“So, Marcus,” he began expansively, “how do you find our little corner of the empire? Dull, no doubt, after the fun of Rome?”

As the slave girl bent over to pour the wine, she offered me a splendid view of her taut, conical breasts, hanging within the billowing neckline of her tunic. I tried to respond to my magnanimous host as best as I could. Although somewhat distracted, I heard myself assuring him that the present company, at least, was the equal of any to be found in Rome. He beamed in appreciation of the compliment It was true, he admitted with a thoughtful nod, that in some ways we had been able to retain “a bit of old Rome” here in the hinterlands. He paused, and then brightened up. For example, there were the games!

“When was the last time you saw a couple of famous gladiators going at it?” He grinned with amusement.

I’ll admit I was a bit bewildered, but I couldn’t help smiling at his obvious enthusiasm. It had been a while, I allowed, remembering those disastrous games where I had lost a more than a few denarii betting on the blue team. But there were no games in Bernesium. Surely, my host didn’t maintain a stable of gladiators! Now I discovered he had a different contest in mind. For, after a teasing pause, he enlightened me, grinning broadly. He had arranged to have a special entertainment staged in my honor. As a man who appreciated the ladies, he leered, he felt sure I would enjoy his very special “gladiators.”

Now the master of the house clapped his hands and shouted triumphantly:

“Let the games begin!”

Intrigued, I watched as two hooded figures appeared from between the circle of columns surrounding the room. They were barefoot, their bodies shrouded in long wine-red cloaks with cowls that turned up to cover their heads. The mysterious figures came to a stop just in front of their seated master. They stood side by side, awaiting his orders.