Let us be men, the heroes encouraged each other in Homer. Literature was stocked with sayings to instil courage. If your sword is too short, take a step forward. Everyone knew what was expected. Return with your shield, or on it. Slaves and criminals faced wounds and death in the arena. They were a lesson in courage to the free citizens watching in the stands.

Although he had trained with weapons since childhood, Valens had never drawn a blade in anger. Veterans had told him that nothing could prepare you to stand close to the steel. Some men froze. Fear made the urine run down their thighs, as they stood, motionless and unresisting, waiting to be slaughtered. Others threw down their weapons, sank to their knees, vainly pleading for their lives. Many betrayed their manhood, and turned and fled.

A burst of ribald laughter brought Valens back to his surroundings. The long-faced man had returned. He was boasting of his prowess. The girl, behind the bar again, seemed unmoved.

Perhaps one more jug. Then Valens would go and sleep it off. He reached for his money. The wallet was gone.

Valens was on his feet, moving before he stopped to think.

The long-faced man turned as he approached.

‘You stole my money.’

The man smiled, showing his equine teeth. ‘Not me, friend.’

Valens grabbed the front of his tunic, hauled him off the bar stool. ‘Give it back.’

‘On the honour of my mother, that would be impossible.’

Valens shook the man, as if the wallet might fall from the folds of his clothes.

‘You are really most uncivil.’ The man sounded amused.

With no warning, the man brought both his arms up inside Valen’s forearms. He snapped them outward, breaking the grip on his tunic. The sparsely haired head lunged. His forehead cracked into Valen’s nose.

Reeling back, hands to his face, Valens felt the blood, hot on his cheeks, the iron taste of it in his mouth.

The serving girl was running out of the door at the back. In the corner the bald man was looking up quizzically, as if this was a mildly interesting, if unexceptional occurrence. The second ruffian remained on his stool.

‘A puppy should not fight bigger dogs.’ The first thug was actually laughing. ‘Consider it a lesson cheap at the cost.’

Valens rushed at him, trying to get his hands around the man’s neck. They grappled, staggering from side to side, like men on a ship in a storm. The long-faced man was the stronger. Valens was being forced backwards. With a move from the gymnasium, Valens got his left leg behind his opponent, twisted, and threw him to the floor.

‘Give me the wallet.’ Valens was standing over the man.

A movement in the air warned Valens. He went to turn. Too slow. The heavily bearded man’s punch caught him in the left eye. Again, he lurched away. His back collided with the bar.