Pavo had been awake most of the night, listening to the horrific sound of a new recruit enduring torturous initiation rituals in a nearby cell. His window overlooked the western side of the ludus, giving him the perfect view of the main entrance to the school. Four heavily armed guards manned the wrought-iron gates day and night. Beyond the ludus Pavo could see a road leading towards the centre of Paestum. The forum glimmered faintly under the soft moonlight. As dawn appeared over the horizon, he permitted himself a grisly thought. He would die in the arena, one way or the other. The Emperor would never allow him to go free, and the strict social mores of Rome dictated that once a man fell into the infamy of life as a gladiator, he could never regain his former status among the aristocracy. His old life was finished. His only purpose was to survive in the arena long enough to slay Hermes, and restore the stained reputation of his family. He resolved not to let anyone – Denter, Murena, Pallas or Carbo – stand in his way.
