Her left fist was moving before she knew she was dead and Pilos jerked his head to one side so her knuckles just caught his cheek instead of breaking his nose. The hand with the club came around her back and supported her as she realised what had happened. Her eyes swivelled downwards and then back up to his.

‘Under the song,’ he said and lowered her to the limestone blocks of the drill yard. Blood coated his shirt, his belt and kilt and left hand to the elbow. Blood pooled beneath her, bright against the pale stone, the greying of her skin. ‘Your ancestors will be proud.’

Pilos stepped back, sheathed the knife and took a two-handed grip on the club. ‘Mercy,’ he said loud enough for the front rows to hear, and swung, crushing her skull. He pointed the bloody end at them. ‘Each and every one of you will have the chance to prove yourself in battle. Those who prove outstanding, and who commit to serve as a slave warrior for five years, will be able to provide the names and descriptions of their families.’ More eyes looking up, dragged away from the leaking corpse on the stone or their own broken sandals or bare feet. Looking at him but not in defiance now, not in hate. Desperate, ugly hope blazed in every face.

‘Five years as slave warriors during which your families will be kept safe and together, parents with youngsters, old folk with your siblings, if you so wish. They will serve together in one house, somewhere in the Empire. Well treated, not abused, fed and clothed and healed when sick. Your children educated.’

There were murmurs among the ranks now and Feathers cracked whips and called for silence.

‘After five years of successful service, your deeds and accomplishments will be tallied up. Those of you who have captured slaves for the Empire, who have committed acts of outstanding bravery, who have saved the lives of your fellow warriors … those who have tallies enough will be promoted into the dog warriors.’

Pilos gestured behind him with the club. A few drops of blood pattered to the stone. The dog warriors there were training hard, their unarmed combat fluid and fast and lethal.

‘Dog warriors are not slaves. Dog warriors are paid good jade for good service!’ Pilos shouted, drawing all eyes back to him. ‘When word is sent to your families of your promotion, they too will be elevated, from slave to servant. Servants are paid good jade for good service!’

He paused and grinned at them. ‘When between you and your families you have earned enough to buy your freedom, you may do so. A few years only, in most cases, sometimes less, and you can all be reunited. If you wish to earn that freedom faster, you can. How?’

The Feathers chanted the answer. ‘By capturing slaves, by acts of bravery, by saving lives.’