Sentius breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Beg pardon, sir, but you look terrible.’

Crispinus realised that his tunic was drenched in blood already turning sticky, and his feet hurt and might be cut or bruised, but none of that mattered because the enemy were retreating and he felt that the attack was over for the night. Apart from the horsemen there were men appearing from all sides, and officers shouting, but this time they gave a sense of control rather than shambles.

‘You all right, sir?’ Caecilius had appeared.

Crispinus grinned. ‘You should see the other fellow – oh, there he is!’ He pointed to the corpse.

‘They fooled us, my lord. Made us think they didn’t have the guts to attack.’

‘We won’t make that mistake again, primus.’

‘No, sir, we won’t. But why don’t you get cleaned up while I make sure everything is secure and take a look at the damage.’

‘I’ll come with you. You, man,’ he pointed to one of the legionaries. ‘Run to the praetorium and tell my boys to bring me fresh clothes, and especially boots.’

‘Sir.’ The man turned to go.

‘Oh, and the rest of my dinner! The bastards interrupted me.’ The closest men laughed. ‘Right, let’s go, primus.’

XVIII

The large camp to the east of Nicopolis

Tenth day before the Kalends of May
The eleventh day of the siege

THE THREE LEGIONARIES stood rigidly to attention, helmets clasped under their left arm, and right arm pressed firmly against their side. All three were bearded, although in the case of the youngest, Julius Felix, this was a generous description of the wisps of hair on his chin. The main chamber of the praetorium in Cerialis’ camp had gone quiet, for the soldiers were deeply uncomfortable at being summoned before not simply their centurion and one of the tribunes, but the prefect in charge of this camp and even the legatus himself. This was not how they had wanted their morning to begin.

Cerialis and the other officers stared at them for a while, before the prefect sighed. He knew what had gone on – or at least most of it – but Crispinus said that he wanted to hear it from the men themselves so they must go through it again.

‘So you were on guard?’ Cerialis asked the spokesman, with an encouraging smile.

‘Yes, sir!’ Clodius Secundus had been with VIIII Hispana for fifteen years, a lazy, unreliable man with a long record of facing charges, usually of drunken and disorderly conduct, with periodic forays into theft and abuse of civilians. The gods alone knew where he was from, but the record showed that he had enlisted in Londinium. Privately his centurion suggested that this had probably been in an advanced state of inebriation and that it was rumoured the man wanted to hide in the legions after upsetting several of the gangs in the city.

‘With these two, Felix and Priscus? At the far end of the outpost line, where the rocky outcrop faces the highest part of the cliff? Before the mounted pickets take over and link us to the northern fort.’