As he was writing he heard a commotion beyond the tent, and put aside his materials. Stepping outside he saw a group of cavalry had arrived. Many of the men were wounded. Maro stood in the sunshine and watched as the cavalry leader dismounted, and glanced back at the men with him. There were around thirty horsemen. The insignia on the officer's breastplate showed that he was the commander of a hundred. Maro eased his way forward. The officer, a lean, middle-aged veteran, was talking to one of Jasaray's flag officers, the dour, laconic Heltian.

'They hit us from the woods to the east,' said the cavalryman. 'The Cenii scattered and ran almost immediately.'

'Losses?' asked Heltian.

'I lost sixty-eight men,' the officer told him. 'They surrounded Tuvor, and I doubt any of his men survived. I recognized the old bastard who came to Stone. Fiallach, isn't it? He led them.'

'Enemy losses?'

'Hard to say, sir. All was chaos as they struck. We thought the Cenii scouts would give us warning of any attack, but they either ran or were killed. The enemy were upon us in moments.'

'How many?'

'I'd say around a thousand.'

'Get your wounded to the hospital tents,' said Heltian, 'and then prepare a fuller report for the emperor when he arrives.'

'Yes, sir,' replied the cavalry man, saluting.

Maro was still standing close by when the cavalryman walked off and Heltian turned. The flag officer looked at him. 'You have no duties, young man?'

'No, sir. My men have been fed, the tents pitched.'

'You are the son of Barus, are you not?'

'I am, sir.'

'And you listened to the report.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Tell me what you made of it.'

Maro struggled to gather his wits, his mind racing back over the conversation he had overheard. 'It seems that a hundred and sixty-eight of our cavalry have been killed by Fiallach's Iron Wolves.'

'Go on.'

'They were attacked from hiding . . . outnumbered five to one. The Cenii scouts proved ineffective.' And then he had it. Realization struck him. 'Our two cavalry units were riding too close together. Had they been at the regulation distance of . . . of two hundred yards . . . one of them should have broken free. And cavalry orders are to skirt wooded areas, out of bowshot range.'

'Indeed so,' said Heltian. 'The officers were careless, and treated the enemy with disrespect. They learned a hard lesson as a result.' Heltian turned away and walked off towards the northern gates.

Maro returned to his tent, and his letter to Cara, telling her yet again how he missed her and their infant son. Then he described the lands of the Keltoi on this side of the water, the beauty of the mountains, the purity of the streams and rivers. He paused, and thought of Banouin, wondering where his friend would be now. He was not a warrior, and was unlikely, therefore, to be at risk in the coming battle. Then he thought of Bane the gladiator. Rage said he had come home to the mountains. It was probable that he was out there, sharpening his swords. Maro shivered. The late-afternoon sun was giving little heat now.