‘Of what?’ Victor scoffed. ‘Ugo wants to show off. But he has nothing to show off about. There is no silver here. There never was. I have seen many silver mines in my time, Poliponi. This is the wrong kind of rock to bear silver. He is an actor playing at being an emperor. Come, we are going. Goodbye, James.’

When Mauro woke he was furious that he had been left behind and went into an epic sulk, but he was eventually cheered up by the thought of going home to his mother and sister.

‘Go quickly,’ said James. ‘Rapido. You don’t want to risk bumping into Ugo again.’

‘Ugo!’ said Mauro contemptuously, and he spat on to the ground again.

‘Exactly,’ said James. ‘Go.’ He spotted one of Ugo’s guards watching them, his eyes shaded by his cap. ‘And Mauro, please, no more spitting!’

Mauro smiled. ‘James,’ he said, hugging him, ‘you are good friend. My sister, she would like you. I see you soon.’

He waved, and strolled off across the square. James watched until he was swallowed up by the milling crush of people.

Presently Mr Cooper-ffrench appeared, even more red-faced and sweaty than usual. He was amazed to see James, and even more amazed when he told him his story.

‘I knew you should not have gone off on your own,’ he said. ‘I should have kept my eye on you. Now, we’d best get inside or we shall miss everything.’

James picked up his battered old suitcase. ‘Don’t let me forget this,’ he said to Perry. ‘I’m bound to leave it somewhere if I’m not careful.’

As they shuffled through the turnstiles, James got his first glimpse inside the stadium. He could hardly believe his eyes, although he should really have expected it. Count Ugo had built himself a miniature replica of the Colosseum in Rome. There was a wide, sand-covered ring in the centre surrounded by a high wall, above which were steep banks of bench seats, and, all around the top, silhouetted against the deep blue sky, were statues of Roman heroes.

‘Do you suppose there’s going to be a chariot race?’ James said to Perry. ‘Or gladiators?’

Perry snorted with laughter. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Or m-maybe even a display of Christians being thrown to the lions!’

The locals were ranging themselves noisily on the benches and girls with trays were wandering among them, handing out fruit and bread and drinks.

All eyes were on Count Ugo, who sat under a canopy on a raised platform with his sister, Jana. He was dressed in flowing white robes and looked every inch the Roman emperor. Jana was wearing even more jewellery than before, topped off with a gold tiara. They were flanked by several armed guards in their purple uniforms and two trumpeters in the garb of Roman legionaries.

The trumpeters sounded a ragged fanfare and Ugo rose to deliver an epic speech in Italian.