‘What’s this?’

‘Receipt for your civvy clothes.’

‘What?’

‘You’re not allowed to keep your clothes. You give ‘em to me after you change into uniform. We sell them for you in the local market and give you the proceeds.’

‘Absolutely not!’ Cato said firmly.

The assistant turned back towards the office and opened his mouth to call out.

‘Wait!’ Cato stopped him. ‘I’ll sign. But do you have to sell them? I want to keep my boots and travel cloak.’

‘Recruits have to be in uniform. Can’t just wear any old thing. Anyway there’s no room to store clothes. But I promise we’ll get you a good price.’

For some reason Cato doubted he would see much of a return on his clothes. ‘How can I be sure you’ll give me the full sum?’

‘Are you accusing me of dishonesty?’ the assistant replied in mock horror.

Cato slowly stripped naked and pulled on the standard-issue tunic. It was as ill-fitting as he had feared, reminding him of the short tunics worn by the prostitutes back in Rome. The breeches were uncomfortable and had to be tied tightly above his skinny hips to stop them falling down. And they itched terribly. Almost as uncomfortable were the heavy military boots made of thick-cut leather and laced with tough thongs. The nail studs on the bottom made a clattering sound on the stone floor and some of the younger recruits were amusing themselves by kicking sparks off the paving, until the quartermaster tucked his head round the door and shouted at them to stop. When the boots were laced and tied Cato pulled the heavy leather jerkin over his head and fastened the buckles on each side. It was difficult, as the leather of the new jerkin was stiff. It was hard to bend forward and he could only just reach his laces with a great deal of straining. He noticed that, for some reason, his jerkin had a piece of white linen stitched over the right shoulder — a quick look round the room revealed that his was the only jerkin with a patch.

The main door to the stores building momentarily darkened and Cato looked up to see Centurion Bestia enter and stand just inside the room shaking his head pitifully as he surveyed the new recruits, tapping his silvered greaves with the tip of his cane.

‘Stand still!’ he shouted and the room instantly fell silent. As he slowly strolled down the length of the storeroom the recruits nervously fell back against the wall.

Bestia snorted derisively. ‘Hah! I’ve never seen such a bunch of women! Right then, girls — outside now!’

The drizzle had cleared away with the dawn and the sun glowed through a slight haze. The air was just cold enough to be fresh to the skin and, all around, the fortress bustled with activity. Training raw recruits was something Bestia greatly enjoyed, like every drill instructor, he had amassed a collection of useful invective for all occasions and comfortably slipped into the required role of rock-hard intolerance with subtle hints of a warm-hearted concern for his charges. In time they would come to regard him as a father figure — though perhaps not all of them.