The rebel stepped quickly towards him and backhanded Marcus across the cheek. ‘Shut your mouth, Roman! You only speak when spoken to if you want to keep your tongue. Clear?’

Reeling from the blow, Marcus opened his mouth to reply, then closed it at once and nodded, rather than risk more punishment.

Mandracus approached and stopped in front of Quintus, hands on his hips. ‘Well then, not so high and mighty any longer, tribune. You and these other Romans. Look at you. Not much older than this boy, barely a man, and already you have that air of haughty arrogance so typical of you Roman aristocrats. Soon you’ll see what it’s like to be treated as a slave.’ He smiled coldly, then turned and made for the entrance to the hut. As he passed the rebel in charge of the prisoners, he gave his orders.

‘I’m going to eat. Hold them beside the hut. Then pass the word around the camp. The entertainment begins the moment that it’s safe to light the fires.’

‘Yes, Mandracus.’ The rebel bowed his head in acknowledgement.

As Mandracus ducked behind the leather curtain in the doorway, Quintus edged closer to Marcus and whispered, ‘Entertainment? What do you think they’re planning to do to us?’

Marcus shook his head. ‘I have no idea. But whatever it is, I don’t think many of us will survive it.’

By the time the circle of fires was lit in the open area by the round hut, a huge crowd had formed round the compound. Their faces illuminated by the red flames, they gazed expectantly at the prisoners. The excited hubbub of conversation reminded Marcus of the atmosphere in the crowd that formed at the Senate House in Rome before the start of an important debate. No, that wasn’t quite it, he reflected. It was more like the mood of the crowd in the Forum before he fought the Celtic boy, Ferax. He shuddered at the memory of the terror that had consumed him before the fight began. Partly the terror of facing someone who wanted to kill him, but also terror at the bloodlust in the faces of the crowd pressing in on all sides.

The prisoners had been forced to sit on the frozen ground until darkness fell, their hands kept bound. They had finally been given water and a bowl of thin, greasy stew that was gulped down greedily. After that they had sat in silence, awaiting their fate and forbidden to make a sound or move on threat of a beating.

A hush settled over the crowd and Marcus looked round to see Mandracus emerging from the hut. Wrapped in a long fur cloak, he stood with a silver goblet in one hand, waiting until he had complete silence. Then he drew a breath and spoke in a loud clear voice that carried to the fringes of the crowd.