Centurion

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.'

She reached round to a bowl of water on the table and pulled out a damp rag and squeezed the excess water out. She poised it over the wound. 'Well, here we go again.You know the routine. It's going to be painful, but then a hard case like you never feels pain.'

Cato flushed angrily but refused to respond to her baiting. 'I am obliged to make my report to your father. So, my lady, I'd be grateful if you finished dressing the wound and let me get back to my duties.'

'Very well,' Julia muttered. She prepared a needle and twine, and set to work at once, pricking the point through Cato's skin and gradually sewing the wound shut, until there was a length of puckered purple skin and blood-stained thread. Cato stared fixedly at the door with gritted teeth despite the pain. At length Julia completed her work and tied the knot with a sharp tug. 'There you are, Prefect.'

Cato nodded his thanks and turned to stride back towards the door, grateful for the chance to get away from the woman. As he reached the door she called after him.

'Until the next wound, then.'

'Hmmphhh,' Cato managed to grumble before he quit the room and emerged into the corridor. Outside the surgeon was organising a party of men to fetch the day's water and food rations for his patients. He looked up as Cato approached, and cocked an eyebrow.

'Feeling better, sir?'

'Better?' Cato paused.'Of course not. It's a sword wound, not a bloody cold.'

'Still,' the surgeon continued, 'a woman like that has a way of taking a man's mind off his pain.'

'Oh, yes.' Cato nodded with a bitter smile.'I could hardly wait to get away from her.'

The surgeon looked confused. 'I didn't mean…'

But Cato was already marching off again, his expression fixed in a frown as he contemplated the prospect of being shut up in the citadel in the company of an irritating, haughty daughter of Rome's aristocracy. As if her superior ma

'Beautiful,' he muttered sourly to himself. What did it matter what she looked like? She was an irritant and a distraction at best.And at worst? He felt a sudden light surge of heat in his breast and slapped his fist against his thigh as he strode off to find the ambassador.

Lucius Sempronius looked up as the two officers entered the small chamber that had been allocated to him by the king's chamberlain. Although as an ambassador of Emperor Claudius he deserved better, the severe overcrowding of the citadel meant that there was little opportunity to observe diplomatic niceties. His small staff was crowded into the corridor outside, which served as both their office and their sleeping accommodation. Macro had smiled as he and Cato had marched past the huddle of young aristocrats forced to rough it with the ambassador's clerks and his bodyguards. It would do them good, he thought, to get a bit of hard experience before they rose through the ranks of the imperial bureaucracy. That was assuming they survived this siege, of course, he reflected, his smile fading.