you can hope for."
"I said no.” He did not relax his grip on the surgeon's shoulder.
"There isn't any choice.” The surgeon wasn't annoyed, but he disliked the attitude of the foreigner. “If you think you can do better..."
Saint-Germain released the surgeon, who cleared his throat in preparation of ordering him to leave, but he was startled to see the foreigner kneel once again and lift the charioteer as he had before. “Stand aside, Surgeon."
A new voice interrupted them. “Franciscus, if you take that slave from here, no one will be responsible for what happens to him.” It was the Master of the Bestiarii, Necredes, who stood to one side, an unpleasant expression on his hard features.
"That is quite acceptable to me.” Plainly, Saint-Germain did not want to be kept waiting any longer than necessary. “I will sign a document to that effect as soon as I have Kosrozd in a sedan chair bound for my villa."
"How do I know that you will not change your mind? You must give me that document first.” He was close to smiling, and waved the surgeon away.
"You have my word on it,” Saint-Germain said, and started away toward the arches that led to the street.
Necredes hurried after him. “I won't be cheated by you as I was once. You'll say that I harmed your slave, or that no one cared for him."
Saint-Germain's dark eyes took on a steely glitter. “ I gave you my word . Stand aside!"
What might have occurred next was never known, for one of the bestiarii came running up. “Necredes, the big crocodile has gotten loose from his cage. We've got to have help with him!"
"Where?” Necredes demanded.
"Second level down. The door of the cage opened. We can't drive him back.” The words were lost to Saint-Germain as he hurried through the arches toward the street.
There were a number of chairmen standing about waiting for the Games to reach their midday break. Saint-Germain chose four men who lounged beside a palanquin with several luxurious cushions and curtains to close it. “You, chairmen!” he shouted.
The largest individual turned. “Me?"
"Your palanquin. Get it ready.” He had come up beside it and was carefully setting Kosrozd down in it.
"Hey! He's bleeding. You can't ruin our cushions."
"I'll pay for them.” When he was certain that Kosrozd was well-supported, he reached and bound the smallest of the cushions tightly against the deep cut in his leg. The bleeding had lessened, but not enough to reassure Saint-Germain.
"Get him out of there!” ordered the chairman.
Saint-Germain straightened up. “I'm hiring you. You can't refuse legitimate hire."
The chairman gave him one caustic glance. “How do I know that?"
Saint-Germain had endured more interference than he was willing to tolerate. “You know because I wear jewels in my rings, good citizens, and because that man's slave collar bears my name. The cost of your services outside the walls of Rome—"
"Outside the walls? Are you insane?” the chairman demanded.
"—is two sesterci per thousand paces. If you will carry this man to my villa, which is three thousand paces beyond the Praetorian camp, my body slave will give you three times that. All you must say is that it is because of the eclipse.” Saint-Germain reached into the bag that hung from his belt and extracted four gold coins. “This is your first payment. You must hurry."
The chairman grumbled even as he motioned to the other three to take up their positions. “Right, boys,” he said like the old soldier he so obviously was.
When the palanquin had disappeared down the dusty street, Saint-Germain stepped back through the arches of the stableyard, then turned toward the long hallway that would lead him back to the stairs to Egnatius’ box. He had just come in from the sunlight when a voice spoke to him in the darkness.
"Saint-Germain Franciscus.” The voice was low, distinctly feminine, with the hint of a tremor.
He stopped, his eyes still dazzled by the brightness
"I said no.” He did not relax his grip on the surgeon's shoulder.
"There isn't any choice.” The surgeon wasn't annoyed, but he disliked the attitude of the foreigner. “If you think you can do better..."
Saint-Germain released the surgeon, who cleared his throat in preparation of ordering him to leave, but he was startled to see the foreigner kneel once again and lift the charioteer as he had before. “Stand aside, Surgeon."
A new voice interrupted them. “Franciscus, if you take that slave from here, no one will be responsible for what happens to him.” It was the Master of the Bestiarii, Necredes, who stood to one side, an unpleasant expression on his hard features.
"That is quite acceptable to me.” Plainly, Saint-Germain did not want to be kept waiting any longer than necessary. “I will sign a document to that effect as soon as I have Kosrozd in a sedan chair bound for my villa."
"How do I know that you will not change your mind? You must give me that document first.” He was close to smiling, and waved the surgeon away.
"You have my word on it,” Saint-Germain said, and started away toward the arches that led to the street.
Necredes hurried after him. “I won't be cheated by you as I was once. You'll say that I harmed your slave, or that no one cared for him."
Saint-Germain's dark eyes took on a steely glitter. “ I gave you my word . Stand aside!"
What might have occurred next was never known, for one of the bestiarii came running up. “Necredes, the big crocodile has gotten loose from his cage. We've got to have help with him!"
"Where?” Necredes demanded.
"Second level down. The door of the cage opened. We can't drive him back.” The words were lost to Saint-Germain as he hurried through the arches toward the street.
There were a number of chairmen standing about waiting for the Games to reach their midday break. Saint-Germain chose four men who lounged beside a palanquin with several luxurious cushions and curtains to close it. “You, chairmen!” he shouted.
The largest individual turned. “Me?"
"Your palanquin. Get it ready.” He had come up beside it and was carefully setting Kosrozd down in it.
"Hey! He's bleeding. You can't ruin our cushions."
"I'll pay for them.” When he was certain that Kosrozd was well-supported, he reached and bound the smallest of the cushions tightly against the deep cut in his leg. The bleeding had lessened, but not enough to reassure Saint-Germain.
"Get him out of there!” ordered the chairman.
Saint-Germain straightened up. “I'm hiring you. You can't refuse legitimate hire."
The chairman gave him one caustic glance. “How do I know that?"
Saint-Germain had endured more interference than he was willing to tolerate. “You know because I wear jewels in my rings, good citizens, and because that man's slave collar bears my name. The cost of your services outside the walls of Rome—"
"Outside the walls? Are you insane?” the chairman demanded.
"—is two sesterci per thousand paces. If you will carry this man to my villa, which is three thousand paces beyond the Praetorian camp, my body slave will give you three times that. All you must say is that it is because of the eclipse.” Saint-Germain reached into the bag that hung from his belt and extracted four gold coins. “This is your first payment. You must hurry."
The chairman grumbled even as he motioned to the other three to take up their positions. “Right, boys,” he said like the old soldier he so obviously was.
When the palanquin had disappeared down the dusty street, Saint-Germain stepped back through the arches of the stableyard, then turned toward the long hallway that would lead him back to the stairs to Egnatius’ box. He had just come in from the sunlight when a voice spoke to him in the darkness.
"Saint-Germain Franciscus.” The voice was low, distinctly feminine, with the hint of a tremor.
He stopped, his eyes still dazzled by the brightness
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