Gurges paused and sucked in a deep breath. ‘I envy you because you get the chance to die a glorious death. In Rome, as some of you might know, there is no greater honour. Crowds will cheer your name. Women will want to be with you. Even some men will want to be you. Children will talk of your legend for years after your blood has run dry.’

Gurges paused. A wicked smile tickled the corners of his mouth as a slave emerged carrying a silver tray with a single wine goblet balanced on top. The lanista scooped it up and toasted the recruits. ‘To your success,’ he said. ‘Or not.’

He drained the wine in a single gulp, then nodded to Calamus. ‘As you were.’

‘Back to training!’ Calamus barked at the gladiators. ‘New recruits at the palus. Move it!’

Pavo paced towards the wooden posts located in the middle of the training ground with a heavy heart. The posts were a short step from a sundial used to time the length of each exercise. Training like a common legionary, thought Pavo. His privileged life as a tribune in the Sixth Legion suddenly seemed a distant dream.

‘Not you, rich boy,’ the doctore ordered. Pavo stopped in his tracks and shot a puzzled look at Calamus.

‘Is there a problem?’

‘The lanista wants a word,’ Calamus replied.

CHAPTER FOUR

A household slave ushered Pavo down a wide passageway with a vaulted ceiling painted in bright colours. At the end the slave turned left and stopped outside a bronze-panelled door with posts sheathed in carved marble. An intricate mosaic on the floor depicted a gladiator combat between a pair of lightly-armoured fighters with whips.

At that moment the door swung open and Pavo lifted his eyes from the mosaic. The lanista stood in the doorway. Up close he looked even shorter and thinner than he had on the balcony, Pavo thought, as if he had shrivelled up. His arrogant demeanour had disappeared. Now a serious, dark expression was cast over his features.

‘Come in,’ Gurges said.

Pavo followed the lanista into an office with contrasting marble tiles covering the floor and richly decorated walls. The lanista eased himself onto a chair behind an oak desk and nodded to his slave.

‘Fetch more wine,’ Gurges said. ‘The Falernian. Not that piss I ply my guests with.’

The slave shuffled outside. Gurges leaned back in his chair. Pavo stood in front of the desk, his arms resting by his sides.

‘I am the lanista of the oldest and grandest ludus in Paestum,’ Gurges said. ‘Well, the oldest, though perhaps no longer the grandest. Fucking hard to make an honest living these days.’