‘Horse shit!’ Silanos cried. ‘I know ten street-sweepers could best this fellow in a fight.’ He turned to the crowd. ‘This man is playing us for fools. This cripple can’t fight. He’s damaged goods. Great God, he can hardly stand!’ Silanos felt the sparks of his outrage take. Other bidders were complaining now, and the Northman wasn’t helping the slaver’s cause any; his face was a grimace of pain.

The slaver was arguing now, trying to quell the growing jeers of the crowd. At last the auctioneer tugged the Northman off the block. Angry words flew about. Then Silanos saw his moment of triumph; the rich Armenian, his main rival in the bid, turned away in disgust. The auctioneer was already pulling forward the next lot and the slaver’s men were dragging away the Northman.

Silanos smiled and followed them through the crowd.

Erlan wasn’t sure what had just happened. But the result was clear enough: he was still in chains and still a captive of Ramedios. He felt cheated. One day, he promised himself, he would pay the double-dealing Greek back in kind but right now any fate was better than remaining his prisoner.

They threw him back in the lock-up Ramedios had hired for his slaves. Erlan slumped down in the filthy sawdust. He was exhausted, his mind most of all, and for a while he let sleep slip over him like a welcome shroud. . .

He was recalled to his senses by a sharp kick to his ankle. ‘Get up, cripple. He wants you.’

He was dragged to his feet and led back outside to where Ramedios had set up a booth for the day. The slaver was reclining in the shade on a makeshift couch, quaffing wine out of a silver goblet. There was another man with him, also with goblet in hand. To Erlan’s surprise, he recognized the sky-blue robe and red beard of the bidder who had reduced the auction to farce.

‘Strip him,’ Ramedios ordered.

‘Just the tunic will do,’ added the newcomer. ‘The smell round here is bad enough.’

One of the sailors took a knife to Erlan’s tunic – at least the rags that were left of it – and a moment later he stood naked to the waist. The redbeard came closer, looking him over with careful brown eyes. He had a half-amused air about him, as if this were all just a game he liked to play. Erlan flinched as he prodded at various scars, some old, some more recent.

‘What about his ankle?’

Ramedios shrugged and ordered that he be made to walk, which he did after some goading from the guard’s spear-butt.