"You brought the hairy boy racer!" I complained.

"I didn't know he was chariot-mad."

Some of the bodyguards now rushed us. Not sure even if they were for Florius or Splice, I took on two of them. Without armor, this was no fun. I had put one man down before Petro joined me. Close by, Splice and Chloris were hard at it. Florius was on the ground, Splice holding him down with his foot. Other thugs were there in support. Chloris was laboring. The heavies had no scruples about attacking women. They were pressing in on Chloris; I was losing sight of her. Petro and I made a big effort, finishing off our opponents with savage sword strokes.

Chloris had no intention of letting us in on the fight against Splice. She was letting out high-pitched grunts of effort every time she struck a blow. Even that hard nut Splice looked anxious.

More thugs were arriving. The chariot veered back toward us and turned over on its axle, cutting them off. The bear sprang off, sideswiping me with a hot, heavy flank and pouncing on one of the bodyguards. I smelled its rank odors and heard a scream. The man was down. There were shouts, jeers, frantic growls.

A female voice shrieked, then I saw Splice fall. Chloris stabbed him again hard; he was done for. Miserably wriggling from under them, Florius escaped the pack and made a run for it. The heavies were fighting the bear. It was overcome by weight and numbers. They kicked and slashed at the creature, which fought back viciously. Chloris raced after Florius. Petro and I burst through the mob and took off after her.

Chloris and Florius were already halfway to the eastern gate. They attracted attention, so when Petro and I reached the center of the arena, men ran out to intercept us. In the lead, I raised my sword and let out a tremendous shout. There were more than I could handle, but I was fighting mad.

"Falco!" Petronius could see the odds.

I took the head half off the nearest brute while he stood with his mouth open. I still don't know how I did that. It felt good, though. In my next onslaught I went for two at once. Now the thugs scattered away. I was on my own for half a minute, then I was aware of Petronius alongside.

Other things were happening.

Rattling chains signaled the opening of the huge hatch for animals at the eastern gate. It shot up; new figures raced out, amid the frantic noise of baying dogs.

"Watch out!" Petronius called to me. If these were arena-trained, they were killers. We made a run for the outskirts. Some of the heavies were less lucky. The pack of hounds were on them, hot for blood. To my astonishment, in among the dogs I saw the slight, pale form of our rescued girl, Albia, wild-eyed and cheering them on. Running in behind in a flash of blue came my own Helena. After her lumbered the dogman, waving his arms, puffing with effort, protesting in a way that said he had not parted with his dogs willingly. Helena turned to remonstrate, defending the hijack.

Petronius and I had lost Chloris and Florius in the melee. Petro spotted them first. Almost at the gate, Florius kept going, unaware how closely he was being chased by Chloris. He thought he was safe. Then Chloris leaped on him from behind. We heard him gasp. He went flat, swallowing sand.

Chloris was up again. Merciless, she hauled Florius to his feet, her sword at his throat. She was angry. "Get up, you bastard!"

A grumble of thunder disturbed the summer afternoon. It seemed to be darker than ever.

"We'll take him-" commanded Petronius as we two ran up, breathless. He thought himself the gallant type, which meant never subservient to women.

"Stuff you!" growled Chloris. I bent double, getting my breath. We had run almost the length of the arena, after fighting hard.

"This rat is mine-" Petro would never learn. Sweating hard in the sultry temperature, he drew a forearm across his brow.

"No, I want him," Chloris insisted.

"I've been after him for years!"

"And now I've got him!" Chloris backed away, dragging the gangster like a barley sack. White-faced in her grip, he now looked like the old bundle of gibbering nonentity. Leather trousers don't turn a wimp into a demigod. He may have shaved his head, but he still had all the personality of a dirty rag. He was so scared he was dribbling.

"How's the wife, Florius?" Petronius taunted.

"I'll have you for this, Vigilis!"

Out in the arena the female gladiators were now sporting with the Florius bullies. Blades flashed and women laughed harshly. Maddened horses ran free. The dogs were chasing around, showing themselves to have no pedigree as mastiffs, but to be simple-hearted British curs with mange and fleas and a love of fun. They fastened their teeth in the gangsters' garments and swung in the air, like Nux tugging a rope end as a game.

Helena was coming toward us, pulling Albia away from the area of danger. Even in this weird light I could see the little scavenger, bright-eyed with excitement, clearly relishing life in the adventurous Falco household. Then she spotted and recognized Florius. He must have been at the brothel while she was a prisoner. He must have done something to her. Albia stood stock-still and began to scream.

Her piercing shrieks caught us all out. I covered my ears briefly. Florius ignored the girl. Seizing his moment, he bucked and broke free. Chloris reacted instantly, but he slashed her with a brutal fist across the face, and snatched her sword. Her wrist was sliced as she tried instinclively to grab it back. Before anyone could stop him, he had stabbed her in the belly with a wild, circular stroke. Florius, who normally let others do his killing, staggered and looked startled.

With a murmur of surprise, Chloris collapsed to the ground. There was blood everywhere. I fell on my knees beside her and fumbled to staunch it, but he had ripped her open fatally and no one could push back the unraveling gut. The task was hopeless. I still knelt there, disbelieving and sick.

"She's dying," said Petronius Longus harshly. He was wrong for once and I knew it. She was dead.

XLIV

A huge crack of thunder scared all Hades out of everyone. Ferocious lightning split the skies. Torrential rain ruined visibility and left us gasping-just as Florius seized his chance and made a bolt for it.

"Leave her!" Helena commanded. She pulled off her stole, its fabric already soaked in patches, and laid the blue material over Chloris as I wiped my hands and forearms on the sand. Out in the arena there were plenty of bodies, most of them male. The women were starting to look over here; one or two began to run. At the far gate I could see a few red tunics: soldiers had arrived, at least in small numbers. Some were talking with the heavies; most were casually examining the dark corpse of the dead bear.

"Marcus!" urged Petro.

"Leave her to us," Helena repeated, giving me a shove. "Go! Go after Florius!"

Petronius was already going, so as if in a dream I followed him.

Now we knew we were in Britain. Dear gods, any softness I was feeling for this province was wiped out by that first tremendous onslaught of rain. Storms in the Mediterranean have the grace to come at night. Why, when the weather broke in northern climes, did always it happen in the afternoon?

No building in town was likely to be so well drained as the amphitheater, but the sheer quantity of water pelting down earthwards had us splashing through torrents even in the shelter of the gateway. The drainage gullies were already thundering with water. Above, sheets of rain careered off every tier of seats. The passageway between the public barrier on the first row and the safety palisade had flooded almost instantly.

Outside the amphitheater we could not have been more exposed, anywhere in Londinium, except on the river. Petronius and I staggered from the gateway, with our clothes plastered to our bodies and our hair stuck down, while rivulets cascaded from all parts of us. I felt I could drown in what was streaming off my nose. My eyes were filled with water. My feet stuck to my dead-weight boots, which I could hardly lift from the sodden ground.