That made Cato’s ears prick up.

‘In years to come you will be celebrated as conquerors, as men who dared to challenge one of the last great mysteries at the edge of the known world. Think on that, and let it be your inspiration while you train. You are in good hands. You could find no better person to train you than Centurion Bestia. I wish you luck and have every confidence that you will succeed.’

Back to the clichés, Cato groaned inwardly.

‘Carry on, Centurion.’ Vespasian nodded to Bestia and then left the platform followed by the standard bearers.

‘Yes, sir!’ Bestia turned to face the recruits. ‘Well, ladies, that completes the enrolment. You are all mine now. And training begins immediately after the midday meal. I want you back here then. Any later and I’ll stripe your back with my cane. Dismissed!’

===OO=OOO=OO===

The entire afternoon had been spent on basic drill without a moment to sit down and Cato’s legs and arms ached abominably from the strain of holding his heavy training equipment. He desperately wanted to sleep, to rest his body and drift away from the hard world he had been forced into. But sleep would not come. Strange surroundings, reflections on the day and anxieties about the future all combined in a whirling bout of mental activity that drove sleep away. He turned on to both sides to try and find the most comfortable arrangement afforded by the uncomfortable bunk, but either way the hard wooden slats could easily be felt through the worn woollen cover of the mattress. His sleeplessness was compounded by the frequent roars and cries from the dice game that was going on in the next section room. Not even the thick bolster pulled over the head could do much to keep the noise out.

But finally sleep came, despite all, and Cato had slowly rolled on to his back, mouth opening in a snore — when a pair of hands roughly shook him back into consciousness. His eyes flickered open to see a thick mop of oily black hair, dark eyes and broken teeth in a mouth stretched into a cruel grin.

‘Pulcher…’

‘On your feet, you bastard!’

‘Do you know what time…?’ Cato began lamely.

‘Fuck the time. We’ve got business to settle.’ Pulcher grabbed Cato’s tunic near the throat and hauled him down from the bunk on to the floor. ‘I would’ve got here sooner, but Bestia put me on latrine fatigues, thanks to you. You really did drop me in the shit, didn’t you?’

‘I-I’m sorry. It was an accident.’

‘Well then, let’s call what I’m about to do to you an accident. Then we’re quits.’

‘What do you mean?’ Cato asked nervously as he scrambled up off the floor.

‘Just this.’ Pulcher pulled a short-bladed knife from inside his cloak. ‘A little cut to remind you not to fuck with me again.’

‘No need!’ said Cato. ‘I promise I’ll keep out of your way!’

‘Promises get forgotten. But not scars…’ Pulcher tossed the knife up and caught it by the handle — the point aimed at Cato’s face. ‘On the cheek, that way you’ll remind others not to mess with me as well.’