"You're just like Callius said you'd be," the Roman commented.

"Did you know Callius? Did you meet him after they took him as a hostage

to Rome?"

Gracefully, Martius slipped out of his chair, standing beside the prince. "I knew him very well. He taught me to ride, to hunt, to handle an arrow and a spear, all the proper things the young Roman should know, but is always far too lazy to learn.

"He taught me all those things, too, before he was taken to Rome. Is that why you have brought me here, to tell me Callius is returning?"

As Martius crossed the room to the terrace overlooking Mt. Tantellius, Arius watched amazed. All the other Roman nobles had seemed like pieces of soft pastry or bits of living wax, and although Martius' hair was bleached almost snow white from the sun, his body was like living gold. Beneath the soft blond skin, you could see the muscles as you see the muscles of a stretching tiger. It was as though the sun god Apollo had descended to earth.

"Only in part," the governor replied, turning again to the prince. "I had ordered him back, as a surprise to you.... There was an instant pause. "... And your government, of course. But he died on shipboard before reaching Laodacia. My servants are delivering his final possessions to your home. The other matter is of far more importance. I want you to attend the Holy Council this afternoon."

"Why should I?" Arius countered. "I used to attend the meetings after my father's death, and they never accomplished a thing. Now they control the country entirely and are not about to hand over their powers to their prince."

"Still," Martius repeated firmly, putting his hand on the prince's shoulder as if directing a lost child, "I would like for you to attend this one. In disguise, of course. I thought perhaps as my personal entertainer, as I doubt if they'd recognize you then."

Arius looked straight into his deep blue almost purple, eyes. "I came here to hate you and to give you the minimum of co-operation," he answered, "and I do not know why I should trust you now, but I will go along with your scheme. But remember, I have a sharp dagger with me, which can slit Roman throats as easily as it skins Laodacian deer."

"Fine," Martius noted dryly, "but we must hurry for the priests are almost here."

Martius clapped his hands, and a group of household slaves appeared, already prepared for the transformation. They removed Arius' rough garments, covered his body with glistening oil and blew gold dust upon it. Small bits of cloth of gold and jewelled earrings completed what little there was of the costume itself. Golden mascara covered his eyelids and his lips, and gilded streaks were run into his hair. Even so, the strongly muscled body, so dark from exposure to mountain sun and wind, seemed even more powerful under this theatrical gilding, like a lion lunging in a filmy net.

"That is good," commented the governor, who meanwhile had put on his white robes of office and the great gilded state seal on a chain about his neck. "Here, join me on the divan.'

"I still do not know why I am trusting you," Arius repeated, as he lay back on the soft cushions, his head on the governor's chest as he had seen the entertainers do when he had visited the Palace with his father. "We do not have Greek love here, you know."

"Yes, I know," Martius whispered. "Callius told me."

In the next few minutes, the priests of the Holy Council arrived. They were

one