‘So then, it appears that you are something of a war hero, Master Cato?’

Cato kept his mouth shut and continued staring straight ahead, eyes unwavering.

‘I believe I asked you a fucking question,’ Bestia said, then turned to the optio who accompanied him on inspections through the ranks. ‘Didn’t I just ask him a fucking question?’

‘Yes, sir,’ the drill optio replied. ‘You asked him a fucking question, sir!’

‘So answer me!’

‘Yes, sir!’ Cato shouted.

‘Yes, sir what?’

‘Yes, I am something of a war hero, sir,’ Cato replied in a low voice.

‘I do beg your fucking pardon, son!’ Bestia shouted. ‘But I must be deaf. I can’t hear you. Again! Louder!’

‘Yes, I am something of a war hero, sir!’

‘Oh really? Young lad like you must have really scared the shit out of the Germans. I mean, just looking at you right now is making me bloody nervous. Next thing you know they’ll be chucking fucking foetuses into the front line.’

A ripple of laughter spread across the other recruits.

‘SHUT UP!’ Bestia bellowed. ‘I did not give the rest of you ladies permission to laugh, did I? Well, did I?’

‘NO, SIR!’ the recruits chorused.

‘Well then, war hero, now you’ve really got something to live up to.’ Bestia leaned in very close to Cato’s face, so that the latter could see every wrinkle and scar of the veteran’s face, as well as the red rim of his nostrils. Cato almost smiled with relief as the centurion stepped back a pace, drew out a dirty piece of linen and sneezed into it.

‘What you smiling at, boy? Haven’t seen a man with a cold before?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Optio. Make any mistakes from now on and I’ll show you no mercy,’ Bestia snarled, and then abruptly strode away.

‘So what’s new?’ Cato muttered once the centurion was out of earshot. The drill optio chuckled as he went by and Cato blanched. But the man just winked and hurried to catch up with Bestia.

That morning Bestia changed the routine. Instead of the scheduled weapons-training the recruits were introduced to the rudiments of camp construction, and were marched outside the walls of the fortress to a prepared area where lines of coloured flags marked out a large square with numerous subdivisions. A supply wagon waited at the side of the track; a brace of oxen grazed with dull expressions as they watched the recruits assemble around Bestia. The centurion had taken a pick and shovel from the back of the wagon and was holding them aloft.

‘Any of you ladies care to tell me what I’m holding in my hands?’

The recruits remained silent, not willing to risk the obvious.

‘Just as I thought, dumb as ever. Well, these may look like horticultural tools but they’re the army’s secret weapon. In fact, they are the most important weapon you are ever likely to handle. With these, you can build the most formidable fortifications in the known world. Roman armies get defeated from time to time, Roman fortifications — never! Some of you may have heard on the grapevine that the Legion is about to be relocated.’