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passageway with a vaulted ceiling painted in bright colours. At the end the slave turned left and stopped outside a bronze-panelled door with posts sheathed in carved marble. An intricate mosaic on the floor depicted a gladiator combat between a pair of lightly armoured fighters with whips.
    At that moment the door swung open and Pavo lifted his eyes from the mosaic. The lanista stood in the doorway. Up close, he looked even shorter and thinner than he had on the balcony, Pavo thought, as if he had shrivelled up. His arrogant demeanour had disappeared. Now a serious, dark expression was cast over his features.
    ‘Come in,’ Gurges said.
    Pavo followed the lanista into an office with contrasting marble tiles covering the floor, and richly decorated walls. The lanista eased himself on to a chair behind an oak desk and nodded to his slave.
    ‘Fetch more wine. The Falernian. Not that piss I ply my guests with.’
    The slave shuffled outside. Gurges leaned back in his chair. Pavo stood in front of the desk, his arms resting by his sides.
    ‘I am the lanista of the oldest and grandest ludus in Paestum,’ Gurges said. ‘Well, the oldest, though perhaps no longer the grandest. Fucking hard to make an honest living these days.’
    Pavo said nothing, unsettled by the lanista’s loose tongue. He saw that Gurges’s eyes were glazed and it occurred to Pavo that this probably wasn’t the lanista’s first drink of the day. Gurges folded his arms behind the back of his head and pushed out his bottom lip.
    ‘The high priests might turn their noses up at my work, but when it comes to keeping the mob happy, they need people like me. Men who live and work among the lowest scum Rome has to offer, looking for a champion.’
    The slave returned with a fresh goblet of wine. Like everything else in the lanista’s home, it appeared expensive and crass. Gurges admired the goblet for a moment. Then he said to the slave, ‘Fetch Calamus. I want an update on the injured gladiators.’
    ‘Yes, master,’ the slave replied and quickly departed from the study. Gurges took a gulp of wine, and set the cup down on the desk with a sharp rap. A few drops splashed over the oak. His eyes were wide and angry as they fixed on Pavo.
    ‘You can handle a sword, from what I hear.’
    Pavo shrugged. ‘Well enough.’
    ‘Good. I trust you’re aware of the deal I cut with that slippery Greek?’
    ‘Pallas,’ Pavo muttered through clenched jaws. ‘The snake.’
    ‘You’re to die within the year, for twenty thousand of the Emperor’s sestertii. I’ll honour the deal, because I’m a man of my word. But there’s nothing from Pallas to dictate what I do with you in the interim. For one year you belong to me, body and soul. And for that year, you’ll fight. A lot. I intend to pitch you into the arena at every opportunity. And I expect you to win. I know what you posh lads are like, I’ve had a few pass through my ludus in my time. One boy, he shoved his head through the wheels of the cart on the way to a fight. Chose to snap his bloody neck in half rather than face the arena, and left me out of pocket, the selfish prick.’
    Pavo took a deep breath. ‘There’s only one man I want to face. The man who killed my father.’
    Gurges stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘And who might that be?’
    ‘Hermes of Rhodes,’ said Pavo icily. ‘The Emperor ordered my father to fight him to the death in the arena. Hermes showed him no mercy or respect. Disembowelled him, then cut off his head and paraded it around the arena like a trophy. He disgraced my father and my family name in front of thousands. I will fight him, and I will have my revenge.’
    Gurges steepled his fingers on the desk and studied the son of the legate in silence. ‘Hermes, eh?’ he said after a long pause. ‘That won’t be easy to arrange. Hermes is officially retired now. He only comes out into the arena for a hefty fee. We’re talking a hundred thousand sestertii.’
    ‘I don’t