Zoe’s hand dropped down to clutch the handle of the gladius on her hip.

The hilt and bulbous counterweight were polished ebony. The blade was twenty inches of sharp steel. Zoe left it in its sheath but kept her fingers on it. She padded forward, cautious as a cat.

The twilight was becoming cool. Her cloak was draped around her. A passer-by might not have seen the sword. Above the roofs, the sky was pink and purple. Her free hand tightened round her walking-staff.

She reached a corner, rounded it and saw the men ahead. They were gathered round two people in the road. One was on his hands and knees, as if he’d just been struck, and Zoe saw he was an older man. The other person was a dark young woman. She knelt and clung to him protectively.

This street was broader, wide enough for two chariots to pass. A big town house was standing on the right. To her left, a poorer dwelling faced it. Zoe guessed the old man and the girl had come from there.

She heard – and smelled – a burst of drunken laughter. Somebody kicked the old man in the ribs. Zoe’s dark eyes narrowed in her hard but handsome face. The girl cried out in anger and dismay.

A part of her suggested she should turn and slip away. She had business to attend to in this town. That was why she’d found her way to this street in the first place. But Zoe was a former slave, and knew just what it felt like to be spurned.

One of the men lashed out at the young woman. "Shut it, bitch!"

"Better watch your bollocks," Zoe taunted. "Bitches bite."

The men looked round aggressively. She prowled towards them through the rising dusk. It seemed that her appearance had confused them – her short dark hair and lean physique contrasting with the clear note of her voice. "What d’you mean, you little slut?" a man demanded roughly. In answer, Zoe grasped her staff and jabbed him in the groin.

He doubled forward, groaning, and she jerked the staff to strike him on the jaw. The man spun down onto his rump. She rushed his startled friends. Before they could react, she swung the stave at one man’s stomach, then thrust its length against another’s chest.

The group broke up in disarray as the slim girl battered through them. Someone hauled a dagger out, and Zoe yanked her gladius from its sheath. She sliced the blade across his bulging biceps. The dagger jumped and clattered to the road.

The sword’s edge caught the last light of the evening. She brandished it. The growling men drew back. Spots of dark blood glistened on the flagstones. The first man hawked and spat at Zoe’s feet.

"You’re welcome to them," someone sneered. The sullen group began to slink away. Zoe eyed them narrowly, then flipped the blade around and slid it back into its sheath again.

She glanced towards the town house on the far side of the street. A dwelling for the well-to-do, presenting just a blank face to the world. The heavy door was shut and there were no external windows. And yet she sensed the malice from within.

The man and girl were watching her with wary gratitude. She turned to them, and realised they were Jews. The man’s beard might be greying but his gaze was quizzical. The girl looked young enough to be his daughter.

"May the Lord bless you, my child," the man said gently, as if afraid that she would strike again. Nonetheless, he gestured to the narrow house behind him. "You are a traveller? Come and eat with us."

Zoe dipped her head. "I would be honoured." She moved to help him to his feet, the quiet girl supporting him as well. "It may not be my business," Zoe ventured, "but what quarrel did those charmers have with you?"

"Nothing that a few coins didn’t buy," the girl said grimly. There was a dark defiance in her eyes. "The tribune Severus lives there …" She gestured at the town house "… and he would see us driven from our home."

Zoe’s face stayed pensive, but a thrill went down her spine. An icy tingle of anticipation. After all those miles, she’d reached the house of Severus. And Corinna, his preening wife, whom Zoe had come all this way to kill.

* * *

The little house was plain and sparsely-furnished, but Zoe felt quite comfortable in it. Much more at ease than she’d have been in that palatial house across the road. Candles glowed in every nook and made the dark feel sacred. She sat cross-legged on the floor and shared the same low table as her hosts.

The man’s name was Matthias and the woman was his daughter Miriam. The three of them ate mutton stew, perhaps made with the last meat in the house. The bread was coarse but tasted fresh. The wine was dark and smooth. Zoe nodded gratefully as the old man reached across to fill her cup.

"How can this tribune cause you grief?" she wondered casually. "I thought you had the emperor’s protection."

Matthias sighed and shook his head. "Our people are not welcomed as they were. We will not bow down to the Roman idols. And now our land has risen in revolt."

