As evening approached the Horus steered parallel to the coast, passing one of the bays that the captain had become familiar with in the long years that he served aboard merchant vessels sailing the length and breadth of the Mediterranean. While the sun slipped below the horizon, brilliantly gilding the edges of the island's mountains and hills, those on deck stared towards the shore. A large agricultural estate lay close to the sea, and in the gathering dusk, long lines of slaves returned from their labours in the fields, groves and vineyards. Shuffling wearily, they were herded back into their compound by overseers with whips and clubs.

Cato felt Julia tremble at his side and turned to her. 'Cold?'

'No. It's just that.' She indicated the last of the slaves entering the compound, and then the gates were shut and barred. 'A terrible existence for any man or woman.'

'But you have slaves at home.'

'Of course, but they are well cared for and have a degree of liberty in Rome. Not like those poor souls. Worked hard from first light to last. Treated no better than farm animals.'

Cato thought a moment before responding. 'That is the common lot of slaves. Whether they work on estates like that one, or in mines, or construction sites. It is only a small portion of them that are lucky enough to live in households like yours, or even to have the chance to train in the gladiator camps.'

'Gladiators?' Julia looked at him with raised eyebrows. 'Lucky? How could you consider anyone lucky who suffered such a fate?'

Cato shrugged. 'The training is hard, but once that's done they don't have it so bad. Their owners take good care of them and the best fighters make small fortunes and enjoy the high life.'

'As long as they survive in the arena.'

'True, but they risk no more than any man in the legions, and have a far more comfortable life than most. If they live long enough, gladiators can win their freedom and retire wealthy men. Only a handful of soldiers ever achieve that.'

'Too bloody true,' Macro grumbled. 'I wonder if it's too late to retrain as a gladiator.'

Julia stared at him. 'I am sure you don't mean that.'

'Why not? If I am going to kill people then I might as well be nicely paid for it.'

Senator Sempronius chuckled at the disgusted expression on his daughter's face. 'Ignore him, my child. Centurion Macro is joking. He fights for the glory of Rome, not a slave's purse, no matter how loaded with gold.'

Macro cocked an eyebrow. 'Now who's joking?'