Ferox gave up wondering just how Vindex had managed to understand and be understood by the woman in question. For all his sinister appearance, the warrior got on well with a lot of people, and especially women, and somehow managed to communicate.

‘How is the siege going?’ Ferox asked instead of exploring that mystery.

‘They came out once in a big way, burned some stuff, killed a few, got chased back. Reckon they did better than us though. Since then, only a couple of little attacks. Been fires in the city though, the last few nights. Plain enough to see from here, and I reckon one not far back from the main gates and to the left. Not sure otherwise from out here. Made me think back though, like the lad.’ He nodded towards Bran, who had walked his horse across to the foot of the tower. ‘Remember?’

‘Yes.’ Ferox said. Before the siege had begun, someone had started a fire in the fort, burning granaries along with vital supplies. Ferox had never quite found out who had done it, although he had his suspicions. Hadrian’s man Sosius was there that night, and if he had not started the fire, he had used the distraction to attempt a murder, and now the fellow was inside Nicopolis. ‘Makes you wonder,’ he said.

Vindex glanced at Bran and sighed. ‘You think he still blames himself?’

Ferox did not need to say anything.

‘Aye, course he does, poor little sod.’ One of the others who had attacked and burned the siege tower was a young woman, a fierce warrior whom Bran had loved, but who had been killed when the Dacians swarmed into the fort. ‘I’ll keep an eye on him.’

‘Thanks. Get him some food and rest now. I’d better report.’

‘Are we off again?’

‘Maybe.’

‘That means yes, and that it’ll be another bastard of a fight.’

‘Better than working, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe,’ Vindex grunted as Ferox trotted away. ‘But then no one’s ever called me smart.’

*

A lot had changed since Ferox had been away. Not only had the activity sprawled over a wider area, but there were all the signs of an army settled down. Alongside the sounds of men working was a constant buzzing of flies. His horse was twitching its tail, obviously bothered, and there must already have been a dozen climbing on her face. He leaned forward and flicked with his hand, brushing them off. She had known him long enough to trust him so did not react, but a moment later half of them were back. The wind shifted slightly and the scent rising from row after row of piled manure, each mound twice as high a man, filled his nostrils. That was the army way, just as in a properly regulated camp the latrines were dug, used for ten days, then filled in with earth and a new one dug fifty paces further out, and upwind if they were sensible. The longer the army stayed in one place, the further a man walked to relieve himself. The old joke was of a soldier holding a sponge as he came to report to his centurion, asking for a three-day furlough and permission to shit.