The surgeon eased the tunic off Cato’s shoulder and looked closely at the discoloured flesh. ‘No open wound. That’s good. He was hit by a spear, you say?’

‘Yes. Seemed to catch him square on.’

‘Hmmm.’ The surgeon touched the flesh as lightly as he could and traced his fingers along the collarbone. ‘No breaks there. I’ll have to probe the shoulder joint. It’s going to hurt. I’ll need you to hold him down.’

Macro knelt down and firmly grasped Cato’s uninjured arm with one hand and pressed his chest back with the other. ‘Ready.’

The surgeon leaned forward and gently took hold of Cato’s shoulder in both hands. He felt softly for any sign of broken bones or the slackness of torn muscle tissue. Cato’s eyes rolled up and he groaned in agony. Satisfied with his superficial examination the surgeon probed more deeply into the shoulder.

‘Fuck!’ Cato yelled, attempting to sit bolt upright. His eyes were wide open and he glared at the surgeon. ‘Bastard!’ He head-butted the other man on the cheek.

Macro thrust him back down. ‘Easy, lad! He’s just tending your injury.’

Cato turned his gaze to Macro with a dazed expression. He nodded and gritted his teeth. ‘All right. Go on, then.’

The surgeon rubbed his cheek and then turned his attention back to Cato’s shoulder. He pressed his fingers into the discoloured flesh and Macro felt his friend go as tense as a length of timber as he stared straight up, focusing on fighting the agony of his examination. The surgeon thoroughly examined the shoulder and then eased himself back with a satisfied nod.

‘Some bad bruising but no broken bones. It’ll hurt like hell for some days and you’ll need to keep it strapped up, but there should be no lasting effects. I understand you took a blow to the head as well.’

Cato frowned, trying to remember.

‘It’s common not to recall the incident. How do you feel?’

‘Not good.’ Cato swallowed and winced. ‘Head hurts. Still feel a bit dazed . . . I can recall the attack. Then a spear in the air. Then nothing.’

‘Well, that’s fine,’ the surgeon concluded with a reassuring pat of Cato’s hand. ‘At least your brain’s not been scrambled.’

Macro shrugged. ‘Can’t say that I’d notice much difference . . .’

The surgeon stood up. ‘I want you to rest. Until the dizziness has passed. Then you can get back on your feet. The shoulder’s going to be painful for several days, and stiff. Better keep it in a sling. Other than that, I’d say you have had a lucky escape, sir. Just try to stay out of the path of spears, javelins and arrows from now on, eh?’