‘Good luck!’ Livonius called after them. ‘Pftt!’ Crispus sneered. ‘Luck has nothing to do with it. It’s down to steel, grit and years of back-breaking training. Not that he’ll ever have to understand that. Once he’s served out his year, he’ll be off back to Rome and some cushy number looking after the drains or the markets or some such bollocks.’ Cato was well used to the begrudging tone of centurions towards the young men serving out the military phase of their career ladder, and adopted a mocking tone as he asked, ‘Would you want to exchange all the pleasures of soldiering for inspecting the
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