‘Rest assured, plans are afoot for the near future,’ the freedman went on. ‘But the more pressing problem is Britomaris. Six gladiators defeated! That is more than a stain on the Emperor’s name, it is a veritable boil: one we must lance before it overwhelms us. We cannot afford any more defeats by this barbarian. Whoever faces him next must triumph, demonstrating to all that no one defies the Emperor, and that Claudius is the right man to occupy the throne.’

Macro said, ‘What about getting Hermes to fight him? He’s just about the toughest gladiator there’s ever been. He’d chop up a thug like Britomaris as quick as boiling asparagus.’

‘Out of the question,’ Murena said flatly.

‘Why?’

A pained expression wrinkled unpleasantly across the freedman’s bony face. As if he were chewing on a mouthful of rotten fish guts, thought Macro.

‘I must confess, I am not a fan of Hermes. Neither is Pallas. We find him somewhat brutish. However, the problem with Hermes is not one of style. Indeed, in the event Capito died, another of the Emperor’s advisers – a wretched, snivelling fellow by the name of Narcissus – had arranged for Hermes to fight Britomaris next.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Macro asked.

‘This morning, Hermes suffered a . . . a rather unfortunate accident.’

‘Accident?’ Macro repeated.

‘He was robbed in the street, would you believe.’ Murena shook his head. ‘Thugs broke several of his bones. The man’s in no condition to fight. But we cannot wait for Hermes to recover from his inconvenient beating. We need a substitute urgently.’

Murena finished circling Macro, stopping directly in front of him.

‘You will train a substitute gladiator to fight Britomaris,’ he said.

Macro looked quizzically at him. ‘Why me?’ he stuttered. ‘I’ve never worked at a ludus. You’ve more than enough doctores at the imperial establishment for the job.’

‘Ordinarily, yes. But this is no ordinary fight. We must send a powerful message to the mob, and what better way to do that than by having a hero of the Empire employ his military know-how to destroy a barbarian like Britomaris?’ Murena teased out a twisted smile.

Macro shook his head firmly.

‘It’s too risky,’ he said, ‘training someone up, I mean. You’re better off just picking one of the gladiators from the imperial school. That lot are supposed to be the best swordsmen in Capua. You’d have far better odds on one of them defeating Britomaris than some wet-behind-the-ears recruit.’

Murena sucked his teeth. ‘Unfortunately the imperial school is severely depleted. Caligula has used most of the best men up in the arena. He’s left us with just a few stragglers, none of whom would be fit for this purpose.’