‘Plenty of you may know about Spartacus. Some of you may even admire the bastard,’ he said staring down the barrel of his bulbous nose at the recruits. ‘Don’t. Spartacus fought as a gladiator, received three square meals a day and a warm bed, and instead of seeking glory in the arena, he chose to piss it all away. When he died, six thousand of his followers were crucified along the road to Capua, so you can see how well that worked out. Learn from me, and you might end up better off than old Spartacus. One or two of you may live long enough to taste freedom.’

Calamus plunged the sword into the sand and pointed at the dozen wooden posts to his right. They were arranged in two rows of six, spaced two swords-widths apart, one post for each new recruit, standing at roughly the same height as a tall Roman.

‘Until you prove yourselves worthy of the brotherhood you will practise at the palus using a wooden sword. You will practise day and night. You will practise in your sleep. You will practise until your arms drop off. From this day on your life is nothing but this palus,’ Calamus tapped the nearest post on the head, like a star student, ‘and your sword. Bucco!’

‘Yes, sir?’

The doctore puckered his brow at Bucco. ‘Extra rations for the men if you can tell me what this wooden post really is.’

Bucco wiped his brow. Pavo watched the other recruits glaring at him with hungry eyes, willing him to get the right answer so they could fill their empty bellies.

‘Come on then, fatso,’ Calamus growled. ‘I don’t have all fucking day.’

‘A wooden post?’ Bucco ventured between snatches of breath.

Calamus looked ready to explode.

‘A . . . post? Fuck me, Bucco, you’re even thicker than you look. And believe me, from where I’m standing that is no mean feat.’

Calamus took an angry step towards Bucco and for a moment Pavo thought the trainer might thrash him with his whip. Instead he grabbed Bucco by the fleshly folds of his neck and hauled him in front of the nearest palus, venting his anger.

‘This is no post. This is the palus! This is your sworn enemy! This palus is the merchant who stole your girlfriend and the father who kicked you senseless when he came home pissed every night. You will learn to hate the palus with every bone in your body. Despise it. Unleash your rage on it, and the post will reward you by making you a decent swordsman.’

Calamus released Bucco and shoved him back towards the line of recruits as he turned to address the group.