The editor wound up his speech to another deafening cheer and Claudius smiled and raised an arm in salute to his soldiers. There was no further preamble before the first event; a boxing match between two Numidian giants. Their skin had been oiled and they gleamed like ebony as they squared up and began their bout. In the audience the Praetorians quickly fell to making wagers over the outcome and shouting the odds to each other. The fight went on for some time and the sand around the two men was flecked with blood as the leather bindings wrapped round their fists tore and gouged. Eventually a knock-down blow was landed to a mix of groans and cheers from the spectators. There followed a display of archery by a dark-skinned man in eastern robes who shot his arrows with breathtaking accuracy, even around his boy assistant as the latter stood against a straw target with his arms outstretched. Afterwards there was a short break before the editor announced the ‘Trojan Pageant’ - a display of horsemanship put on by the sons of Roman aristocrats. There was tolerant applause from the Praetorians.

A score of riders entered the arena wearing gilded helmets that hid their faces. Behind them came some of the guardsmen carrying target posts and straw dummies which they set up in lines across the arena. When the preparations were completed, Claudius stood up to acknowledge the salute of the leader who rode a pure white mare.

‘You may b-be-be-begin!’ The Emperor’s head shook then he sat down heavily.

The boys took turns charging down the line of posts, slashing at the straw targets with their swords. Then they were handed light javelins and began to gallop down the line of targets, picking one to hurl their weapon at. A stiff breeze had begun to blow, making them work hard to compensate for it as they took aim. Those who missed were dropped from the competition and left the arena. Soon only three remained and the range was increased. After another pass, one more left the competition. The last two, one of whom was the leader, were fine shots and once more a furious round of betting began as the boys matched each other and the range increased. At length the leader’s rival missed his target and there was another cheer from the crowd as the winner punched his fist into the air and turned his mount towards the imperial box, reining in with a spray of sand.

‘Quite a rider,’ said Cato. ‘I wonder who he is.’

Macro shrugged. ‘Just another bloody spoilt brat showing off.’

The rider raised his hands to undo the chinstraps and then quickly lifted the helmet to reveal his face. There was a surprised gasp from the crowd and then a tumultuous cheer split the air as they saw that it was Nero.