Barbad would not let such a fate befall the boy. Men thought eunuchs contemptible and weak. They were wrong. To be sure, vicious horses, when gelded, ceased to bite and kick, but they remained serviceable for war. The same was true of bulls. When castrated, they lost their unruliness, yet retained their strength. After being cut, dogs became less savage, though were still just as useful for hunting or guarding their masters.

Barbad would do his duty to Prince Papak. He would serve his son until the end.

The warden had been thorough, even extending to measures such as the new bars on the windows, preventing the boy throwing himself to his death. The only thing Naduk had overlooked were the braziers. Swallowing the hot coals would bring death. The agony would be no better than that inflicted by the executioners. Still, it need not come to that.

Hidden in the sleeve of Barbad’s tunic was a knife. Only about the length of a finger, and not more than one third as wide, it was intended for trimming nails. Yet it could serve another purpose.

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Rome

THE CAMP OF THE STRANGERS was a place of ill omen. Situated on the Caelian Hill, it was the headquarters of the frumentarii, the Emperor’s spies and assassins. Political prisoners important enough to be transferred to Rome from the provinces were held here, awaiting execution, or further interrogation. The tortures were agonisingly efficient. Ordinary citizens kept away from the place. Some held that its appearance in a dream signified an evil future. Only informers, driven by greed or malice to denounce others, willingly crossed its threshold.

Murena had loved the camp ever since he had first set eyes on it years earlier. Entering its walls, immediately he had sensed its power. Here all the secrets of the empire were gathered together, all hidden plans laid bare. From here, nondescript-looking men rode out across the breadth of the imperium carrying letters that could put armies in motion or order the execution of their generals. Sometimes the writings they carried were a ruse to gain access to their target. Then their mission was direct and brutal.

Walking between the neat barrack blocks in the gloom of first light, Murena stopped at an apse that housed a shrine of Hercules. As was his habit, he placed his hand on his chest, and offered a prayer to the god. Hercules had travelled the world overthrowing tyrants, casting down evil. The deity was a fitting patron of the work of the frumentarii.

The demands of piety satisfied, Murena crossed the paved square in the centre of the camp. Ascending the steps to the commanding officer’s building, he returned the salute of the two guards. One of them opened the door for him.