He turned and nodded to the bucinators standing either side of the doorway that led on to the reviewing platform. They raised their instruments, pursed their lips and blew several strident notes, rising in pitch. As the signal faded, Claudius stepped into the bright sunshine. The golden wreath on his unkempt snow-white hair gleamed brilliantly. The impression of his finely embroidered toga was marred somewhat by the splatters of sauce that ran down the front of it. He held a gold cup in his hand and made his way unsteadily to the rail. Narcissus bowed before him and backed to the side.

‘Gladiators!’ Narcissus called out. ‘Greet your Emperor!’

There was a pause before the men mumbled an uneven salute whose words were barely distinguishable. Claudius, bemused by the wine he had consumed, could not help laughing and as the salute died away he shook his head.

‘Come, you men. You c-c-can do better than that, surely?’ The Emperor raised his free hand. ‘On three! Ready? One, t-t-two, three!’

‘Hail, Caesar!’ the fighters bellowed in one voice. ‘We salute you, those who are about to die!’

Claudius shook his head as he saw that some of the men had not joined in. He raised his cup and slurred, ‘Or not, as the case may be. On that I gi-give you my word.’

The gladiators glanced at one another as they digested what the Emperor had just said. Claudius turned to Narcissus and muttered.

‘Get ‘em on the ships and start the ba-battle, before any more time is w-w-wasted.’

‘As you command, sire.’

The Emperor turned and lurched back towards the interior of the pavilion, wine slopping from his cup. As soon as he was gone Narcissus hurried to the rail.

‘To your ships! Prepare for battle!’

Cato was watching the fighters closely. Several were talking animatedly and the rest were clustering round, shouting their support.

‘There’s trouble.’

‘What are they saying?’ asked Macro. ‘Can’t quite make it out.’

Cato caught the odd word but not enough to make any sense and he shook his head. Above them Narcissus’s voice rang out again, shrill and angry.

‘Get to your ships or I swear I will crucify every last one of you who survives the fight!’

The fighters parted and one of the gladiators stepped forward, thumbs tucked into his belt as he gazed defiantly at the imperial secretary. ‘Nothing doing. We all heard the Emperor, as you did. It was clear enough what he said. We’re pardoned. The fight is off.’

Macro turned to Cato with a surprised expression, and Cato shook his head uncomprehendingly.

‘What did you say?’ Narcissus asked in astonishment.

‘The Naumachia. It’s off. That’s what the Emperor said.’

‘Are you mad? What are you talking about?’