‘Ah, there he is.’ The voice sounded familiar, but he could not quite place it. He swayed when the guards let go of his elbows, only just managing to stay upright. Life was slowly returning to his limbs. ‘Look at the state of him?’ the voice went on. Domitius opened his eyes, and for a moment saw only a dark shape before the ball of light in his eyes faded. The man wore a conical helmet with cheek pieces, a long-sleeved mail shirt, and had a sword at his belt. Behind him were two spearman, with similar equipment and round shields.

‘Get him cleaned up!’ the leader barked and at last Domitius realised that it was the younger Simon.

‘Why not wait until the decision?’ one of the guards asked.

Simon strolled across and then slapped the man so hard across the face that he staggered. ‘Do not dare to speak to me like that!’ His two spearman lowered their weapons.

‘Apologies, my lord. Please forgive me.’

‘I’ll forgive you if you show yourself brave against armed enemies and not helpless captives. Send for slaves. I want him shaved, fed, and cleaned up. Only then will he be fit to present to the strategoi. Get on with it! My men can watch him for you. Go!’

The guards went, and smartly. Domitius remembered being bawled at by senior officers and doing the same himself.

‘I think it is best if you walk around,’ Simon told him. ‘Gets the blood flowing again.’

Domitius did as he was told, walking in a circle, and only then realised that the words were in Latin. He had not known that the man knew the language. Then other thoughts fell away as he glanced up and saw a body hanging from a gibbet. He was pretty sure that it was his former cellmate, still filthy, but now stinking from more than dirt.

‘Get moving!’ Simon barked, before coming over to walk beside the Roman. ‘Now, Domitius, there is not much time and a good deal to explain. I am taking you to the leaders of our city. Blame my grandfather, if you like, for it is his idea. He tells me that you know about engines and sieges. Well, Nicopolis has a Roman army outside our walls, and the old boy thought that your knowledge might help us to keep them out.’

‘I cannot fight my own kind,’ Domitius whispered, and surprised himself by his certainty.

‘Hush. They will not ask that, at least not yet, so do not say anything until you understand your choices. The other reason that I am doing this is because my fool of a grandfather says that you are a true friend of our family, and that you care a good deal about my sister.’

‘Sara?’

‘How many sisters do you think I have? Well, shut up and listen. All our lives, but especially Sara’s may depend on you. Do you remember the Princess Azátē who came to our city? Just nod. Good. She is well liked here, and a good friend to my people. But it turns out that she has been negotiating with the Romans. Ambition, no doubt, and something about marriage plans she did not like. So she promised the Romans that she would come here and charm the magistrates and citizens into opening their gates to a Roman force.’ Simon sniffed. ‘She is used to getting her way that one, and who can blame her, for her charm is considerable. She’s tiny, you know – I doubt you realised when you saw her in the carriage, but she is little and still one of the most perfect women you will ever see. So if she had asked almost anything else, and glanced down demurely with those great dark eyes, then magistrates would have been falling over themselves to please her. She’s so little any man with spirit wants to protect her, and any with lust wants to… well, you’re old enough to take my meaning.