‘What in Hades do you think you’re doing? Who are you, to challenge an unarmed senator of Rome in the open street?’

The thin man smiled widely, spreading his hands in greeting.

‘Who am I, Senator? I’m Tiberius Varius Excingus, and I’m one of the Emperor’s corn officers. This is my colleague, Quintus Sestius Rapax. He’s a praetorian officer, believe it or not, but he’s never lost the taste for killing even after his richly deserved promotion to centurion. As to what we’re doing? Well, you might be a senator, but you’re clearly still wet behind the ears, or you might have been a little more careful in the last few hours.’

The praetorian’s eyes were alive with calculation as he stepped in to face the remaining bodyguard. He nodded to the boy, barely fifteen from the look of it, then pointed back with his sword at the uniformed men who were guarding the far end of the street from prying eyes, his voice harsh from years of bellowing orders across parade grounds.

‘You’re staying to fight, then, eh, boy? You can still save yourself, if you run now. My men will let you leave, if you drop the sword and walk away.’ He waited, watching the conflicting emotions play out on the boy’s face. ‘No?’ The bodyguard shook his head, wide eyed and clearly terrified, but either unwilling or simply unable to turn and run, and the praetorian laughed softly. ‘Just as well. They’d probably have killed you, if only for fun – or just because you’ve seen my face. And you, Senator, will you not be joining the fight? You’ve got no weapon, I suppose. Only a fool would have walked into a trap like this without a blade of some nature, but I suppose it’s a little too late for you to reflect on that…’

He stamped forward, smashing aside the boy’s raised sword with his own and putting a bunched fist into his face, hard enough to break his nose, then thrust the blade up into his defenceless victim’s chest before he could recover from the blow, dumping him on his back in a fast-spreading puddle of blood.