He and his companions were in an iron-barred cell beneath where the spectators sat. Theirs was just one of a line of similar cages, designed to hold gladiators, venatores and lowly noxii. Along the back of the pens ran a long passageway, with regular corridors down to the arena. Apart from the guards, there was no one else around. The gladiators who would fight later hadn't arrived yet, and the animals were kept in a separate area, which was even more secure. They could tell where it was from the cacophony of roars, snarls and bugling. Promising death in multiple ways, the noises chilled the blood.

It wasn't long before Memor reappeared, looking smug. Half a dozen guards with spears and bows were with him. Romulus knew where the lanista had been: settling the running order with the master of ceremonies. Deciding all of their fates. Nausea washed over him anew, and his knees wobbled. Locking them was the only way he could stay upright.

'Steady,' whispered Petronius in his ear. 'Don't give the fucker any satisfaction.'

Quickly Romulus regained control. He glanced at his friend, nodding his thanks.

Memor came to a halt outside the cage and beamed in at them. 'Who wants to go first?' he asked. 'Any volunteers?'

Behind Romulus a man was sick, puking up the paltry breakfast of porridge they'd finally been given at the ludus. The acrid smell filled all of their nostrils, adding to the tension. No one spoke.

Ignoring Petronius' hisses, Romulus raised his hand. What did it matter which particular animal killed them? He just wanted to get it over with.

'Not you,' growled the lanista. 'Or your friend.'

The pair exchanged a glance. He had something else planned for them. It wouldn't be a better way to die either.

No one else would look at Memor. Growing bored, he stabbed a finger at the three nearest men. 'You, you and you can be the first act of the day. And your adversaries?' He paused, smiling cruelly. 'A pack of starving wolves.'

Romulus looked at the trio, and wished he hadn't. There was more fear in their faces than he'd ever seen on a battlefield. Perhaps Crassus' terror before he died had matched it, but he wasn't sure.

The exit into the arena was formed by the end of the corridor between the cages. Two of the guards were already busy lifting a giant locking bar which allowed them to open it. Once this was done, one pulled wide the cage door while his comrades stood by with ready spears.

'Outside,' Memor ordered. 'Now.'

One of the prisoners ran to the bars and ripped open his tunic, exposing his chest. 'Kill me now,' he begged. 'For the love of the gods, please!'

Indifferent, Memor studied his bitten fingernails. 'Get them into the arena,' he snapped. 'Quickly.'

The bowmen among his guards moved right up to the cage. Notching arrows to their strings, they levelled them at the unfortunate soldiers.

'They will loose on the count of three. First into your legs, and then your arms. After that, your groin,' said the lanista calmly. 'One.'

The men looked at each other. A pair of them began to weep like children.

'Two.'

With dragging feet, the condemned trio walked out into bright autumn sunlight.

Memor smiled as his guards closed off the exit.

Despite themselves, Romulus and Petronius rushed to the front of the cage. So did the three others. Through gaps in the brickwork, it was possible to see the circle of golden sand upon which so much blood was spilled. With a clean layer raked into place, it was empty except for their erstwhile comrades. Who, with their limbs paralysed with fear, stayed close together.

A loud announcement was made that these were legionaries who had left their comrades to die at Zela. This was met with a chorus of insults from the audience. Pieces of bread and fruit rained down on the deserters' heads, and those in the front rows spat or threw coins. Cowering, the trio moved away from the hurled objects and into the centre of the arena. Gradually the torrent of abuse died down. The master of ceremonies was waiting for this exact moment.

'Cowards like these deserve no mercy,' he cried in a deep, booming voice. 'What animal could deliver an apt punishment?'

Speculation from the curious crowd filled the air.

'The merciless creature which, if given the chance, will slaughter the shepherd's entire flock. Or attack the unwary traveller on a winter's night,' the announcer shouted. 'The mighty wolf!'

Cheers of excitement greeted this revelation.

Falling to his knees, one of the men raised his hands to the heavens, which prompted more whistles and catcalls of delight. Nobody was going to help this wretch. His companions shuffled from foot to foot, their gaze fixed on the other side of the arena. Romulus saw at once what was attracting their attention. There were three metal grilles set close together in the enclosure's wall. Already they were opening, pulled upwards by ropes attached to a ring at the top of each. No doubt urged by spiked prods wielded by their out-of-sight handlers, eight lithe animals emerged into the light. Their thick fur was a combination of colours from grey to brown or black, and they stood larger than most dogs. With intelligent faces and pricked upright ears, they were magnificent examples of the wolf, which lived all over Italy.

Romulus held his breath. He had only rarely glimpsed these creatures before, in the mountains of the countries he'd marched through. Wary of humans under normal circumstances, they lived as far from them as possible. Of course it didn't stop hunters trapping them for events like this, and despite the artificial environment, the wolves would not hold back from killing the three soldiers. Although their heavy coats hid the evidence, they were starving. To make sure of a good spectacle, the beast handlers would have given them no food for many days.

Sure enough, the predators had only advanced a few steps before their gaze fixed on the arena's occupants. Growling and snarling, they immediately split up, some moving straight at the soldiers, while others went to either side. Then they began to close in, slinking along with their bellies almost touching the sand.

'I've seen them chasing a deer in the hills near my home,' Petronius muttered. 'It's incredible to watch. They hunt together, like a team.'

Although filled with horror, Romulus could not drag his eyes away. The man who had fallen to his knees was now praying loudly to Mars, and begging for forgiveness. The other two had moved back to back and were shouting threats and waving their arms to keep the wolves at bay. It made little difference, and the audience bayed with amusement and bloodlust at their helplessness. More food and coins were thrown in an attempt to anger the wolves, but few struck their targets.

It didn't matter, thought Romulus. The crowd were going to get their wish soon enough.

Sensing his weakness, the predators moved in on the kneeling figure first. Two leapt at the same time, grabbing him by the arm and neck and knocking him to the ground with ease. Savaging the howling soldier's flesh with their powerful jaws, they held him down as their companions swarmed in for a feed. The man struggled and thrashed about, his screams piteous to hear. Thankfully the din did not last for long, but it was enough for the two other legionaries to lose all self-control. Hopeful of a last-chance redemption, one ran to the edge of the enclosure where a prominent noble was sitting. There he begged for his life. It made no difference: his potential saviour completely ignored him, drinking wine from a silver goblet rather than look down. When the soldier tried to climb out of the arena, guards thrust at him menacingly with their long spears. This didn't stop his now crazed efforts to escape, and at length he was stabbed in the chest. Dying, he was thrown back on to the hot sand. Three wolves began feeding on him at once, ripping open his belly to get at his intestines first.