As soon as Lulu stepped into the arena, I hissed through my teeth. Mistake, what a terrible mistake!

Atia leaned forward, and Flamma, sitting on her other side like a loyal pup, was whispering something to his protégé Shams. The young prince was within arm's reach, and I admit that several times I thought about sabotaging him in some way. Poison his drink without anyone noticing? Prick him somewhere that'll sting and affect his focus? I pushed the intrusive thoughts away and focused on the first bout of the bracket; Lulu of the Stone Sentinels versus Ibn Mana, a Bedouin fisherman who fought with a trident and net.

And therein lay Lulu's first mistake. Not only was he wearing heavy armor and carried a shield, his helmet had a protruding spike at the top. I hoped, guiltily, that this would make short work for Ibn Mana and put an end to this fight. I could use the hustle and bustle between the bouts to sneak towards Tiridates, Haza, and the rest of the Persian cohort. They had a platform on the other end of the arena field, decked out in purple banners and surrounded by heavily armored cataphracts. I'd wondered why Tiridates had such a heavy personal guard but Atia assured me it was all for display. Persians had a tendency for lavish displays of wealth and power. "He's just a peacock," she had said.

Bold words for a woman who wore a golden tiara, a long blue dress of pure silk and a large emerald pendant resting gently between her breasts. Almost all of her retinue were dressed in a similar manner, and so I was surrounded by a crowd of scantily clad priestesses and pesky noblemen who couldn't stop bothering them. No one was paying any attention to the fight.

Even Cato the city-master, who sat in the front row, was already nodding in and out of sleep. His Lictor, Brutus the slave-hunter, had to keep nudging him awake.

"Who do you think is going to win?" Atia asked me. She looked genuinely interested in the match-up so I obliged her.

"Ibn Mana."

"Really? The Arab is barely wearing any armour! Lulu is so well-armed, and-"

"Doesn't matter," I cut her off, "he'll get himself trapped in the net and probably prodded to death unless he surrenders."

"A net? Like a fishing net?" Atia squinted her eyes at Ibn Mana, who marched on to the field carrying a trident, and what looked like coiled rope.

"It's surprisingly effective," I said, thinking of ways Hurek might use it in the future. Experienced gladiators could counter it, but it was still a good option against heavy opponents. I doubted Hurek had the agility to use it, though.

Ibn Mana began the first round by circling Lulu just out of reach. The stone-mason himself played defensive, keeping the Bedouin from flanking him. Another mistake.

"Lulu needs to run in and hit him hard," I said, "he has little hope if he just staggers around."

"I think you're too harsh with him," Atia said, and I realized she was close enough for me to smell her minty rose perfume and her hair brushed against my hand. I pulled it away. "How about we strike a wager, you and me," she continued.

"A wager?"

"Yes," she said. "If Ibn Mana wins, I will owe you a favor."

What is with this woman? "And if Lulu wins, as you predict?"

"And if Lulu wins..." Atia said with a playful smile, "you will tell me about your wife, and your life back in Rome."

"I rather not."

"Worried you will lose?" she challenged.

Flamma, who was perhaps a little annoyed that I was receiving Atia's attention, cut in, "My Lady, where is Suetonius? I expected him to be sitting with us."

Atia ignored him. "Well?" she said, cocking her head at me. The Bedouin crowd was beginning to jeer at Lulu as he stumbled at Ibn Mana's first strike; a Trident thrust, which landed on the stone-mason's shield with a resounding smack.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Fine," I said, motivated not just by Lulu's poor form but also the poisonous look I was getting from Flamma. What could be the harm? Let Atia be engrossed by this amateur fight. Maybe this was the perfect time to sneak away to the Persians.

"If you'll excuse me," I took my chance and just as I'd hoped, Atia had turned her attention back to the fight and didn't think much of my exit. Flamma on the other hand, stuck out his foot in my way, hoping I'd trip. Shams really liked that, as he gave a loud snort. Petty little shit-stain.

I stepped over Flamma's foot and didn't give them the pleasure of my annoyance. Besides, my aim was set on Haza. I had a gift for him. A gesture of good-will, or so I hoped.

