Cato swept his arm round and the surgeon ducked beneath its arc. Macro winked at Cato as the surgeon straightened himself, well away from the blade.

‘Well, no problem with the muscles there! Now then, how does your other side feel?’

‘Tight,’ Cato replied through gritted teeth. ‘Feels like something’s stretching badly.’

‘Painful?’

‘Very.’

‘You can lower the sword now, sir.’ The surgeon waited until the blade had been returned to its scabbard and then returned to the corner of the room. Cato stood before him, bare-chested and the surgeon ran his finger along the thick red line that curved round the left side of Cato’s chest and a third of the way across his back. ‘The muscles are quite tight under the scar tissue. You need to loosen them up. It’s going to take plenty of exercise. It’ll be painful, sir.’

‘I don’t care,’ replied Cato. ‘All I want to know is how soon I can get back to the legion.’

‘Ah . . .’ The surgeon made a face. ‘That may take some time, and, well, frankly, you’d better not build your hopes up too much.’

‘What do you mean?’ Cato said with a quiet intensity. ‘I am going to recover.’

‘Of course you are, Centurion. Of course you are. It’s just that you might have difficulty bearing the weight of a shield on your left arm, and the added strain of wielding a sword might well cause the muscles down the left side to tear. You’d be in agony.’

‘I’ve endured pain before.’

‘Yes, sir. But this would be quite incapacitating. There’s no easy way to say this, sir, but your army career might well be over.’

‘Over?’ Cato replied softly. ‘But I’m only eighteen . . . It can’t be over.’

‘I didn’t say that it was, sir. Just that there is a chance that it might be. With thorough exercise and favouring of that side, there’s a chance you could return to active service.’

‘I see . . .’ Cato felt sick. ‘Thank you.’

The surgeon smiled sympathetically. ‘Well, then, I’ll be off.’

‘Yes . . .’

Once the door was closed Cato pulled on his tunic and slumped down on his bed. He ran a hand through his dark curls. It was unbelievable. He had not even completed two years of service with the Eagles, and had only recently been promoted, and the surgeon was telling him it was as good as over.

‘He can get stuffed,’ said Macro, in an awkward attempt to cheer his friend up. ‘You just need to get some exercise, get yourself back in shape. We’ll work on it together, and I’ll have you in front of your own century before you know it.’

‘Thank you.’