‘Hold him down!’ the surgeon ordered, pulling Cato’s cloak off a peg on the nearby wall. He threw the thick woollen folds over Bedriacus’ body. The spasm quickly passed and the hunter’s grip on Cato’s tunic relaxed. His breathing now came in shallow gasps, his eyes fixed desperately on Cato. The centurion grasped the hunter’s face between his hands.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ shouted the surgeon.

‘Quiet!’ Cato snapped. ‘Bedriacus! Bedriacus! Who did this? Tell me! Tell me, while you can!’

Bedriacus tried to answer, but the fight had almost died in him. His eyes flickered towards Tincommius, then back to Cato and he managed to whisper. ‘My eyes . . . grow dim . . .’

Tincommius gently pushed Cato away and rested a hand on Bedriacus’ brow. ‘Sleep, Bedriacus the hunter. Sleep.’

‘Stop that!’ Cato snapped. ‘You bloody fool! We have to know.’

Tincommius looked up with a dark and angry expression. ‘The man’s dying.’

‘I can’t stop that. No one can. We have to know. You heard him: someone’s after Verica. Now, get out of my way!’

‘Too late,’ murmured Artax. ‘Look. He’s gone.’

Cato turned away from Tincommius, and looked down at Bedriacus. The hunter was quite still, eyes staring up at the ceiling, mouth slack and without breath. The surgeon leaned closer to inspect Bedriacus for any sign of life. He turned his head, and placed an ear on the Briton’s breast. A few moments later he sat up, and released the bloodstained wad of cloth that he had been holding to the hunter’s stab wound. As the material came away, Cato saw the dark puncture, like a glistening mouth. Then the macabre illusion was broken as blood welled up and trickled down the skin and on to the floor.

‘He’s dead,’ the surgeon said officially.

‘Right then, better get it in a report,’ said Macro, rising to his feet. ‘You want the body taken anywhere?’

The surgeon nodded towards the two Britons still sitting beside Bedriacus. ‘Ask them, sir. I don’t know the local customs.’

‘Goodbye, Bedriacus,’ Artax said quietly. Cato looked up and saw a faint smile playing at the corners of Artax’s lips as the nobleman continued, ‘Safe journey to the next world.’

Cato quickly went to the door and shouted an order for the headquarters guard. As distant footsteps pounded across the courtyard he turned back to the two Britons, still squatting over the body. Macro came over to him.

‘What’s up? Why call the guard? We can get someone else to take the body away.’ The older centurion’s gaze flickered over the blood smeared across the floor. ‘Better get ‘em to clean up your office as well.’

‘We can deal with that later,’ Cato replied. ‘Right now I want Artax taken and held somewhere safe. Somewhere nice and quiet, where we can ask him a few questions.’