Brixus released Marcus’s shoulder and smiled wearily. ‘I am a poor host. What am I thinking? You’re cold and hungry, and no doubt exhausted. Come, let’s sit by the fire while I send for food and drink, and we can talk.’

He clapped his hands and called out harshly. ‘Servilia!’

The woman crouching by the fire cringed like a whipped dog, then scrambled to her feet and scurried across the hut, bowing her head as she stood before him. By the glow of the fire Marcus could see bruises amid the grime on her skin, and the locks of her long dark hair were matted with filth.

‘I want meat, bread and watered wine. And dried figs if there are any left.’

‘Yes, master.’

‘At once. Now go.’

She turned and scuttled to an arch that led into a small lean-to at the rear of the hut. As she disappeared, Brixus led Marcus to the fire where he gratefully sank down on the skins arranged at one side of the hearth. The warmth of the flames felt good and Marcus allowed himself to indulge briefly in the comfort, releasing the terror he had faced in front of the crowd. Even though he was out of danger, it took a while for the tension in his muscles and the trembling of his limbs to subside.

Brixus slipped his sword belt over his head and let the scabbard drop to the ground beside another pile of animal skins. He unbuckled the straps fastening his cuirass and placed that beside his sword, before slumping down with a sigh of contentment.

‘Your limp has improved,’ Marcus observed. ‘Much better than it was back in Porcino’s ludus.’

‘Well, it was never quite as bad as I made out.’ Brixus grinned. ‘Once I received the wound I vowed I would never again fight in the arena for the pleasure of the Romans. Even though the injury would have slowed me down, I could not trust Porcino not to make me fight again. I played it up enough to fool his surgeon and he pronounced me unfit for the arena. That’s how I was sent to the kitchens.’

‘I see.’ Marcus nodded. ‘But how did you come to be here, in charge of this camp?’