Benedik Pryam, one of Gracchus’ most trusted fellow mystics, sat beside the lead cleric. Casually grasping the shoulder folds of his white and burgundy robe with one hand, he leaned closer. The look on his face was not reassuring.

“Sometimes you push the Blood Royal too hard!” he protested under his breath. “We all agree that he should be continually tested so that he learns how to deal with unexpected pressure-we have done so since the day that he was born. And I agree that such tactics have made him into the strongest and most beloved ruler that the empire has ever seen. But when you defy him in public-and before the entire coliseum audience, no less-you go too far! Hemust have the continued respect of the mob if he is to conquer Shashida for us!”

Smiling, Gracchus turned to look at his friend. Despite his great age, Benedik remained an attractive, vigorous man, because the time enchantments had been granted to him when he had passed only fifty Seasons of New Life. His dark eyes were sharp, and he had a full head of iron-gray hair that he kept cropped close.

“Worried about our young prodigy, are you?” Gracchus asked, as he popped a grape into his mouth. “Don’t concern yourself unnecessarily, my old friend. He is everything that we could have asked for and more. If I’m right, this unexpected order of his will do nothing but further embed him into the public’s heart. Vespasian knows what Rustannica is. It’s the mob, pure and simple. They will soon love him even more for the unprecedented spectacle that he is about to grant them.”

“Be careful, Gracchus,” Benedik pressed, “lest this monster that we have created get out of hand.” But Gracchus only smiled and turned his gaze back to the arena.

As he waited for the news about the change in the program to reach the crowd, Lucius also found himself curious about Vespasian’s motives. After taking another sip of wine, the First Tribune turned to look at his emperor.