His daughter had maintained a modest silence, but now she looked at Zoe anxiously. "Perhaps you have not heard," she said, "but Roman troops have perished in the fighting. So Roman Jews are treated with suspicion. This tribune wants to see us driven out."

"I hear that he has never served," Matthias added dryly. "He calls for retribution from the comfort of his couch. And more than vengeance for the troops, he means to have my vineyard! This wine is our own pressing. Have some more of it, my child ..."

Zoe blinked, then shrugged and let him top her up again. Her gaze went drifting over to the wall. A heavy knife was hanging up beside the kitchen doorway. The blade was maybe eighteen inches long, without a point.

Miriam saw her looking. "That’s my father’s slaughter-knife. He prepares meat for our neighbours, in accordance with our ways." She peered at Zoe curiously, the candle-flames reflecting in her eyes. "You have a weapon of your own, and use it just as well."

Zoe’s gladius was on the rug beside her. She glanced towards it carelessly. "I fought in the arena once," she said.

A different league of butchery. Perhaps it made her unclean in their eyes. She sensed Matthias watching her, and shifted with discomfort. But then the old man offered her more bread.

"Tribune Severus is a great patron of the games. He often hosts the meal before the fights." Matthias smiled at her, a little wryly. "Perhaps he’d let you share his table too."

"Maybe," Zoe grinned, as if the thought was too absurd. She took another sip of wine, her dark eyes glittering above the cup.

* * *

"So," the fat lanista said. "Why should I take you on?"

Zoe sipped her drink and smiled. The first reason was obvious enough. The man was beady-eyed with lust. He’d gorge on her once she belonged to him.

The tavern was full of midday noise. They sat at a plank table in the corner. Zoe tore a piece of bread to dip in her cheap gruel. "I give the people what they want," she said.

The gladiator-owner eyed her shrewdly. "My girls fight topless, yes," he said. "But what the people want to see is blood."

"They will," said Zoe evenly. "A wineskin full of it."

She sensed somebody watching her from over by the counter. A girl in a red tunic with an insolent expression on her face. The brightly-coloured garment was a mark of her profession. Zoe wasn’t fazed by that. She’d been a whore herself.

"And you are Greek, you say ..." The fat man gave a crooked smile. "Do you know the tales I hear, among the trade? A lanista took a Greek girl on, and threw her to his troupe. The little minx killed three of them – and murdered the man’s wife as she escaped."

Zoe raised her eyebrows. "So. A girl like her would be an asset, then."

"Yes … if she behaved herself." They met each other’s eyes. "Besides, if she got caught, she would be crucified of course."

"Of course," said Zoe, mopping up her gruel.

The girl in the red tunic sauntered past them. Perhaps she thought that Zoe was a rival on her patch. Zoe glanced at her, and caught a glimpse of well-shaped biceps. She put the bread into her mouth, and wiped her fingers on her tunic-skirt.

"You know the gladiator’s oath," the man was saying. "It binds you to my service, girl – on pain of whips and irons …"

Someone seized Zoe from behind and pressed a dagger’s edge against her throat.

"… and ultimately steel," the fat man said.

The girl in red had taken hold of Zoe. Her musky perfume hovered like a cloud. Zoe swallowed carefully, and her mouthful squeezed down past the dagger’s blade. The lanista sat back, sneering now. "What use a girl who’s caught so easily?"

"What indeed?" said Zoe – and the harlot’s dark eyes widened. She looked up at her master fretfully. Zoe had drawn her own blade under cover of the table, and now the point was pricking the girl’s thigh.

The muscles in the harlot’s arms had showed her true profession, and Zoe had been ready for her lunge. "I might not reach the artery," she murmured. "But one jerk rips your muscles out. A cripple won’t last long in the arena."

The harlot hesitated, then withdrew her blade again. Her master gestured her away. "You must excuse Camilla," he said dryly.

Zoe shrugged dismissively and finished off her wine. "Whips and branding irons and swords. Agreed. When do I start?"

"The games begin in two days’ time. We’ll test your mettle then." The lanista studied her admiringly. "Tomorrow, you’re invited to the house of Severus. He’s giving a free banquet for my girls."

"A fine tradition," Zoe said. "The followers of Christos have one too. I hope he serves a decent meal. Who knows, it might be somebody’s Last Supper."

