“Our second round pits husband and wife against each other,” said the ringmaster. “Jonathan and Reece Fairchild were responsible for attacking our star executioner, Jane Everett, and rescuing the convict Martin Spencer. They were also wanted for aiding in terrorist atrocities carried out by their rebel daughter and her friends.”

As he spoke, Jonathan and Reece were brought over to him and I saw my daughter smile as the screen focused on the long scar across Reece’s throat.

The ringmaster handed them both rapiers, retired to his seat, and shouted, “Your fifteen minutes start now!”

But this round turned out to be underwhelming.

The couple kissed and hugged each other, to the annoyance of the audience, and then Jonathan got down on his knees and looked up into Reece’s eyes.

“I can’t do it,” said Reece, tears welling up.

“We made an agreement, my love, and I will honour it,” he implored.

Reece took her rapier and held it vertically over the base of his throat. Then, after a deep breath, she placed all her weight on the rapier and plunged it deeply into his body. When she smoothly removed the rapier, blood oozed from the wound and his body slumped forwards, dead.

Two guards crossed the arena and dragged Jonathan’s body back to his post. Reece looked on sadly as it hung limp from the manacles.

“If only they had had such compassion for other people,” remarked the ringmaster, before adding unenthusiastically, “Please give a round of applause for Reece Fairchild, winner of Round Two.” There was only a smattering of applause as Reece was returned to her post.

I looked at my daughter — she looked quite infuriated at missing out on a bloody battle between her assailants.