Some in the crowd hooted with derision, but Mandracus simply shrugged and gestured to one of the rebels acting as guards. The man strode behind the veteran and swung a heavy club into the back of his head. The skull gave way with a sharp crack, blood and brains bursting out between the fragments of bone and scalp. The veteran’s jaw sagged open as he stood for a moment before toppling face first to the ground.

Marcus averted his eyes from the gruesome scene. Glancing round the group of prisoners, he wondered who his opponent would be. If only it could be Decimus, or even Thermon.

The rebel tucked the club under his arm and grasped the veteran’s boot to drag the body aside. Mandracus pointed to another prisoner. ‘You. Take his place.’

The legionary scrambled to his feet and as soon as his hands were freed he snatched up the sword and lowered his body into a crouch, prepared to fight for his life.

‘Begin!’

The fight was unlike any Marcus had ever seen during his gladiator training. There was no attempt to size up the other man, decide on tactics and test the opponent’s mettle with a few feints. The two legionaries rushed at each other with grim expressions to hack and parry wildly, and the sharp ringing of their blades filled the air as sparks flew from the clashing metal. With a cry of pain the young recruit staggered back, clutching his spare hand to his thigh where blood seeped out between his fingers. The older man held back, his chest heaving from the exertion. They stared at each other until a voice called out to resume fighting.

The call was taken up and Mandracus gave orders to a group beside one of the fires. ‘Use the heating irons.’

One of the men nodded and leaned down to pick up a metal bar. One end was wrapped in strips of metal; the other led into the heart of the fire. When he raised the bar into the air, it glowed bright yellow, then faded to a lurid red. The man strode behind the wounded young legionary and prodded him with the heated tip. He screamed with pain and lurched forward towards his opponent. Another frenzied exchange of blows followed before the younger man’s leg gave way, forcing him down on his knee as he desperately tried to fend off his former comrade’s attacks. Then his numbed fingers lost their grip and his sword fell to the ground a short distance away. The other man raised his weapon and hesitated.

‘What are you waiting for?’ Mandracus demanded. ‘Finish him! Or you’ll be cut down alongside him.’