Macro shook his head. ‘Not good. So far, barely two hundred. There’ll be some more, but not many now. They dumped most of the equipment when they ran. Except your standard bearer.’

‘Mandrax?’

‘That’s the lad. Came in shortly before you did, still carrying the standard. Could do with a few more like him. Anyway, I’ve had Silva pull some more equipment out of the depot stores. He’s over there, by that cart. You’d better get some replacement kit. Somehow, I think you’ll need it. I’ll be up on the palisade.’

As Macro strode off towards the ramp Cato glanced round and took in the situation. A number of houses had caught fire in the streets close to the gate and small clusters of townspeople were hurriedly trying to smother or douse the flames before they flared out of control. Silva, the veteran quartermaster, was distributing equipment to the most recently arrived survivors of the Wolves and the Boars. He waved a greeting as he saw Cato approaching.

‘Centurion! Heard we’d lost you. Thought you were going for the record.’

‘Record?’

‘For the legion’s shortest ever career in the centurionate.’

‘Very funny. I need some equipment.’

‘What do you want?’

‘All of it. Except the sword.’

‘Whatever happened to returning with your shield or on it?’ Silva muttered.

‘Sometimes living to fight another day takes precedence.’ Cato peered into the cart and saw that it had been roughly loaded with helmets, swords, daggers, belts, javelins, shields and anything else that came to hand. ‘You have any chain mail?’

‘Sorry. All gone. Only thing left is this.’ He tapped a set of the new segmented armour that was beginning to find favour in the legions. ‘Take it, or leave it, sir.’

‘All right then.’ Cato took the armour and worked it over his tunic. Silva helped lace it up while the centurion tied a rag round his head to replace the felt liner he had lost.

‘There.’ Silva stepped back. ‘Ever worn one of these before, sir?’

‘No.’

‘You’ll find it comfortable enough. The only drawback is that it makes throwing a javelin a bit of a chore. Otherwise, it’s fine, and cheaper too. I’ll add it to your mess bill. Together with the other items.’

Cato looked at him closely. ‘You are joking?’

‘Of course not, sir. All this has got to be accounted for.’

‘Right . . .’ Cato fastened the buckle of his sword-belt and, pulling the standard issue sword from the scabbard, he tossed it into the cart and sheathed his own blade in its place.

‘Make sure I only get charged for the scabbard.’

He grabbed a helmet and shield and turned away as Silva quickly noted on a large wax tablet the items the centurion had been issued.