though infinitely wearied by the gruesome story of treachery, courage, and betrayal she'd just been forced to reveal. When her head rose again, the mask was back in place. Symbolic, then, Skeeter realized. But of what?

Voice carefully neutral again, Ianira said, "He has the qualifications. All of you know already the story of this man's childhood, lost in a time not his own. He has faced all that we have faced-and worse. Yet he has survived, prospered, remained generous in his heart to those in greater need than he. I now ask for a new and final poll of the Seven. Do we Punish? Or Accept?"

One by one the answers came to Skeeter's sweating ears.

In thick-accented English came the single word, "Punish," from the ever-condemning voice of the Egyptian.

A pause ensued. The man who had previously translated the Egyptian's longer speech said very quietly, "Accept."

The next man refused to be swayed, which, if Skeeter were reading the body language under the robe correctly, deeply irritated Ianira Cassondra.

Down the line it went, skipping over Ianira: "Punish." "Accept." "Accept." "Accept."

Skeeter wasn't certain he'd heard-or counted-correctly. Was that really four versus two? Now what? Ianira stepped forward, the final member of the Seven to cast her vote. Skeeter waited to hear her confirm what he thought he'd just heard. "The vote stands at four to accept, two to punish. As there is no chance for a tie, I may cast my vote freely." She looked down at Skeeter, lying helpless on the concrete floor at her feet. "I cannot deny that Skeeter Jackson is a scoundrel, a thief, and a man who charms people out of their money and belongings, to his own benefit.

"Yet I must also repeat that he has saved the lives of many in this very room through donations he thought anonymous. And then, on nothing more than a promise, this scoundrel and thief risked his life to save a downtimer, a member of The Found Ones. I admit difficulty in putting aside personal feelings, for Marcus is the father of my children, but this is a thing in which I was trained at the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus. to look beyond personal feelings to the heart of the truth.

"And that is why, peering as we have into this man's heart, his soul, judging him by his actions-all his actions-I must vote to Accept."

Another thunderous roar went up while Skeeter stared, wide-eyed, at Ianira. He still didn't quite believe it. Ianira approached from the dais, a sharp knife in her hands. Skeeter swallowed hard.

"Do not fear, beloved friend." She cut loose the clinging, confining gauze wrappings, freeing him to stand up and beat his thighs with equally leaden arms to restore circulation. Then he was swept away, buffeted, occasionally kissed-and the kissers were not always female-his back pounded until he was certain the well-wishers would leave bruises the size of dinner plates. He wasn't precisely sure just what the vote to Accept meant.

Apparently Ianira sensed this, as she sensed so much else out of thin air, for she called a halt to the merrymaking and restored order to The Found Ones' chamber.

"Skeeter Jackson, please approach the dais."

He did so slowly, filing down a sudden double line of grinning Found Ones, curiosity and uncertainty wavering within him still. He hated not knowing precisely what was about to unfold. He wondered what he should do when he got there? Show respect, his mind told him, somewhat dry with disgust that he hadn't thought of it sooner. So when he arrived, he went down on one knee and kissed the hem of her robe. When he dared glance up, her mask was gone and she was actually blushing-furiously.

Regaining her composure quickly, however, she said to him, "There are things we must explain to you, Skeeter Jackson, for although you are now one of us, it is through accident only. Born an uptimer, you spent formative years of your life downtime, with a group of men as harsh as the summer's noonday sun on the marble steps at Ephesus. You have suffered, lived, and learned from every misfortune you have encountered. You might have become a creature like the gems dealer, Goldie Morran, who has no true heart anywhere in her.

"But you did not. You gave to others, not once but many times. Your ... misadventure ... down the Porta Romae only cinched your right to hold this honor, Skeeter Jackson. From this day until the end of your life and beyond, you shall be known as a Found One, for although you have been Lost all your life and took great pains to hide it, Marcus was able to discover the truth. You are one of us," she swept the room with one arm, taking in what must have been more than a hundred women, men, and children of all ages, dozens of societies and time periods-some having come through a tourist gate, more through an unstable one.