The Falerii house was empty now, the guests gone, leaving Lucius alone. Outside the atrium was cold from the air of late winter. It was rare for a man of his eminence to be afforded such solitude, but the death in childbirth of his wife had forced even the most ardent supplicant away from his door. He stared at the papers before him, untouched on his desk, and allowed himself a quiet smile. The last to depart had been his closest political allies, all famous men, all noble and some of the best brains in the Senate, yet not even they guessed what was about to happen. With exquisite timing his band of hired thugs, wrapped in heavy, hooded cloaks, had been led in via the servants’ quarters by his Dacian body slave, just as the last senator had exited through the front gate. Their leader, Gafon, manager of a gladiator school who had lost everything gambling, saluted Lucius Falerius with his sword as he emerged from his private study.

‘Leave your men here,’ said Lucius sharply, indicating to Ragas that he should watch them lest they be tempted to pilfer something.

‘As you command, Lu…’

Gafon was not allowed to finish as the senator cut across him. ‘I shall not use your name, be so good as to avoid using mine.’

His eyes flicked past the object of this rebuke to the shadowy group of men. Their leader bowed, sword still held in salute, but he was looking obsequiously at Lucius’s back. The older man had already spun on his heel to re-enter his study. Gafon turned to his men and with a shrug sought to play down the insult, seeking to convey that for what they were earning tonight, the purple-striped bastard could be as snooty as he liked.