‘At ease!’ he called out in Celtic, and his men relaxed. For a moment he stared over their heads into the distance, fighting off the urge to glance down and admit to his shame. Someone coughed and Cato decided this was a deed best done quickly.

‘Comrades,’ he began awkwardly - since he had never used the term before, even though that’s what they had become in the desperate days of their last fight - ‘I have been transferred to another unit.’

A few of the men frowned, but most continued to stare ahead without any expression on their faces.

‘The procurator has asked me to thank you for your fine performance in recent months. Few men have fought more bravely against such great odds. Now, it is time for you to return to your families. Time for you to enjoy the peace you so richly deserve. Time to lay down the burden of your arms and . . .’ Cato couldn’t continue any further with the charade. He swallowed and looked down, angrily blinking back the first dangerous tears. He knew that once he released his true emotions there would be no stopping the outpour. And that he would rather die than weep before his men, whatever the injustice, hurt and shame of the situation. He swallowed again, clenched his jaw and looked up.

‘The Wolves have been ordered to disband. You’re to leave all your arms and equipment here and quit the depot . . . I’m sorry.’

The men looked at him in silence for a moment, confused and unbelieving. Mandrax spoke first. ‘Sir, there must be some mistake. Surely there’s-’

‘There’s no mistake,’ Cato replied harshly, not trusting himself to offer any sympathy, or even an explanation. ‘Lay down your arms and equipment now. That’s an order.’

‘Sir-’

‘Obey my order!’ Cato shouted, as he noticed the legionaries were no longer drilling, but were being formed up a short distance from the Wolves. ‘Disarm! Now!’

Mandrax opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut and shook his head. Cato stepped up to him and spoke in a whisper.

‘Mandrax, there’s no choice. We must do it before they make us.’ Cato indicated the legionaries. ‘You must lead the way.’

‘Must I?’ Mandrax replied softly.

‘Yes!’ Cato hissed. ‘I will not have your blood on my hands. Nor theirs. For pity’s sake, do it, man!’

‘No.’

‘If you don’t, none of them will.’