A light snow was falling as Bane walked up the hill. He paused at the crest to gaze down on the L-shaped white farmhouse below. The young Rigante was nervous and on edge. Persis Albitane had told him to report to Rage just after dawn today, and that the old gladiator would assess whether Bane could join Circus Orises. It had not occurred to Bane that he would have to prove himself. He was a fighter, and had killed men in combat. Surely, he had thought, that was all that was needed. But no. After their meeting Persis had walked with him through the city centre and back to Stadium Orises, explaining that Rage would make the final decision.

'The man does not like me,' said Bane, as they sat in the fat man's small office.

'Rage does not like anyone,' put in Persis brightly. 'Do not let that concern you.'

'I need to learn the skills of a gladiator,' said Bane. 'It is important to me.'

'Rage will test you fairly, young man. I can assure you of that. Go to his farm early tomorrow – soon after dawn. He will assess your strength, your speed, your endurance, and your fighting skills. If he is satisfied that you have the talent, then we will make an agreement.'

Now, in the early chill of a winter morning, Bane trudged down the slope towards the farmhouse. He did not feel confident. As he approached the building he saw the gladiator emerge from a doorway. Rage was wearing a sleeveless black shirt, a loose pair of black woollen leggings, and thin leather moccasins. The bitter weather did not seem to affect him at all. Just looking at him made Bane feel colder.

Rage offered no greeting. His face was expressionless as he approached the younger man. Gesturing Bane to follow him he strolled to the back of the farmhouse and onto a stretch of snow-covered open land, upon which had been erected a number of curious wooden frames. 'Do you understand the nature of discipline?' he asked suddenly.

'Discipline? I believe so. In war some will be officers and some will be fighting men. It is important for the fighting men to carry out the orders of the officers.'

'I meant self-discipline,' said Rage.

'Giving orders to oneself? I'm not sure what you—' At that moment Rage struck him, open-handed, in the face. Bane was knocked sideways. For an instant he was paralysed with shock, then fury swept through his system. He hurled himself at Rage, who side-stepped, tripping him to the ground. Bane rolled, and came up fast, his hand reaching for the knife in his belt. Rage stepped in, grabbed his arm and threw him again. Bane hit hard, but rose once more – to see Rage sitting calmly on a wooden bench.