CHAPTER 10Scipio Agricola Africanus sat in a dungeon beneath the Circus arena. Through a barred grating, he watched one gladiator disembowel another. The stroke, he thought, was clean and good, for the men from Gaul were like wolves, dark, feral and quick. Scipio rather hoped he would be matched against them, rather than against lions or an elephant. There was something about the feel of steel matched against your own sword that put heart into a man.
An armored guard, coming along the corridor, pushed open the door of Scipio’s cell. His hawk face peered in.
“Your turn soon,” he said.
“Good,” replied Scipio, with a pleasant oath. “I grow tired of battling fleas.”
The soldier chuckled as he bent to adjust a greave.
“By my Lares, you have courage! Too bad your dream failed. I would not h
