‘Yes, sir. His wounds were not cleaned until he reached the hospital. I fear they are poisoned. However, he may recover.’

‘Is that likely?’ asked Macro.

The surgeon shrugged. ‘We have done what we can. His life is in the hands of the gods now. I have made a brief offering to Serapis on his behalf. If it is accepted then he may recover. But even if he does, he will be a cripple for the rest of his life.’ Archaelus indicated the bandaged thighs. ‘The attackers severed his hamstrings so that he could not leave the site of the ambush. It would seem that they intended him to survive and remain to be found.’

Cato glanced at Macro. ‘Something we’ve encountered before.’

Macro frowned. Then his expression altered and he stared at Cato. ‘Are you saying it’s him, Ajax? He did this?’

‘It could be. We pursued him upriver as far as Memphis before the trail went cold. He could have continued along the Nile as far as here. And he’s certainly bold enough to attack the legate and his party, and good enough to come off best. He’s even left someone to tell the tale.’

‘Only this time, he won’t be able to pin it on us,’ Macro sneered. ‘But why take the heads? He’s a mad, cruel bastard, I know, but he’s not done that before.’

‘Perhaps the decurion was on the right track with regard to the Arabs. It’s possible that Ajax took the heads as proof of the dead, to offer them to the Nubians.’

Cato turned back to the optio and leaned closer to him. He spoke softly. ‘Carausius . . . Can you hear me?’

The soldier did not stir, so Cato gently laid a hand on his shoulder and spoke again. ‘Carausius . . . You must tell me who attacked you.’

With a faint groan the man turned his head away from Cato and mumbled.

‘What’s that?’ Macro moved round to the other side of the cot and leaned over. ‘What did you say? Speak again.’

Archaelus intervened. ‘Centurion, go easy on him.’

Cato ignored the surgeon and shook the optio’s shoulder gently. ‘Tell us. Who attacked you?’

The optio’s eyes flickered open, clenched shut and then opened again, darting around as he tried to speak through cracked lips.

‘We didn’t have a . . . chance,’ he whispered. ‘They . . . fought like . . . demons. Came at us out of the dusk.’ His voice fell away into an incoherent mumble.

Cato waited briefly and then tried again. ‘Who?’

The legionary slowly rolled his head towards Cato and licked his lips. ‘No name. Just said he was a gladiator.’ He paused, wincing at a sudden wave of pain. Then, as it passed, his eyes focused again. ‘A gladiator . . .’

‘What else?’ asked Cato. ‘Come on, tell us.’

‘Told me to be sure that . . . Cato and Macro knew it was . . . him.’