* * *

There were five girls in the fighting troupe, of whom Camilla was the surliest. She ruled the others like a clique, and Zoe was made to feel like an intruder. She wouldn’t want one of those to watch her back in the arena. But in the tribune’s dining room, they had to eat their food off the same plates.

They were dressed in short clean tunics for the evening. No doubt it was to titillate their host. The tribune and his friends reclined on couches round the table, while the girls sat on the floor like pampered pets. Now and then his wife fed them a titbit, and smirked indulgently to see them eat.

Zoe took the grape she offered, gazing into Corinna’s blue eyes. They had a heavy-lidded, lustful look. The girl was piqued by Zoe’s stare, and pouted with annoyance. But there was no spark of recognition there.

Zoe dropped her gaze and ate. The sharp-faced little vixen hadn’t changed. Not since the night she’d murdered her own father, and then blamed Zoe for the bloody deed. Lucilla, Zoe’s fellow whore, had been condemned as well. The bears had torn her limb from limb, while Zoe was consigned to the arena …

"These insolent Judeans must be put down forcefully ..." Severus was speaking now, and Zoe turned her head to peer at him. He was a coldly handsome man, with close-cropped greying hair. His simpering blonde wife looked half his age.

"Their blood-kin are in every town. The enemies of Rome within our gates!" He wiped his mouth and gestured to his neighbour. "I have them living on my very doorstep ..."

Zoe took a quail between her fingers and let her gaze drift round the painted room. Her fellow gladiators were enjoying the unaccustomed luxury. Gudrun, a small German girl, was sharing a guest’s couch. Still eating, he caressed and cuddled her.

Corinna stroked Camilla’s hair, and tittered at some flattering remark. She didn’t look like somebody in mourning. Perhaps no-one had told her that her mother, too, was dead. Phillipa, who shared her guilt. Phillipa, whom Zoe had cut down.

The rich guests ate till they could eat no more. The fighters were more prudent, being mindful of the morning, but the wine had made them loud and sniggery. Zoe had nursed her own drink, and her mind was clear and sharp, but she made a show of tipsiness as well.

They’d come wearing their swords, to the amusement of the guests, but these were put aside during the feast. Now, as the diners took their leave, the household slaves were summoned with the weapons. The giggling girls went through into the central atrium. Gudrun had a sated look, as if she’d just had sex in some dark corner.

Corinna was waiting in the hall. A purse of coins was chinking in her palm. She had a sly look on her face, and Zoe felt a tingle down her spine.

"Here’s a fee for you, my girls, if you’ll do some work for us." Corinna revelled in their greedy looks. "There’s a house of Jews across the road. We want them out of there. The money will be yours to share. Your owner doesn’t need to know of it."

Camilla made to take the purse, but Corinna held it back. "You can come and get it when the work is done." Smiling like a cream-fed cat, she padded from the atrium. The slaves withdrew. The front door stood ajar.

Camilla and another girl took torches from their brackets and led the way into the murky street. The others followed eagerly, but one girl scurried back the way they’d come. Zoe followed her into the empty dining room, and found her stuffing food into her mouth. The girl glanced round and looked a little sheepish. "I’m coming," she insisted. "But it seems a shame to let this go to waste …"

She was gorging on a peach when Zoe moved up close behind her and thrust the gladius into her back. The girl’s eyes bulged in horror, but the fruit lodged in her mouth and choked her scream. Zoe clasped her round the chest and drove the weapon deeper. The dying girl bit through the peach and squirted juice across the tabletop.

Blood came oozing after it, and Zoe let her go. The body slumped amidst the leftovers. Zoe glanced around, then darted lightly for the door. The others were halfway across the street.

The flaming torches cast their glow across the house’s front. The dark street was deserted at this hour. Camilla drew her sword and banged the hilt against the door. "Open up!" she called. "We want a word!"

"Leave them be," said Zoe from behind her.

Camilla turned and glared at her. The others looked around disdainfully. Then Camilla curled her lip. "Too bad you won’t be sharing in the money."

Zoe shrugged. "Too bad you have to die."

The girls exchanged fast glances. Zoe raised her bloody sword. The others stared in disbelief, and started to spread out. Zoe eased towards them, very slowly. The nearest fighter hissed and lunged at her.

She swung her sword at Zoe’s face, then lashed out with the torch in her left hand. Zoe dodged the flashing blade and ducked beneath the whoosh of flame and sparks. She launched herself out of a crouch and stabbed at the girl’s midriff. The fighter doubled up around the thrust.

