Keeping a wary eye on his opponent, Quertus steadily paced his way round the ring of spectators until he had his supporters at his back and Cato was forced to gaze into their hostile expressions. The encouragement from the legionaries struggled to make itself heard over the din of the Thracians but one voice rang out.

‘Get stuck in, sir! Kill that Thracian dog!’

‘Quiet, you fool!’ another voice cut in behind Cato’s back. ‘You want that Thracian dog to come looking for you afterwards?’

Cato smiled bitterly to himself. So, even the legionaries, much as they feared and disliked Quertus, were cautious about their commander’s chances of winning the fight. Well, he would show them, Cato resolved. He would prove them wrong, and prove that he had the right to command the garrison by force of arms as well as by the Emperor’s authority.

Quertus stood, calm and relaxed, as if in contempt for his foe, and then he turned his back on Cato and faced his men, arms raised to acknowledge their acclaim. The sound of their cheering rose in response and Quertus punched both fists into the air repeatedly.

Cato gritted his teeth and moved towards the man’s back, momentarily visualising the point of his sword plunging in, cutting through his spine and angling into his black heart. The auxiliaries shouted a warning to their officer and Quertus spun round and lowered himself into a crouch. He forced a laugh for the benefit of his men and called out in a loud voice, ‘Attack me while my back’s turned, would you? And you call me a coward!’

As his men responded excitedly to his taunt, Quertus paced forward confidently, swinging his blade in a broad ellipse. Cato did not stop, did not hesitate, but moved directly into contact, viciously striking the spatha aside and lunging for the other man’s chest. Quertus parried the blow firmly and stepped forward, punching the guard into Cato’s chest and knocking him back. Cato rode the blow to lessen its impact but even so the air was driven from his lungs and pain burned across his ribs. At the same time he was forced to throw his sword up to block a rushed chop to his head as Quertus tried to take advantage of the winding blow he had struck. The blade clattered to the side, but a moment later there was a searing pain in Cato’s thigh, just above the knee, as the point of the Thracian’s sword tore a shallow wound across his flesh.