She got the names of the legions later, when she had time to put her facts together. At the time it was only a mass of armored men and spear points. The legionaries all looked alike from a distance, but one cohort passed quite close below the hillock where Lucius and the other observers were stationed, and suddenly the armored ants became men again. Fair-skinned Gauls with their skins peeling in the sun, swarthy Spaniards, copper-skinned Egyptians, darker Nubians. Men from all over the Empire, once distinct, now hammered into a fearsome and brutal anonymity.

After some confusion, the Praetorians in the center engaged against the Vitellian legions. No javelins were thrown; only shield against shield.

Marcella knew battle was all confusion on the ground, but she’d thought it would be clearer observed from above. Lucius and the other observers—herself among them, despite Lucius’s rage and the disdainful glances of the others—were stationed on a hillock well back from the fray. For a while Marcella could follow the agonizingly slow motion as the two masses of men heaved themselves up the causeway like whales giving birth and marched stolidly into each other. But then the dust from so many marching feet kicked up into the warm spring morning, and all she could see was a dust cloud out of which came fearsome screams. She hadn’t known a battle would be so loud. Iron shield bosses grinding together, men grunting as they shoved back and forth in furious swaying lines, swords clashing over the top of the shields, and always the shrieks of wounded men. They’d fall back clutching themselves, bleeding fearsomely, turned from armored ants back to men again, and the next disciplined rank would step forward into the gap, blank-eyed and eager—

On the left flank, the Othonian legion plowed into the Vitellian line and captured their eagle. The Vitellians regrouped and advanced again, surrounding the legionaries on broken ground and slowly cutting them down. The Othonian generals fled, while the Vitellians continued to feed in reinforcements. The central block of the Praetorian Guard was left standing alone.

All pieced together later, of course—from the hillock Marcella could see nothing. That evening she’d found a legionary, one of the few to escape the horror of the right flank’s massacre. “A bloody mess,” he said, blank eyes fixed somewhere over her head, not knowing or caring who or what she was. “Half of us had friends on their side—we kept lowering our swords and realizing that the one we’re fighting was one we used to get drinks with at the Blue Mermaid tavern two months ago. And we’d smile at each other and look sheepish-like, and then we’d have at it again till one of us was dead. A bloody cock-up, Lady, I’ll tell you that.”

The Praetorians, exposed on both sides, finally broke ranks and fled.