Zoe wrenched her weapon clear and spilled a gout of blood across the pavement. The stricken girl sobbed pitifully, before collapsing like a new-born foal. Zoe danced away from her. The other girls closed in. They circled Zoe round the fallen torch. She wriggled past a slicing sword, then pirouetted sharply. The sheer momentum of her swing cut through the fighter’s guard, and through her neck.

Gudrun rushed her from behind, but Zoe spun around to block her thrust. Their swords clashed with a spew of sparks. The steely impact echoed round the street. The blonde girl was petite but there was strength in her small frame, and Zoe grunted as she fought her off. From the corner of her eye she glimpsed Camilla squaring up to hurl her torch.

Next moment it was tumbling towards her, like a fiery missile from a catapult. Zoe’s muscles bunched like knots, but the flaming mass distracted Gudrun too. Zoe reared back and kicked the blonde girl in the belly, then whirled and struck the firebrand in midair. It flipped above them, spraying sparks. The German girl looked up at it, aghast. Before she could recover, Zoe’s blade was in her stomach, an icy blockage in her sated gut.

Zoe embraced her brutally. The torch fell like a comet. The blonde’s grimacing mouth filled up with blood. She dropped her sword and clutched at Zoe, then went over backwards. Zoe was dragged down after her, still trying to free her blade.

Camilla swooped triumphantly and seized hold of her hair. "I’ve caught you this time, haven’t I?" she hissed. Zoe knew at once what the ex-harlot meant to do: reprise their confrontation in the tavern.

Still on her knees, she tipped her head back, stretching her bare throat. Camilla smiled at her submissiveness. Her levelled sword came into view, and the house’s door burst open. "Enough of this!" cried Miriam’s husky voice.

Camilla looked round sharply, which was all the hesitation Zoe needed. The dagger she’d already drawn went jabbing backwards in a vicious arc. It carved into the girl’s firm thigh and made Camilla wail. Zoe powered back against her, knocking her onto her shapely arse.

She swung around before the squealing wench could raise her sword. "What use a girl who takes the same bait twice?" Zoe bore Camilla down, into the bloody gutter. She glanced at her victim’s bleeding thigh. "I warned you that a cripple won’t last long."

Camilla’s breasts heaved through her flimsy tunic. Zoe punched her dagger down through each of them in turn. The stricken fighter arched her spine and gurgled throatily. Her body spasmed and shuddered, then went limp.

Zoe straightened up. Her heart was pounding. The killing lust had flooded her like wine. She looked around at Miriam, who was watching with wide eyes. The girl wore a simple cotton shift and her thick brown hair hung loose.

Her trembling hands were locked around her father’s slaughter-knife.

Zoe eyed the burnished blade, then clambered to her feet. "The tribune and his wife sent these," she said. "And more will follow after them – unless we end it now." She pulled her gladius out of Gudrun’s flesh.

Miriam chewed her lip and came to join her. Together they crossed the body-littered street. The front door of the big house was still open. Zoe slipped inside, sword poised, and Miriam followed barefoot at her heels.

The atrium was dark without its torches. The patch of sky above them was reflected in the cistern at their feet. As Zoe moved around the pool of starlight, a figure loomed out of the dark ahead.

"So this is how my welcome is repaid," said Severus.

He stepped into the frosty light. It turned his face into an iron mask. Miriam gave a little gasp and backed away from him. The tribune raised a sword to point at her.

"How dare you come under my roof?" he breathed.

Then he lunged at Zoe, with a slashing blow she barely warded off. His gladius was adorned with gold, but glinted like base metal in the starlight. Zoe ducked away from him and skittered round the cistern. The tribune eyed her with disdain, then turned to glare at Miriam again.

The Jewish girl had backed towards the torch-lit dining room. Her eyes were wide and frightened, but she braced the butcher’s knife defiantly. Severus looked from one face to the other. He noted Zoe’s steady gaze, and went for her again.

She backtracked as he swiped and stabbed. The tribune turned his blade on Miriam. The Jewish girl tried vainly to repel him with her knife, then stumbled back into the dining room. Severus advanced on her, as cold-faced as a corpse. Zoe rushed him from behind, and sheered off as he scythed his weapon round.

