Cato & Macro 08 - Centurion by Simon Scarrow

Author:Simon Scarrow
Language: eng
Format: epub

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

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