31 Morning of the Fifth DayQuintus Petillius Cerialis, Legate of the Ninth Legion, sat up in bed slowly. There was a strange taste in his mouth and a sharp pain in his chest, on the left side. He gazed about him, bewildered. Then he looked up and saw the roof.
‘I am in a tent,’ he said. ‘I was not in a tent before; I was riding a horse. There was a soldier who spoke to me, like an old comrade. I remember liking him . . . I wonder where I am?’
He leaned with effort from the bed and struck the small gong which stood on the floor. A man ran in, the Camp Doctor. He saluted and said, ‘What is it, Legate? What can I get for you?’
Quintus Petillius tried hard to focus the man, but he seemed to grow and shrink, sway backwards and then forwards, become fat and then thin. . . .
‘Doctor,’ said th
