"You would be."

A gleam lit her face, half boasting, half invitation. She scrabbled upright on the quicksand of furs, then began working off her boots-high, tight-laced items with hard soles for kicking and thick thongs for protection. With her near-transparent feminine white drapery the contrast was unsettling. That had always been the attraction: a petite girlish figure on someone unexpectedly strong. As she wriggled her bare toes, I began to sweat with erotic recollection. Chloris owned feet that were trained to grip ropes and trapezes; she could use them to curl fiercely around pretty well anything…

"Tell me about your British setup."

"Ooh, Marcus. It sounds as if I'm under investigation."

"Just curious. Why here of all places?"

"Britain? I heard about it enough from you. We formed a team specifically to come out here. Plenty of bored men, with few outlets for entertainment. Perfect spot. A brand-new arena. Best of all, no built-in male gladiator groups, hogging the action and ganging up to stop us working."

"Who's your fixer, your lanista?"

"Stuff that!"

Wrong question. I should have known. Chloris had always been independent. Being prey to managers, who were ignorant of her skills and who stole the appearance fees, had annoyed her in the circus life too. Having a trainer was really not her style.

"We can train ourselves," she said. "We practice every day, and observe each other's progress. Women are damned good analysts."

"Yes, I remember you used to spend a lot of time analyzing what was wrong with me… You lead the team?"

"Analyzing your faults was too exhausting, darling!" she interposed.

"Thanks. You are the leader?" I repeated doggedly.

"We don't have a leader. But I brought the group together. They listen to me. They know I have the best balance and fitness. And I can do two styles-retiarus and secutor-plus I'm working up Thracian too."

I whistled. Not many male gladiators could offer three fighting styles.

"Want to try me out?" she beamed.

"No. I've been thwacked enough for one day."

"Yes, mummy's boy has made himself all tired and grubby with the fat lady… Come here and I'll make you feel better." Chloris stretched, limbering up for an hour's hard workout on me. The mere thought was dispiriting.

She meant it. She thought that I wanted what she wanted, as women do. You could make a philosophical treatise out of it, but I was too preoccupied with staying out of reach. "Look, I'm appalled to be so feeble, but I'm far too hungry, Chloris. I'm no use to you. I just couldn't concentrate."

"Oh, you haven't changed." She thought I was teasing. Dangerously, she enjoyed the thought. "It's make up your mind time!"

"Oh, Chloris, surely you're not going to say, it's screwing me or eating?"

"Sounds a good choice!" She jumped up and came for me. There was no time even to gulp before she was winding herself around me as only an acrobat can. If I had forgotten what that felt like, memory soon surged back."-So which is it, darling?" She chortled.

I sighed with what might pass for polite regret. "Look, I'm absolutely starving. May I have some dinner, please?"

Chloris punched me in the kidneys, though it was a loose, wild swipe that only did partial damage. She flounced from the room. I collapsed, sweating. Then, as I had thought she would, she had a tray sent in to me. I chose my old girlfriends pretty well. There had never been malice in Chloris.

"Later!" she had promised meaningfully as she strode off.

O Mercury, patron of travelers-either get me out of this or just smite me dead so I don't know that it's happening! In Rome I was Procurator of the Sacred Geese and Chickens. O Mercury, never let Chloris discover that! Now I myself was a soft little pullet in my cage, being fattened up. I munched dutifully. I would need my strength.

You don't mix it with a gladiator. Besides, she was a wonderful armful and I certainly knew it. Once, I would have let myself be persuaded without a struggle. There was too much at stake now. I had moved on- way, way into another life. Face-to-face with what was expected from my old self, I felt awkward. I had loyalties nowadays; I had new standards. As Petronius Longus had said to Maia earlier, once you make huge decisions you cannot go back. The shock is the way other people fail to see how much you have altered. After the shock comes the danger. When those people think they know you inside out, you start to doubt yourself.

She must have been impatient. I had barely eaten my solitary victuals when a couple of women came for me.

"Ah, Heraclea, he's looking worried again."

"Yes, I'm scared!" I grinned good-humoredly as if I thought I was being roped in for a themed orgy. Heraclea and her companion exchanged glances, no doubt aware that Chloris had plans. I could not tell how they felt about it, but I knew they would not intervene.

"You're in real trouble," they promised me. Even at that point apprehension of the deepest kind was called for.

When they brought me back to the enclosed garden area, Chloris was waiting for me. She met me with a beaming smile. She wound herself around me, as she drew me into the garden, promising, "Have I got a wonderful surprise for you, darling!"

It seemed best to accept the promise with a tolerant smile. That was before she led me around a statue to the center of the group and I saw just how treacherous a promise it was.

The women were all here. They had fallen silent as Chloris brought me into view, waiting to see what would happen. At the last minute, but too late to alter anything, I had heard another very familiar female voice. I had Chloris hanging off my arm and nibbling on my ear, while I wore an expression that can only have looked like pure guilt. Helena was here.

Albia, who was standing behind her, must somehow have found her and said I was a prisoner. Helena would have fearlessly broached a house full of women. She must have rushed here in a hurry, for she had even brought the children. She had come to try to rescue me-but her eyes told me if she had known in advance about Chloris I would have been left to my fate.

"Well here he is!" exclaimed Helena Justina, companion of my bed and heart. She used the singsong voice that is supposed to reassure small children who are anxious in strange surroundings and who fear a parent has gotten lost. She was a good mother. Neither Julia, who was sitting on the grass, nor the baby in her arms would sense whatever emotions Helena herself felt. I was really lost now and I knew it.

She did look impressive. A tall, dark-haired woman, making conversation with these professional fighters as if she moved among females who were outside society all the time. Like Albia at her side, she wore blue, but in several well-dyed shades, the material draped around her body with unconscious elegance. Lapis and pearl earrings said she had money; the lack of other jewelry added that she need not crudely flaunt her wealth. She seemed confident and forthright.

"Helena, my soul!"

Her dark eyes fixed me. Her voice was carefully tuned. "Your children were missing you, Marcus! And here you are like Hercules diverting himself among Queen Omphale's women. Do be careful. Hercules was suspected ever afterwards of too much liking for women's dress."

"I am wearing my own clothes," I murmured.

Her glance flicked over me. "So you are," she commented insultingly.

Arms wide and screaming with glee, Julia Junilla hurtled up to see me. When I picked up my little thunderbolt she devised a boisterous game of climbing headfirst down inside my tunic. It was already a gaping neck-hole where the threads had run in mighty ladders and the braid had torn. This was the final indignity. I just stood and let myself become gymnastic equipment for my two-year-old.