I

In the hill country

Fifth hour of the night on the Ides of February
In the consulship of Quintus Ninnius Hasta and Publius Manilius Vopiscus Vicinillianus (AD 114)

RUFUS’ FACE WAS numb, battered by wind and the driving rain. He was soaked through, his clothes heavy with water, cold and clumsy. No doubt the mail cuirass, polished to such a fine sheen by his slaves, was already rusting. It was hard to care, and this barely a month after he had arrived with such pride to take up his commission in the legion. For all the cold, his back was slick with sweat from the sheer effort of climbing, and he was barely half way to the top of the hill, its sandy soil turned into slick mud by the storm. That meant going carefully to keep his balance. Then a stone hit him squarely on the head. Rufus yelped like a child and fell flat on his face.

For what seemed a long while Rufus lay in the slime, no longer caring what anyone thought and lacking the will to rise. There was a sound, perhaps a faint cry, from higher up, and he raised his head, spitting out mud. The rain was slackening, the night becoming just a little lighter, and he thought that he could make out the dark shape of the tribune, with his face a pale blob looking back. The clumsy oaf must have realised that he had dislodged a stone and sent it lobbing back down the slope.

‘I’m fine!’ Rufus shouted, although he doubted that the tribune could hear, and gave a thumbs up, which the man might or might not be able to see. Either way, the tribune seemed satisfied, for the white blob vanished and the dark shape resumed its climb. He seemed hunched, so must be near the top of the hill, where the slope was much steeper. According to the legatus, the two officers ought to get a good view from the top, and find some landmark which would tell them where they all were before anyone found out that the commander of Legio VIIII Hispana was stranded in the middle of nowhere with a handful of officers and a tiny escort. Rufus was doubtful, although the easing of the storm might just give them a chance, but one of these scrubby ridges looked much like another to him, most of all at night, while they should not be near any city or even village of note. Since they had not yet fallen into the river – an experience that surely could not make him any wetter than he already was – he could not think of any feature likely to tell him anything of use. Still, orders were orders, the legatus an odd man even at the best of times, and since even Rufus’ minimal experience of the army made him suspect that as the most junior officer present he was an obvious person to blame, there was nothing else for it. Rufus felt the top of his head and suspected that there was a bruise, perhaps even a cut. With his hair soaked he could not tell if there was any blood.