Free Fireball by John Christopher

was fair game, and a useful bonus after an unsuccessful hunting trip. After eating, they sat on in the dining room, drinking wine and playing dice.There was another guest in the room, a man on his own. He was at the next table, but not far from Brad, and Brad saw him looking with some curiosity, not so much at him as at his jeans. The others hadn’t spotted them as unusual or, if they had, had not thought it worth comment.
    The stranger asked them where they had found Brad, and they told him, and that they were taking him into the city to sell. The man looked as though he might be on the point of saying something, but in the end did not. He got to his feet, preparing to retire.
    In a low voice, in Latin, Brad said: “I can tell you wonders.” He hesitated, looking from Brad to the men and back, but in the end he smiled regretfully and shook his head. As he started to turn away, there was a little chink of metal, and Brad saw something hanging from a chain round his neck: a gilt cross.
    In an even lower voice, but loud enough to carry, Brad said: “Christus ascensus est.” Christ is risen.
    That worked. The man with the cross turned back. He started negotiations with the horsemen which did not take long. Both sides knew roughly what price a boy of Brad’s age and physical conditionwould fetch in the open market. Brad had become the property of Quintus Cornelius Ericius, the man who that morning had bought Simon, too.
    There were a lot of questions that needed asking, but the one this raised could not wait. Simon asked: “How did that happen anyway? I mean, how did you know I’d be there. Or was it just accidental?”
    â€œWe got people asking around. I figured you’d probably wind up in the slave market, and we kept a check on it for a time. There aren’t that many slaves around who don’t speak the language, and the age thing narrowed it down further. We drew a blank, and I thought maybe you’d got killed. You don’t need telling that human life carries a lower price tag than where we came from. Then about a week ago someone who knows Quintus Cornelius, and knew he’d been looking for a barbarian boy, got talking in the baths to Gaius Turbatus . . .”
    â€œThe lanista !”
    â€œThat’s right, the guy who runs the gladiators’ school. He was talking about a young barbarian he’d got who showed promise as a secutor —said he was worth betting on. It sounded interesting. And when you pulled that sensation in the arena . . .”
    â€œWere you there?”
    Brad shook his head. “The circus is off limits to Christians, and from what I’ve heard about the shows I’ve no regrets about that. But you were certainly the talk of the town, and even without telephones it’s staggering how fast news travels around here. Quintus Cornelius didn’t really think there was a chance; he said if they hadn’t chopped you on the spot, they would have done so as soon as you got backstage. But he got someone to ask, and they said you were being sold off instead. So we took a trip to the forum, and the rest you know.” He looked at Simon in amusement. “The beard almost threw me. Not exactly a thing of beauty, but confusing.”
    Simon fingered the growth on his chin. “I might keep it.”
    â€œYou’re in trouble if you do. Beards are for slaves. Hadn’t you noticed?”
    â€œI thought it was gladiators.”
    â€œGladiators and slaves. The not-free. Free men shave.”
    Simon wrinkled his brow. “I don’t remember that in Roman history.”
    Brad’s look was quizzical. “You don’t?”
    â€œWe are free, I suppose? Quintus Cornelius . . .”
    â€œChristians don’t have slaves. Only servants. Mind you, I gather in some cases there’s not a lot of difference. But Quintus Cornelius’s servants seem to do okay. And we aren’t