'I think Voltan is the best I have ever seen. He is uncanny. Almost mystical. He has a talent – like a stoat with a rabbit – for making his opponents feel mortal. He casts a spell over them. They become clumsy, or reckless.'

'Why did he quit the arena?'

Rage shrugged. 'He ran out of good opponents. Then Nalademus, the Stone elder, offered to make him the Lord of the Stone Knights. Voltan accepted. He got a title, estates in Turgony, and the opportunity to kill without consequences.'

'He will find there are consequences,' said Bane. 'I—'

'Say nothing more, boy!' snapped Rage. 'I have no wish to know of your feelings on this matter. If this tribesman we are talking about does hunt Voltan, I hope he has the sense to train first, and to learn from his betters. But that is all I have to say on the matter.'

'Why are we being so careful?' asked Bane.

'These are difficult times. There are spies everywhere. Some spy for Jasaray, others for Nalademus. I have no interest in politics or religion, and so I am safe. I will not be drawn into conspiracies, nor will I lie. So the less I know, the better for all concerned.'

For five days Rage pushed Bane through an increasingly gruelling routine. Leather straps, with lead weights sewn into the lining, were placed on his wrists and ankles for the six-mile runs that began each morning's work. Bane was almost continually exhausted. On the morning of the sixth day, following the obligatory run – which was made without added weights, and at an almost leisurely pace – Rage led Bane back into the house.

'No more work today,' he said.

Bane hid his relief. 'Why not?' he asked.

'The body needs a little time to recover from heavy exercise. Today is a rest day. Work five rest one.'

'Do all gladiators use these methods?'

'No,' said Rage. 'Most rely on what they perceive as their natural strength and skill. Telors runs most days, but the others . . .' Rage opened his hands. 'They do not see the need to punish themselves.'

'But you do.'

'Aye, I do. Always have.' Outside the sky darkened, and heavy snow began to fall. The farmhouse was empty, Cara attending lessons at the home of a teacher, the house servants not yet arrived.

'You'll have to think of armour,' said Rage. 'Persis will offer to have some made for you, but he uses a cheap armourer, with no pride. Do you have coin?'

'Aye.'

'Then tell Persis you wish to find your own man. I would recommend Octorus. He is one of the best. You will need a good breastplate, greaves, a kilt of bronze reinforced with leather strips, wrist guards and a well-fitting helm.'

'No mailshirt?'