Mandrax looked at Cato with great hurt in his eyes, then he glanced at the legionaries watching them closely. He thought for a moment and then nodded. Cato breathed deeply. Then Mandrax drew his sword and thrust it into the earth at Cato’s feet. There was a short pause before the next man moved, laying down his spear and shield before unfastening his helmet. Then the rest followed suit, until they stood before Cato in their tunics and the ground was littered with their equipment. Cato stiffened his back and called out one last order to his men.

‘Cohort . . . dismissed!’

The men turned towards the gateway that led back into Calleva. A few of them glanced back once or twice at Cato, then turned away, and walked silently along with their comrades. Mandrax remained, still holding the Wolf standard. He stared at Cato, still as a statue, neither man knowing what to say. What could they say now? There was a bond between men who had fought side by side, and yet there was no bond between them now, and could be no bond in the future. Then Cato slowly raised his arm and extended his hand towards Mandrax. The standard bearer looked down and then nodded slowly. He reached forward and grasped Cato’s forearm.

‘It was a good time, Roman. It was a fine thing to be a warrior one last time.’

‘It was a fine thing.’ Cato nodded faintly. ‘I’ll not forget the Wolf Cohort.’

‘No. Don’t.’ Mandrax relaxed his grip and his arm fell back to his side. Then he looked up at the gilded wolf’s head at the top of the standard. ‘Can I keep this?’

The request took Cato by surprise. ‘Yes. Of course.’

Mandrax smiled. ‘Farewell then, Centurion.’

‘Farewell, Mandrax.’

The standard bearer turned away, lowered the shaft over his shoulder and walked slowly towards the distant gateway.

Cato watched him go, feeling hollow and ashamed, and despicable. As Mandrax passed through the gate and out of sight Cato was aware of the sound of footsteps closing on him from behind.

‘Cato! Cato, lad . . .’ Macro panted, and drew up beside his friend. ‘I’ve just heard the news . . . Legate just told me . . . Said you were round here . . . We’re going to be back in the thick of it! Just think. With us serving in the same cohort those Britons won’t know what’s hitting them!’

‘No . . .’ Cato said quietly. ‘They won’t.’

‘Come on, lad!’ Macro punched him on the shoulder. ‘It’s great news! Two months ago that quack in the hospital was saying you might never serve with the Eagles again. Now look at you!’

Cato finally turned round to face Macro, and forced himself to smile. ‘Yes. It’s good news.’