The glow I’d seen from the dark street was the reflection of a three-quarter moon from the flat stone circle in the grass. The rings of standing stones and crude pillars had disappeared into the dark, but the circle reflected in the moonlight palely, and I looked up at the moon again and thought I could see that it would be right in line with the stone circle once it was at the top of the sky. “What’s that?” I asked, collaring a man in breeches and a sheepskin cloak who was hurrying past me with a glance at my sword. “The stone circle.”

He looked at me with sullen loathing. “A solar disc.”

“What does it do?”

He grunted, twisting out of my grasp and disappearing into the shadows. I hitched my shield up over my shoulder and advanced into the grass, curious. The circle seemed larger in the moonlight, bisected by the looming shadow of the standard pole still planted in the center. The Tenth’s eagle was black under the moon, but no less proud. Behind it the fortress was a heap of slag and ashes, still smoldering fitfully in the dark. I idly swacked my javelin through the grass, wondering. What was a solar disc for, anyway? Did the Dacians sacrifice rams on it when the sun was high overhead? Did kings get crowned there, princesses married there? Sabina would be sure to ask.

Three soldiers crossed the solar disc toward the eagle as I stood musing. They conferred with the guards on duty—no eagle would ever be left unguarded. I saw an exchange of salutes, and then the center man leaned down and wrenched the eagle standard from the stones with a grunt. Moonlight silvered the lion skin over his head, marking his rank as our aquilifer, and I watched him enviously. A legion’s aquilifer bore the eagle into battle: the greatest honor that could be conferred on some brave soldier. He wore a lion skin with the paws crossed proudly over his chest; he was paid twice the wage of a lowly soldier like me; he ranked just below the centurions. If he lived long enough, he’d be centurion himself. Lucky bastard.

“Putting the eagle back to bed?” I greeted him as he descended from the solar disc and tramped through the grass.

He grunted, startled at the sight of me, and dropped back a step, hand flying to his sword hilt and the standard pole bracing. The two men at his back braced too, javelins rising, and I stepped into the moonlight to show myself. “Vercingetorix, second cohort, third century of the Tenth Fidelis. Easy there.” Losing the eagle was the worst shame any legion could endure; an aquilifer and his surrounding guards tended to swing swords first and ask questions later. A humorless bunch, even if they were well paid. “Just out for a stroll.”