‘Why not? Fear is the best weapon that can be deployed in war. And he put fear into the hearts of the enemy sure enough. His mistake was in putting fear into the hearts of his own men.’

‘You do him too much credit, Cato. He was a bad ’un. That’s all. Bad, and mad, to the core, and he touched others with it. His men, the Silurians . . . even me.’ Macro’s gaze slid away from Cato as he vividly recalled the deaths of Mancinus and Maridius. He winced, as if in pain. ‘Don’t make the mistake of speaking well of the dead. Some don’t deserve it.’ Macro glanced past Cato towards the wagon and called out, ‘All right, the bloody thing’s loaded so what are you waiting for? Get the wagon out of the fort and down to the parade ground and make sure no thieving bastards get their hands on it. Move!’

The driver of the wagon cracked his whip and the heavy wheels rumbled into motion as the vehicle and its escort left the courtyard and made for the side gate and the track leading round the fort to the parade ground. The melancholy spell of a moment earlier was broken and both men assumed the veneer of their rank as they turned back to each other.

‘That’s the lot.’ Macro drew himself up. ‘Fort’s ready to be fired, sir.’

Cato nodded. ‘Then I’ll wait for you with the rest of the men outside. Carry on.’

As Cato made his way back towards the burned remains of the wall facing the parade ground he heard Macro’s voice barking out the orders to the incendiary parties. By the time Cato reached the bottom of the slope and turned to look up, dark columns of smoke were swirling into the sky. Macro and a handful of his men emerged from one of the breaches in the wall and descended the track to join their comrades. Cato waved aside the man holding his horse. He felt that he wanted to walk for a while. The survivors of the garrison formed up and Cato waved his arm forward to signal them to advance and they fell into line at the rear of the column.