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Chapters (49)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Page
  3. About the Book
  4. About the Author
  5. Also By
  6. Praise
  7. Dedication
  8. The Roman Army Chain of Command
  9. A Brief Introduction to the Roman Army
  10. Map – Britannia 51AD
  11. CHAPTER ONE
  12. CHAPTER TWO
  13. CHAPTER THREE
  14. CHAPTER FOUR
  15. CHAPTER FIVE
  16. CHAPTER SIX
  17. CHAPTER SEVEN
  18. CHAPTER EIGHT
  19. CHAPTER NINE
  20. CHAPTER TEN
  21. CHAPTER ELEVEN
  22. CHAPTER TWELVE
  23. CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  24. CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  25. CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  26. CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  27. THE FORT AT BRUCCIUM
  28. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  29. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  30. CHAPTER NINETEEN
  31. CHAPTER TWENTY
  32. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  33. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  34. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  35. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  36. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  37. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  38. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  39. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  40. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  41. CHAPTER THIRTY
  42. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  43. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  44. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  45. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  46. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  47. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  48. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  49. Author’s Note

Petillius nodded, then strode away to the nearest section of men hunched down behind the wall. Macro turned towards the heart of the fort and saw the resigned expressions in the faces of the men he passed, lit by the ruddy hue of the flames. There was no doubting the fate that would face them the following morning and Macro felt too tired to humour them with any words of false hope as he trudged past. Back in the garrison commander’s office, he sat down and took out a blank waxed tablet. Picking up a stylus, he composed a letter to his mother. The sentiments he offered were simple and honest; regret for the events of the past, and hope that she would be proud that he had died with honour. It was a short farwell, and when he had finished the handful of lines pressed into the wax, Macro read them over, then shut the tablet and bound it together. He took it down to the underground strongroom and placed it carefully under one of the chests of records. As he emerged from headquarters, he felt a calmness in his heart, a sense that all but one of his duties had been carried out.

The fires burned on through the hours of night, the flames peaking and then slowly beginning to subside. Just after midnight the tower groaned and slowly lurched out towards the slope before crashing across the causeway and into the ditch, provoking a cheer from the enemy beyond. After a while the cheering faded and the only sound was the crackle of the flames, steadily diminishing. For a while a few of the timber frames of the gatehouse still stood to remind Macro of its outline. Then they, too, collapsed on to the shrinking mass beneath the flames. As the first smear of grey light spread along the eastern horizon, Macro donned his helmet, took up his shield and climbed the rampart to join one of the legionaries tasked with keeping watch on the enemy. Glancing warily over the parapet, Macro could see the wicker shelters and a handful of the enemy looking on from behind.

‘Rest of ’em fell back a while ago, sir,’ the sentry reported. ‘Resting up while the fires burned out.’

Macro nodded. ‘They’ll be back soon enough.’

The sentry was quiet for a moment before he responded. ‘Better that it’s over with quickly.’

‘Just as long as you take a few of the bastards with you, eh?’