The last chariots, riders clad in white and red over their leather, rolled out of the tunnel. The single horseman and lead dancers were on the far side now, beyond the monuments, would exit through a second gate over there after leading the parade past those seats and stands.

"I believe," said Thenai's Sistina, "that I require a moment out of the sun. Are there refreshments of any kind through that gate?" She gestured at the space through which the horses had come.

"Well, yes," said Oleander. "There are all sorts of food stands inside. But you go back up and then down the stairs to get under. You can't go through the Procession Gate, there's a guard there."

"Indeed there is," said his mother. "I see him. I imagine he'll let me through, spare a woman the long walk around."

"You can't. And you certainly can't just go alone, mother. This is the Hippodrome."

"Thank you, Cleander, I appreciate your concern that there might be… unruly people here." Her expression was unreadable, but the boy flushed crimson. "I have no intention of stepping where all those horses have gone, and I wouldn't dream of going alone. Doctor, will you be so good…?"

More reluctantly than he'd have wanted to admit, Rustem stood up, holding his walking stick. He might miss the start of this now. "But of course, my lady," he murmured. "Do you feel unwell?"

"A moment in the shade and something cool to drink will be enough," the woman said. "Cleander, remain here and conduct yourself with dignity. We will be back, of course." She rose and moved past Rustem in the aisle to walk down two more steps and then along the narrow space between the first row of seats and the barrier to the sands. As she went, she put up her hood, hiding her face within it.

Rustem followed, stick in hand. No one paid them any attention. He saw people moving about all over the Hippodrome, taking their places or heading for refreshments or the latrines. All eyes were on the noisy procession below. Stopping a discreet distance behind the Senator's wife, he saw her address the guard at the low, gated barrier where the walkway ended, just beside the grand Procession Gates a few steps below.

The guard's initial expression of brusque indifference melted quite swiftly as Thenai's said whatever it was she said. He looked quickly around to be sure there was no one nearby, and then unbarred the low portal at the end of the walkway and let her through into the covered space beneath the stands. Rustem followed, pausing to give the man a coin.

It was only when he walked into the vaulted tunnel, watching carefully to avoid the evidence that horses had just passed, that Rustem saw a man standing alone in the muted light of this atrium, clad in the leather of a charioteer, and a blue tunic.

The woman had stopped just inside, was waiting for Rustem. She said quietly, from within her sheltering hood, "You were correct, doctor. It seems your patient, our unexpected houseguest, is here after all. Do give me a moment with him, will you?"

And without waiting for a reply, she walked towards the man standing alone in the tunnel. There were two yellow-clad track attendants by the wide, high gates, not far from the small one where Rustem stood. They had clearly been about to swing them shut. Equally clearly, from the way they were looking at Scortius, they were not about to do so now.

He hadn't yet been noticed by anyone else. Must have remained hidden in the shadows here until the chariots rolled out. There were three main tunnels and half a dozen smaller ones branching from this large atrium. The Hippodrome's interior space was vast, cavernous, could hold more people than dwelled in Kerakek, Rustem realized. People lived their lives here, he knew, in apartments down those corridors. There would be stables, shops, food stalls and drinking places, doctors, whores, cheiromancers, chapels. A city within the City. And this open, high-roofed atrium would normally be a bustling, thronged gathering place, echoing with sounds. It would be again in a few moments, Rustem guessed, when the parade performers returned down tunnels from the far side.

At the moment, it was nearly empty, dim and dusty after the bright light outside. He saw the Senator's wife walk towards the charioteer. She pushed back her hood. He saw Scortius turn his head-rather late-and notice her, and so Rustem registered the sudden change in his posture and manner, and some things came clear with that.

He was, after all, an observant man. A good doctor had to be. Indeed, the King of Kings had sent him to Sarantium because of it.

He had anticipated a number of things, including the distinct possibility that he might collapse before getting to the Hippodrome, but having Thenais appear in the empty, echoing space of the Processional Atrium had not been one of them.

The two attendants at the gates had seen him as soon as he came out from one of the residential tunnels, after the last of the chariots had gone. A finger to his lips had ensured their immediate, slack-jawed complicity. They would be drinking until all hours on this tale tonight, he knew. And for many nights to come.

He was waiting for the right moment to go forward. Knew that he had-at best-only one race in him today, and a message had to be given with maximum impact, to sustain the Blues, quiet the roiling of unrest, serve notice to Crescens and the others.

And assuage his own pride. He needed to race again, remind them all that whatever the Greens might do during this opening of the season, Scortius was among them yet and was still what he had always been.

If it was true.

He might have made a mistake. It had become necessary to acknowledge that. The slow, long walk from Bonosus's house by the walls had been amazingly difficult, and the wound had opened up at some point. He hadn't even noticed, until he'd seen blood on his tunic. He was very short of breath, felt pain whenever he tried to draw in more air. He ought to have hired a litter, or arranged to have Astorgus send one, but he hadn't even told the factionarius he was doing this. Stubbornness had always had a price-why should it be different now? This arrival for the afternoon's first race, this entrance on foot across the sands to the starting line, was entirely his own statement. No one in Sarantium knew he was coming.

Or so he had thought. Then he saw Thenai's approaching in the diffused light, and his heart thumped hard within his broken ribs. She never came to the Hippodrome. If she was here, it was because she'd come looking for him, and he had no idea how-

He saw the Bassanid then, behind her, grey-bearded, slender, holding that stick he affected for the dignity of it. And silently in that moment, Scortius of Soriyya swore, with intense feeling.

He could see it now. The accursed physician would have felt some wretched sort of professional duty. Would have found him gone, deduced it was a race day, sought a way to attend, and-

This time when he swore it was aloud, like a soldier in a caupona, though under his breath.

The man would have gone to Bonosus's house, of course.

To Cleander. Who was banned by his father from attending the races this spring-he had told them so. Which meant they'd have had to talk to Thenai's. Which meant-

She stopped directly in front of him. Her remembered scent was with him again. He looked at her, met that clear gaze, felt a constriction in his throat. She seemed cool, poised-and he could feel the force of her rage like a blast from an oven.

"All of Sarantium," she murmured, "will rejoice to see you well again, charioteer."

They were alone in a vast space. For a little time. The parade would be ending, the others coming noisily back through the tunnels.

"I am honoured that you are the first to say as much," he said. "My lady, I hope you received my note."