Murena knitted his wispy brow. ‘Two birds, one stone. Both Pallas and I knew that your victory, whilst necessary for his imperial majesty, would also make you a hero in the eyes of the mob. Listen to them,’ he grumbled scathingly as the crowd continued to roar in the background, ecstatic at the outcome of the fight. ‘They think you’re a legend, young man! We took a calculated risk in getting you to fight Britomaris. But we hoped to avoid the celebration of your name by arranging your death in the arena. There would have been some applause from the crowd for your efforts, of course. A few tawdry poems written to celebrate your feat. The odd inscription. But dead gladiators don’t live long in memory. By the following month you would have been forgotten.’ Murena sighed. ‘If only that idiot Britomaris had done his job, and stabbed you.’

Despite his ragged condition, Pavo mustered his precious last reserves of energy and lunged at Murena. The freedman took a frightened step back out of the doorway, his eyes widened with fear.

‘You tried to kill me, you bastard!’ Pavo roared.

The Praetorians jerked into action. One kicked Pavo in the midriff and sent him flying backwards, landing on the ground with a thud while the other guard glared at Macro, who had balled his hands into tight fists. The guard began to unsheathe his sword. Macro got the message and reluctantly loosened his fists.

‘What about my son?’ Pavo seethed. ‘I was told he would be released after I won.’

‘Appius?’ Murena asked, wearing an expression of feigned ignorance. ‘You must be mistaken, young man. The Emperor was to release him upon your glorious death in the arena. Since you failed to stick to your side of the bargain and die, I’m afraid the deal is off. Appius will remain the possession of the imperial palace. Of course, he won’t be a freedman. He’ll grow up with the other slave children, and when he’s old enough he’ll fetch grapes and figs for those who control the empire. Men like Pallas and me. In future generations the name of Valerius will be synonymous with slaves, not military heroes and victorious gladiators.’

Pavo fumed, his nostrils flaring with rage. ‘You can’t do this.’

‘Oh, but I can,’ Murena replied condescendingly. He began to turn away from the room. ‘I can do whatever I please. Your victory means that the Emperor is in debt to Pallas, and don’t forget that Pallas is my boss. It would’ve taken years for us to win the complete confidence of Claudius. You’ve helped us achieve it in a mere few months. Thank you, Pavo.’