They exchanged a salute and Quintatus urged his mount into a trot, down the track towards the parade ground over which a column of legionaries was marching. Cato watched him for a moment, wondering if he could share the legate’s optimism about the imminent end to the war against Caratacus and those who still resisted the brute power of Rome. Despite his reservations, he wanted to hope that the long campaign would soon be over. With Britannia at peace, he could safely send for Julia to join him. In time, many of the units of the island’s garrison would be redeployed and a better posting could be found. Somewhere warmer, more civilised. He looked up at the grey crags on the mountains on either side of the valley and shivered. This was wild, hostile country and it was hard to see how it could ever be tamed. It would be better never to bring Julia to these shores. When the natives eventually gave in, it would be best to request a new command closer to Rome. He did not yet dare to hope for a position in the capital. Not while there were still those at the palace who bore him ill will. But that would not last forever, Cato reflected wryly. Those who plotted the fate of Rome at the emperor’s side seldom lasted the distance. Soon there would be a new Emperor. More than likely it would be Nero, the adopted son of Claudius, and Cato had once saved the young prince’s life. If the spirited youth became Emperor, there would be a purge of the old guard and Cato would be free to return to Rome, and Julia, and live in peace.

With that warm thought in his heart, he turned away from the passing column of infantry and picked his way through the breach beside the ruined gatehouse and went to find Macro.

The interior of the fort was heavy with the stench of burned timber and the more acrid odour of pitch. Small parties of men were preparing piles of combustible materials in the doorways of the barrack blocks and stables. Cato could not help observing the irony that Roman soldiers would complete the destruction that their enemies had failed to achieve.

He found Macro at headquarters, supervising the loading of the garrison’s pay chest and records into a wagon. A section of legionaries had been assigned the duty. It seemed that Macro still did not trust the Thracians.

‘How is it going, Macro?’

The centurion saluted as his friend approached and ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his neck as he collected his thoughts.