Macro’s pity did not extend to sympathy as he stared at the body swinging slowly in the gloom of the corner. He felt a weary sense of disappointment in the servant for taking his own life. Why had the man chosen to do this? Fear of punishment for betraying Cato? Fear of being taken by the enemy when Bruccium fell? Whatever the reason, Macro was sure it was not good enough for Decimus to take his own life. That was no way for a man to die, particularly a man who had once been a soldier. There was no justification for such an end. Macro had no time for all those tales of noble Romans taking their own lives for the good of Rome, or their family line. Far better to die with a sword in your hand, facing the enemy and screaming curses into their face as you fell. This? Macro let out a long sigh. This was the choice of a coward . . . For a moment, without willing it, he imagined the servant’s last moments and an inkling of the man’s desperation found purchase in Macro’s thoughts.

He dismissed the notion swifly. That sort of thing was better left to the likes of Cato. Macro turned towards what was left of the rations on the shelf above the scored worktop. There was a chunk of the local cheese left and some brittle roundels of hard-baked bread. He took them down and pulled up a stool and ate stolidly, refusing to spare another look at Decimus’s body.

He was halfway through the cheese when he heard footsteps hurrying down the corridor that ran the length of the prefect’s quarters, ending at the kitchen.

‘Sir! Sir!’

Macro chewed quickly to empty his mouth and swallowed. ‘In here!’

A moment later the sentry appeared in the doorway, breathless. ‘Sir, the enemy are coming back.’

Macro felt his guts tighten. ‘Any sign of our lads?’

‘No, sir. Noth—’ The sentry’s response died in his throat as he saw the body. He stared at it, oblivious of Macro’s glare.

‘Finish making your damn report!’ Macro barked.

‘What?’ The legionary looked at the centurion, the horrified spell broken. ‘Yes, sorry, sir. Beg to report that the tribesmen are coming down from the pass. I saw Caratacus amongst ’em, sir.’

‘And no Romans. You’re certain?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘No prisoners?’ There was still that hope to clutch at.

‘I couldn’t make any out. Not before I came to report, sir.’

Macro stood up and gathered up what was left of his makeshift meal. He nodded towards the body. ‘Take that down and get it out of here.’

He made for the door to the corridor and stopped at the threshold. ‘Put Decimus with the other bodies. Might as well give the poor bastard a decent grave when it’s all over.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The legionary nodded.