Blood was staining the sand of the arena—the blood of his friend Vortimax whom he had just slain. All around him Phaedrus the Gladiator could hear the triumphant shouts of the crowd; and he knew that he had won his wooden foil and was free . . .
But he had not left a life of chance behind him. Soon he was to find himself riding north towards the wilds of Caledonia, on a strange mission. He was to assume the identity of a man to whom he bore an extraordinary resemblance: Madir, heir to the kingdom of Dalriada and Lord of the Horse People; and to carry out Madir's vengeance against Liadhan, the treacherous Royal Woman of the tribe, who had usurped the throne.
Ahead of him was to lie more adventure, more excitement and more danger than he had ever known in the arena; but as he rode north he only knew that he was Phaedrus the Gladiator no longer, for on his forehead was tattooed the blue-and-crimson device like a four-petalled flower that was the Mark of the Horse Lord.
—from the dust jacket
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