Centurion

They looked at each other for a moment and then laughed spontaneously at the sheer surprise and delight of still being alive. Macro thrust his blade into his scabbard and jerked his thumb towards the gate.

'So, that went as well as could be expected.'

Cato smiled for a moment, before he was aware of the survivors of Metellus' century around him, battered and bloodied with barely enough strength left to stay on their feet. 'It could have been worse,' he said quietly.

'Yes.' Macro's smile faded. 'Still, we made it. Life has become just a bit more difficult for that Prince Artaxes now that we're here.' His eyes moved to Cato's arm, streaked with blood that dripped from the ends of his fingers.'You'd better get that seen to. Before we report to the ambassador.'

'I will. Once the rest of my injured have been taken to the hospital.' Before he turned away to give the necessary orders, Cato paused and stared fixedly at Macro. 'Why did you do it?'

'Do what?'

'Come for us just then.'

Macro tried to brush the comment off. 'We're short-handed enough as it is. Last thing I can afford is to lose a century of good men, even if they are auxiliaries.That's why. Anyway, what are friends for? You'd have done the same for me.'

Cato nodded, but could not help smiling as he took a step back, grimacing at the odour clinging to his friend.'But if you don't go and clean that filth off I might just think twice about returning the favour.'

'Ha bloody ha. Now why don't you just piss off to the hospital before I add to your injuries?'

08 Centurion

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The hospital was filled with the wounded. Even the colonnade outside the rooms set aside for the injured was lined with men slumped against the wall, or lying on the bare ground. The handful of medical orderlies were overwhelmed by the number of injured men from the king's bodyguard and the relief column. The legionary surgeon who had taken charge assessed each man in turn, and those who were beyond help were carried across the courtyard to a small cell in the corner. As Cato eased one of his men on to the ground for the surgeon to examine he nodded towards the cell.

'What happens to them in there?'

The surgeon glanced at him with a warning look as he replied, 'They are helped out of their pain.'

'Oh… I see.' Cato looked uneasily at the wounded man. A spear thrust had found a weak spot in his mail armour and burst through his stomach. The stench of his torn intestines and bowels wafted up and made Cato want to retch. The man's eyes were clamped shut and he moaned continually as he clutched both hands over the wound. Cato turned towards the surgeon and saw the fleeting look of pity and resignation in the man's face before the surgeon spoke softly.

'Trust me, sir, they feel little pain and it is over quickly.'

Cato did not feel reassured and rose up and stepped away from the wounded man feeling helpless and shamed. The surgeon beckoned to the orderlies assigned to stretcher duty and indicated the casualty. 'Special case,' he said evenly before leaning over the man and squeezing his shoulder gently. 'You'll be taken care of, my friend.You will rest and your pain will be gone.'

He stood up and let the orderlies shift the man on to the stretcher. Then they picked it up and carried him away. The surgeon turned to Cato and tilted his head to see the wound on his arm. 'Let me see that.'

'It's not serious,' Cato said in alarm. 'A flesh wound.'

'I'll be the judge of that. Stand still and let me see.'

The surgeon eased the mail and tunic sleeve up on to Cato's shoulder and closely examined the cut, probing gently with his spare hand. Cato gritted his teeth and stared straight ahead until the surgeon released his arm.

'The wound is clean enough. It will heal, once sutures have been applied.'

'Sutures?'

'Stitches.' The surgeon patted Cato on the back and gestured towards the room at the end of the corridor. 'In there. I have a most charming member of staff who will take care of you.'

'We've already met,' Cato muttered.

'Good. Don't be put off by the fact she's a woman. I hear that the lady has been more help than most of the orderlies put together.'

'Fair enough.' Cato nodded to the surgeon and the latter hurried away to tend to his patients. Cato set off down the corridor, not best pleased by the prospect of renewing his acquaintance with the sharp-tongued ambassador's daughter. As he entered the room, the early morning light was streaming in through the two high windows, bathing the interior with a fine golden light. Julia was carefully winding a dressing round an auxiliary's head.

'I'll deal with you in a moment,' she said wearily without looking up. 'Wait by the door.'

Cato paused, consumed with frustration over any delay to his treatment. He needed to rejoin Macro and speak to the ambassador. He was also keen to quit the company of this overbearing woman. She seemed typical of her class: loud, arrogant and steadfast in the assumption that she would be obeyed at once. It was tempting to dislike her straight away. Cato drew a deep, calming breath, entered the room, and sat on the bench beside the door. The ambassador's daughter did not look up as she reached the end of the dressing and gently tied it off.

'There!' She stepped back to address the soldier. 'You'll need to rest a day or so.'

The auxiliary laughed. 'I wish I could, my lady. But I doubt the prefect will let me. He's a hard case.'

'Hard case?' Julia smiled. 'Him?'

'Oh yes, miss! Been driving us on like slaves ever since we set off from Antioch. Looks fresh-faced enough, but underneath it he's a right bast-'

Cato cleared his throat loudly and they both looked round at him. The auxiliary was on his feet in an instant, standing stiffly at attention, staring fixedly at some spot above Cato's head. His mouth opened and closed and he bit his lip in anticipation of the tirade to come. Cato looked steadily at him for a moment, devoid of expression.Then his eyes flickered to the woman.

'Have you done with this man?'

'Yes, Prefect Cato. The question is, have you?'

'He is a soldier and he will do his duty as I see fit, my lady.'

'But only when he is fit, surely?'

Cato frowned. 'That is my decision. Soldier, you are dismissed. Return to your century.'

'Yes, sir.' The auxiliary saluted and marched from the room, and out of the sight of his commander, as quickly as he could. Once he had gone Cato waited on the bench. Julia stared at him a moment and then placed her hands on her hips impatiently.

'Well, what is it this time?'

'Sword wound.' Cato gestured to the streak of blood on his arm.

'Come over here then,' she replied tersely. 'In the light, where I can see properly. Don't keep me waiting, Prefect. There are others who need my attention.'

And they are welcome to you, Cato reflected irritably as he rose to his feet and crossed over to her. The ambassador's daughter took his elbow and eased him round into the shaft of light streaming through the window. She inspected the wound briefly. 'So, you are intent on losing this arm one piece at a time, it seems.'

Cato pursed his lips, and his frown deepened. Julia glanced up at his face and he could see that she was fighting back the urge to laugh.To mock him. He sniffed bitterly. 'A soldier expects wounds, my lady. Whether he's a common soldier, like that man, or an officer. It's in the line of duty. Not something I imagine a lady of fine breeding would be used to.'

The words had been spoken before Cato realised how rude he must seem. Julia's eyes widened for a moment, and when she replied she spoke in a cold tone.

'I know my duty, Prefect. And, in recent days, I have come to know more wounds than I care to remember. I'd be obliged if you would remember that.'

Their eyes met and Cato gave her the kind of hard stare he reserved for scaring raw recruits, until Julia gave way and turned her gaze back to his wound. 'It's a flesh wound. Looks clean enough, but I'll wash it and stitch it.'