‘Like I said. Done for.’ Macro nodded towards the ground and Cato looked down and saw the Thracian lying on his side, the cavalry sword buried almost to the hilt in his groin and angled up into his vital organs. He rocked from side to side as a pool of blood expanded beneath him, a low keening note in his voice as he gasped for breath.

Cato’s mind quickly cleared. ‘Good.’

He looked up at the faces of the men surrounding the rear gatehouse of the fort. Some of the Thracians seemed stunned. Others were clearly angry, their expressions darkening as the legionaries began to cheer Cato’s name.

‘Better get that leg seen to, sir,’ Macro was saying. He took off his neckcloth and bent down and carefully dressed the wound.

Cato struggled to keep his mind focused. He had done it. He had bested the Thracian. In front of the whole garrison. He had taken a terrible risk, gambled his life, in order to put an end to the struggle for supremacy over the garrison and now he stared at the auxiliaries with cold authority. A figure stepped forward and Cato’s eyes flickered towards the man and he recognised Centurion Stellanus.

‘Excuse me, sir.’

‘What is it?’

Stellanus gestured towards the dying man. ‘My sword, sir. I’ll take it back now.’

‘Your sword?’ Cato arched an eyebrow. ‘Yes . . . Yes, of course.’

Stellanus nodded and approached. He hesitated as he stood over Quertus, and then rolled the Thracian on to his back and reached down to grasp the sword handle. Bracing a boot on the man’s groin, Stellanus worked his sword free. A rush of dark, almost black, blood gushed out after the blade came free with a sucking sound. Quertus’s body tensed and he let out a last, rasping gasp, and sagged slowly as the light went out of his eyes and he died. Stellanus wiped the blood from the blade and sheathed his weapon before he stood stiffly in front of Cato.

‘At your command, sir.’

Cato nodded, then spoke softly. ‘Why?’

‘Sir?’

‘Why did you throw me your sword?’

Stellanus frowned. ‘He called you a cowardly Roman, sir. It ain’t true. It ain’t true of any Roman officer. In any case, you had the right to die with a sword in your hand.’

‘I thank you.’

Stellanus stared back in silence for a moment before he responded flatly, ‘I’d have done the same for him, sir.’

‘Him?’ Macro intervened scornfully. ‘That bastard?’

Stellanus nodded. ‘Whatever you may think of him, he had a warrior’s heart, and deserved a warrior’s death.’

He was interrupted by the sound of the horn at the front gate. The alarm was being raised. Every man turned towards the sound, a series of strident notes carrying across the fort. It was Cato who recovered first. ‘To your positions! Every man on the wall!’