***

The walk was longer than I'd expected. I had to circumvent the entire maydan for one. And then there was the rowdy commoner crowd, and especially the Bedouin groups, who were boisterous over their man Ibn Mana and the source of many insulting chants. The temple-goers, most of them middle class Palmyrans, milled around the food stalls and sat on spread out carpets, barely paying attention. They were waiting for the main fights.

I picked my way through the sweaty bodies and crossed a strange sight of a shaking barrel.

"Sons of Dis!" I cursed as a blonde-haired man poked his head out of the wooden container, nearly giving me a heart-attack. "What are you doing man!"

"Apologies, Master," he drawled in his barbarian accent. "Might I interest you in some beer?" he ended with a burp that smelled like raw onions.

"I remember you," I said, straining my memories of last week. "You were the man who brought us news of Bestarii's death?"

"Aye," he replied, "rotten affair, that." He leaned to the side of his barrel, his eyes drooping in and out of consciousness. The man was blind drunk.

"Get yourself to a temple, fool," I said, "why drown your sorrows in that vile drink?"

"I've done sworn myself to the three-titted goddess," he said, "would ya like to meet her?"

"I must humbly decline," I said and left the madman in his barrel.

"Suit yerself!" he called after me.

I finally entered a clearing where only a few onlookers had gathered, and spared a quick glance to the fight. Sure enough, Ibn Mana had managed to throw his net on top of Lulu, and his spiked helmet was hooked clean into the rope. The man struggled hopelessly as Ibn Mana took his time jabbing and prodding his unprotected calves and any other opening he could find. I wished I could see Atia's face right now.

I chuckled to myself, already thinking of the many favors I could force upon her. I could use a personal wash tub in my room, but it seemed like a wasteful choice. I thought of Merula and maybe asking for the poor girl's freedom.

Thank you, Ibn Mana.

***

Tiridates was a resolute man; he had the eyes of a scholar, and the posture of a shrewd patrician. He had a long, curly beard, which he kept well-oiled and shining black. The gold-studded curls reached down to his chest, striking a vibrant contrast against his purple silk robes.

And just as I'd expected, Baba Haza sat to his left, staring intensely at the on-going fight. Neither of them noticed my presence, and before I could sneak my way up the platform, a Persian warrior stepped in front of me. The cataphract wasn't on his horse but still wore his full armour, a mace on his side and his helmet on the other. He blocked my path and crossed his arms.

"Please, I must speak with-"

He interrupted me, saying something in Persian which I translated as "No guests" or "No attendants". Something like that.

"I have a gift, for Baba Haza," I replied.

He stared back, silent.

"A gift," I emphasized, "from Atia herself."

The warrior shook his head. He clearly didn't understand but declined me nonetheless. They were too far for me to start yelling and I was not going to make a scene here now, lest Atia find out somehow. "Fine," I said, "here, take this."

From inside my bag, I took out Layla's sapphire tiara. Looking closely, I noticed it still had some drops of blood crusted in it's grooves. I quickly wiped it clean with my robes and offered it to the warrior, who stared at it blankly. "For Baba Haza," I said. "A gift from Cicero."

The man considered my words, before finally taking it in his hands. I was worried his gauntlets might scratch it in some way but he held it gingerly. "A gift from Cicero," I repeated, "To Baba Haza. Understand?"

He shooed me away, and I prayed to Jupiter under my breath as I exited the platform. This would either get me in trouble with Atia, or win me some favor with Haza. Oddly enough, I was most worried about Hurek's reaction if he ever found out that I was trying to make friends with the Persian. But I wasn't abandoning the Nokchi, was I? Just planning ahead. Putting my eggs in different baskets...

The crowd cheered suddenly and I glanced back at the fight. Lulu had somehow cut through the net with his sica, chased down Ibn Mana, and was filleting him like a fish. The Bedouin screamed as the short sword cut and sliced his naked body. His ashen tattoos shined crimson and slowly the man yelled out his surrender; to the dismay of both myself and the Bedouins in the crowd. Some of them even tried to invade the field in their champion's defense before militiamen caught them.

I couldn't see Atia from this far, but I imagined she was smiling from ear to ear, and perhaps now keenly aware of my absence.

***