Suddenly another sound more dangerous than the lions began to hum. Alexander recognized it quickly—the ripple of boredom, the growing swell of discontent among the spectators. The contest was over. Let the beasts gorge themselves in the dark interiors of their cages rather than tax the crowd with tedious feasting. A dark restlessness swept through the stands like a fire in a cheap tenement.
The warning was quickly heeded by the editor of the games.
The beasts heard the gates swing open and dug in their claws and teeth more fiercely as armed handlers came out to drive them back into their cages. Alexander prayed to Mars, that the men would work quickly, and to Asklepios that there might be the flicker of life in at least one of the victims. If not, he would have to remain here until another opportunity presented itself.
Alexander was not interested in the drama of separating feeding animals from their kills. His gaze swept across the sand, searching for a survivor, any survivor, holding little hope that there was one. His eyes fell upon the young woman again.
No lion was near her. He found that curious, since she was far from the men driving the animals toward the gates. He saw a flicker of movement. Leaning forward, he squinted his eyes against the glare. Her fingers moved!
“Over there,” he said quickly to the guard. “Near the center.”
“She was the first one attacked. She’s dead.”
“I want to take a look at her.”
“As you wish.” The guard stepped forward, put two fingers to his lips, and gave two quick, sharp whistles. The guard made a signal to the plumed visage of Charon, who danced among the dead. Alexander watched the costumed actor leap and turn toward the fallen girl. Charon leaned down slightly, his feathered, beaked head turned as though listening intently for some sound or sign of life, all the while waving his mallet around in the air theatrically, prepared to bring it down if there was. Seemingly satisfied that the girl was dead, he grabbed her arm and dragged her roughly toward the Door of Death.
At the same moment, a lioness turned on the animal handler who was driving her toward a tunnel. The crowd came to its feet, shouting in excitement. The man barely managed to escape the animal’s attack. He used his whip expertly to drive the enraged lioness back away from the child she had been eating and toward the tunnel to the cages.
The guard took advantage of the distraction and swung the gate at the Door of Death wide. “Hurry up!” he hissed and Charon ran, dragging the girl into the shadows. The guard snapped his fingers and two slaves hurriedly grasped her by her arms and legs and carried her into the dimly lit corridor.
“Easy!” Alexander said angrily as they tossed her up onto a dirty, bloodstained table. He brushed them aside, sure that these oafs had finished her off with their rough handling.
The guard’s hard hand clamped firmly on Alexander’s arm. “Six sesterces before you cut her open,” he said coldly.
“That’s a little high, isn’t it?”
The guard grinned. “Not too high for a student of Phlegon. Your coffer must be full of gold to afford his tutelage.” He held out his hand.
“It’s emptying rapidly,” Alexander said dryly, opening the pouch at his waist. He didn’t know how much time he had to work on the girl before she died, and he wasn’t going to waste any haggling over a few coins. The guard took the bribe and withdrew, three coins in reserve for Charon.
Alexander returned his attention to the girl. Her face was a raw mass of torn flesh and sand. Her tunic was drenched in blood. There was so much blood, in fact, he was sure she was dead. Leaning down, he put his ear near her lips, amazed as he felt the soft, warm exhalation of life. He didn’t have much time to work.
Motioning to his own slaves, he took a towel and wiped his hands. “Move her back there away from the noise. Gently!” The two slaves hastened to obey. Phlegon’s slave, Troas, stood by watching as well. Alexander’s mouth tightened. He admired Troas’ abilities, but not his cold manner. “Give me some light,” Alexander said, snapping his fingers. A torch was brought close as he bent over the girl on the slab in the dim recesses of the corridor.
This was what he had come for, his one purpose for enduring the games: to peel back the skin and muscle from the abdominal area and study the organs revealed. Stiffening his resolve, he untied the leather case and flipped it open, displaying his surgeon’s tools. He selected a slender, razor-sharp knife from its slot.
His hand was perspiring. Worse, it was shaking. Sweat broke out on his forehead as well. He could feel Troas watching him critically. Alexander had to move quickly and learn all he could within the space of the few short minutes he would have until the girl died of her wounds or his procedure.