Miriam lashed out at him. He struck the slaughter-knife out of her grip. She lost her balance, falling to the room’s mosaic floor. A cooking spit was resting on its brackets by the wall, with a half-carved piglet still impaled on it. Miriam slumped against it and the greasy carcase landed in her lap.

She whimpered in appalled disgust, and now the tribune smiled, an ugly rictus tightening his jaw. "Pardon me," he mocked, "I know you people don’t like pigs." He whirled to fend off Zoe’s next attack.

As he came around again, Miriam grasped the spit and thrust up from her crouch. It drove into his stomach, and the tribune doubled forward with a groan. Miriam’s face contorted as she forced the skewer deeper. The golden gladius clattered to the floor.

"Looks like this one gave you indigestion," Miriam spat.

The tribune coughed and dribbled blood, and Zoe rose behind him. She hacked her gladius into his head. Severus flopped sideways like a heavy sack of flour, while Miriam flinched and turned her face away.

"Stay there," Zoe said. "I have to finish this myself." Her sword was buried in the tribune’s skull. As she made to prise it free, she saw the slaughter-knife. Impulsively she picked that up instead, and left the room.

"Severus, my darling …have those hussies done their job?"

The voice came from the bedroom and it purred with satisfaction. Of course it had been Corinna’s idea. Zoe’s heart pumped hotly as she went towards the lamplight. The bitch would still be counting out her gold.

A curtain screened the doorway and she eased it to one side. The tribune’s wife was lounging on the bed. She’d exchanged her modest gown for something filmy and translucent. Zoe could see her nipples, like a pair of bosses on her heavy breasts.

The girl looked up seductively, and then her pointed face grew cold and sharp. "How dare you …?" she began and raised herself. Her cat’s eyes flashed, then narrowed at the sight of Zoe’s tunic. She chewed her lip uncertainly. "So … have you dealt with them?"

"A purse of gold you promised us, my lady," Zoe said.

Corinna hesitated and glanced over at the table. The purse was there, beside the oil lamp. She struggled to regain her poise. "I trust those Jews won’t trouble us again."

"Not where you’re going," Zoe said.

The blonde frowned stupidly at her, and Zoe raised the knife. Matthias had explained its sacredness. Blunt at the end, but razor-keen, without the slightest nick. A honed Shechita blade. A perfect edge.

"They’re meant to use this on a spotless heifer. But I guess you’ll have to do, you spiteful cow."

Corinna gave a startled bleat, then sucked in air to scream, but Zoe pounced before she could cry out. She shoved the blonde girl off her feet and bore her down onto the yielding bed. A guttural wheeze was all Corinna managed, squeezed out as Zoe settled on her chest. Her head fell back, to dangle off the far side of the bed. She clawed at Zoe’s wrists despairingly.

"Your father died in bed, as well," said Zoe bitterly. "My friend Lucilla died in the arena. Remember us, you little bitch? Your sins just found you out."

She sliced the razor edge into Corinna’s tautened throat. The blade sank deep, as if dividing wax. The blonde girl choked on the cold steel. Her body bucked, her long legs kicking out. Zoe hung on grimly as blood bubbled through her fingers. The flow of crimson forked and spilled down each side of Corinna’s slender neck.

The girl’s mouth opened in an O. Her blue eyes bulged like eggs. Zoe kept her pinned until the spasms of agony had spent themselves. Corinna’s bosom heaved beneath her, then deflated slowly. Zoe’s own lungs emptied and she drew the blade out of its oozing slit.

She wiped the long knife on the sheet, then took the purse of coins. A scarlet pool was spreading on the floor. Feeling drained and giddy now, she went back to the atrium. Miriam was waiting there, her eyes like cinders in an ashen face.

Zoe tossed the purse to her. "For you and for your father. A gift from a good neighbour, you might say." She handed the slaughter-knife across, and went to fetch her gladius. Sensed Miriam watching as she worked it loose.

She glanced over her shoulder. "Go back home and lock your doors. You didn’t hear a riot in the night. These fighting girls got drunk and killed each other, and their hosts. That’s how it is when you invite gladiators under your own roof."

Miriam stared at her and nodded slowly. "Yes," she murmured. "That’s how it is." There was something fearful in her eyes, and Zoe recognised it with dismay. A little chill went seeping through her stomach. She moistened her lips, but no words came. She turned away and wiped her bloody sword.