Aurelius held out his right hand, thumb out.
The lanista removed Almo’s helmet. If anyone had doubted his identity the doubt was dispelled among all near enough to make out his face.
The victor put one foot on Almo’s chest. Almo stretched his neck.
Brinnaria sat there, tense, pale, but as collected as if she had no interest in what was going on.
The savage standing over Alma glanced a second time towards the Emperor.
Aurelius was holding his arm at full stretch over the coping, thumb flat against the extended fingers.
Brinnaria knew that she had won, that Aurelius had put her to the test before all Rome, that she had stood the test, that all Rome was witness. Her fingers clutched the handle of her fan. She could hardly feel it in her grasp.
The big man took his foot from Almo’s chest.
The audience broke into howls of applause, gust after gust of cheers, roaring like a storm wind in a forest.
Brinnaria saw the arena, saw the spectators, through a film of mist, through a gray veil, through a fog of blackness. She realized that, for the first time in her life, she was on the verge of fainting. Mechanically she looked about her. Her glance fell on Meffia crumpled in her arm-chair.