“Our third semi-final is just like the last, but with spears!” said the ringmaster. “Please bring forward Reese Fairchild and Agnes Morton.”

As predicted, Agnes walked towards the ringmaster and declared, “I will not fight.”

Reese grinned widely, and the ringmaster replied, “We thought you’d say that, so in the interval we had a present prepared for you.”

“Bring it on!” he instructed the guards.

Out of the right-hand opening in the backdrop four guards appeared pulling a low cart with a metal cage on top. It measured around five feet on all sides; not big enough to stand up or lay down in comfortably.

They rolled it up behind Agnes and the ringmaster opened the cage door and invited her to enter.

“And if I don’t?” said Agnes, still defiant.

“We will make you,” replied the ringmaster. “Or you can fight in the tournament. It’s your choice.”

Agnes hesitated for a heartbeat, but then, not wanting to be seen abandoning her principles, stepped up into the cage, and the ringmaster locked her in.

“I hope you like your new home, Agnes,” said the ringmaster, “because you will never leave it for the rest of your life.”

The audience gasped, but Agnes knelt down and held the bars looking at him calmly. Perhaps she didn’t believe him.

“You will see that your home has some charming features,” the ringmaster continued. “That hole in the floor is where you will do your business, and those rings in each corner will allow us to tie you down if you misbehave. It’s small enough that we can reach in and grab you whenever we like.”

“If you refuse food or water, you will be force fed. If you try to harm yourself, you will be restrained. If you need medical attention, you will receive a doctor’s visit at home.”

“We didn’t have room to add a bath I’m afraid, but don’t worry — your home is mobile, and as we take you on tours of the country you can wash yourself in the rain and admire the beautiful English countryside.”

“There’s no wardrobe either, but I’m sure you don’t mind visitors seeing you in your natural attire.”

Agnes looked alarmed. I think she believed the ringmaster now.

“Take it to the back of the arena,” instructed the ringmaster, and Agnes’ home was wheeled around the edge of the arena and parked behind the posts.

“A life of misery,” I said to my family, looking at my daughter who was open-mouthed. “That’s what she’s been sentenced to. If this doesn’t give would-be rebels pause for thought, nothing will.”