The recruits flinched before nervously replying in an overlapping wave of yesses.

‘Louder! I want to fucking hear you this time!’

‘YES, SIR!’ The recruits roared.

‘Better…’ Bestia smiled. ‘Think of yourselves as a part of one body. You will move, talk and think as one from now on… Right then, over to the armourer for your weapons. Now, when I say, “Prepare to march… march!” you will lead off on your left foot and follow me keeping in position. I will call out the step and I’ll keep it slow. Right then, ladies. Prepare to march! March! Left. Right. Left. Right… Left… Left… Left.’

Led by the centurion and flanked by the drill instructors, the recruits ambled off in a long straggling column. Cato tried to keep in time but found that the recruit in front of him, Pulcher, had a short stride, and Cato had to concentrate hard on shortening his pace so as not to collide. It took a considerable act of faith to believe that any army could get two such differently proportioned men to march at the same pace. Almost as if the gods had decided to prove the point Cato scraped his boot down Pulcher’s ankle.

‘Shit! Watch it, you bastard!’ Pulcher turned angrily.

‘You! No speaking in ranks!’ A drill instructor shouted. ‘You’re on a charge! Get moving!’

The stocky recruit scowled once at Cato and quickly fell back into step. A moment later Pulcher hissed over his shoulder, ‘You’ll pay for that, mate.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Cato whispered back.

‘Sorry ain’t good enough.’

‘It was a mistake.’

‘Tough shit.’

‘But…’

‘Shut your fucking mouth, before you get me into any more trouble.’

Cato marched silently behind Pulcher, making sure that his feet kept a safe distance behind the man’s heels.

===OO=OOO=OO===

The recruits looked confused, Macro reflected with a smile as he watched them from the chief armourer’s desk. They had all received, and signed for, their issue of helmet, mail shirt and dagger, and swaggered around the armoury the way he had seen thousands of new recruits do before. The thrill of wearing a soldier’s uniform for the first time was ageless and the recruits looked at each other admiringly. Then, the armourers had started issuing the weighted wooden swords, large rectangular wicker shields and training spears. The recruits were staring at their weapons dumbfounded, holding them at arms’ length in disgust.

‘Always the same, isn’t it?’ Macro grinned.

‘One-day wonders.’ Scaevola complained. ‘They never learn. What is wrong with young men today?’

‘Same problem as ever. Even you were like them once.’

‘Bollocks.’ Scaevola spat from his toothless mouth. ‘Now tell me, young Macro, what are you doing here? Don’t see you from one year to the next. Last time we had a quiet drink, you were a bloody legionary. Now look at you. Centurion Macro. Bloody legion’s gone to the dogs.’ He looked up and caught sight of the twinkle in the centurion’s eyes. ‘If you’ve just come by to wind me up…?’