"Carry on!" barked Ahala.

The men resumed their mock battles, banging swords against shields.

"I thought…"

"You thought we'd be above them, looking down, like in an amphitheater?" said Ahala. "Yes."

He chuckled. "We don't stage exhibition bouts here. Only way to see the training area is to walk right in. Stand closer if you want. Smell the sweat. Look them in the eye."

I felt acutely vulnerable. I was used to seeing gladiators at a dis-tance, in the arena. To stand among them, with nothing between them and me, was like entering a cage full of wild animals. Even the shortest man among them was a head taller than me. All ten wore helmets but were otherwise naked. Apparently they were training to receive blows to the head, because their rhythmic exercise consisted of exchanging repeated blows to each other's helmets. The blows were relatively gentle, but the racket was unnerving.

From his physique, I thought I recognized a least one of the gladiators from the games at Saturnia, the bull-necked Thracian who had triumphed in the opening bout. About the others I was less sure. "I wonder, do you have any Nubians among your men?" Ahala raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?" "There was a Nubian that day in Saturnia, a retiarius. Cicero took particular note of him-'just the sort of exotic touch to ensure a memorable day,' he said."

Ahala nodded. "A retiarius? Ah, yes, I remember now. That fellow's dead, of course. But it just so happens that I do have another Nubian in the troupe. Tall, strapping fellow like the one you saw." "Also a retiarius?"

"He can fight with net and trident, certainly. All my gladiators are trained to be versatile. They can fight in whatever style you wish."

"Yes, it's all about giving the spectators what they want, isn't it? Delivering a thrill and an eyeful." I watched the practicing pairs of gladiators advance and retreat, advance and retreat with the rhyth-mic precision of acrobats. "Can I see this Nubian?" I said. "See him train, you mean?" "Yes, why not?"

Ahala called to an assistant. "Bring the Nubian. This man wants to see him train with net and trident." He turned back to me. "While we wait, I'll explain how I calculate my prices, depending on the size of funeral games you need… "

For the next few moments, I had to struggle to keep my face a blank; I'd never imagined that funeral games could be so costly. To be sure, a lanista faced considerable expenses, but I suspected that Ahala was making a considerable profit as well. Was that why Zanziba had come to him, because Ahala had the wherewithal to pay him handsomely?

"Are they all slaves?" I asked, interrupting Ahala as he was reciting a complicated formula for payment on installment plans.

"What's that?"

"Your gladiators-are they all slaves? One hears occasionally of free men who hire themselves out as gladiators. They make good money, I'm told. Have their choice of women, too."

"Are you thinking of taking it up?" He looked me up and down and laughed, rather unkindly, I thought.

"No. I'm merely curious. That Nubian who fought in Saturnia, for example-"

"Who cares about him?" snapped Ahala. "Gone to Hades!" He scowled, then brightened. "Ah, here's his replacement."

Seen at such close quartets, the retiarius who entered the training area was a magnificent specimen of a man, tall and broad and elegantly proportioned. He immediately engaged in a mock combat with the gladiator who had accompanied him, putting on a lively demonstration for my benefit. Was it the same Nubian I had seen in Saturnia? I thought so-or was I doing what I had accused Zuleika of doing, seeing what I wanted or expected to see?

"Enough fighting!" I said. "I want to see his face."

"His face?" Ahala stared at me, perplexed.

"I've seen a Nubian fight-I've seen one die, at Saturnia-but

I've never seen one this close, face-to-face. Indulge my curiosity, lanista. Show me the fellow's face."

"Very well." At Ahala's signal, the gladiators drew apart. Ahala beckoned the Nubian to come to us. "Take off your helmet," he said.

The Nubian put aside his weapons, removed his helmet, and stood naked before me. I had never seen the face of the Nubian who fought in Saturnia. I had never seen Zanziba's face. But those two brown eyes which stared back at me-had I seen them before? Were they Zuleika's soulful eyes, set in a man's face? Was this the face of her brother, Zanziba? The high cheekbones were much the same, as were the broad nose and forehead. But I could not be sure.

"What is your name, gladiator?"

He hesitated, as slaves not used to being addressed by strangers often do. He glanced at Ahala, then looked straight ahead. "Chiron," he said.

"Like the centaur? A good name for a gladiator, I suppose. Were you born with that name?"

Again he hesitated and glanced at Ahala. "I don't know." "Where do you come from?" "I… don't know."

"How odd. And how long have you been at this camp, with Ahala as your lanista?"

"Enough of this!" snapped Ahala. "Can't you see the fellow's simple-minded? But he's a damned good fighter, I guarantee. If you want the personal history of each and every gladiator, put some ses-terces on my table first and hire them! Now the tour is over. I've other things to do. If your friend Cicero or some of his rich clients have need of funeral games, they'll know where to find me. You men, get back to your training. Gordianus, allow me to show you the way out."

As the gate to the compound slammed shut behind me, the dogs, silent throughout my visit, recommenced their barking.

"It's him!" insisted Zuleika. "It must be. Describe him again, Gordianus."

"Zuleika, I've described the man to you a dozen times. Neither of us can say if it was Zanziba I saw, or not."

"It was him. I know it was. But if he died in Saturnia, how can he be alive now?"

"That's a very good question. But I have a suspicion… " "You know something you're not telling me. You saw something, there in the compound!"

"Perhaps. I'll have to go back and have another look, to be sure." "When?"

I sighed, looking around the little room we had been given to share at the hostel in Ravenna. It was a plain room, with two hard beds, a small lamp, and a single chamber pot, but to my weary eyes, as the long summer day faded to twilight, it looked very inviting. "Tonight, I suppose. Might as well get it over with." "What if the lanista won't let you in?" "I don't intend to ask him." "You're going to sneak in? But how?"

"I do have some experience at this sort of thing, Zuleika. I noticed a particular spot in the palisade where the posts are a bit shorter than elsewhere. If I climb over at that point, and manage not to impale myself, I think I can drop right onto the roof of the slaughterhouse. From there I can easily climb down-"

"But the dogs! You heard dogs barking. The man on the road said a dog tore a slave's leg off."

I cleared my throat. "Yes, well, the dogs do pose a challenge. But I think I know, from the sound of their barking, where their kennel is located. That's why I bought those pieces of meat at the butcher shop this afternoon; and why I travel with that small pouch full of various powders and potions. In my line of work, you never know when you might have need of a powerful soporific. A few pieces of steak, generously dusted with pulverized harpy root and tossed over the palisade… "

"But even if you put the dogs to sleep, there are all those gladia-tors, men who've been trained to kill-"

"I shall carry a dagger for self-defense."

"A dagger! From the way you describe Ahala, the lanista himself could kill you with his bare hands." She shook her head. "You'll be taking a terrible risk, Gordianus."

"That's what you're paying me for, Zuleika."

"I should go with you."

"Absolutely not!"