Taking their cue from the primus pilus, the remaining centurions charged around shouting and often enough shoving or using their canes. Crispinus did not stop them, but made a note to himself to have a quiet word. He had seen enough during his time as tribune in Britannia to realise that officers too ready to strike ended up with sullen, spiritless soldiers. For the moment the centurions could shout, and so could the optiones and anyone else with authority. Most of the time it worked, and men swore under their breath as they moved faster. Shouting and bawling were part of army life, and everyone understood. Now and then the shouting became too frantic, or a soldier too nervous, and that meant buckles not fastened properly, equipment dropped, packs accidentally spilled. A tent was pulled too sharply from the roof of a hut and ended up on top of Rufus, who had the sense to laugh with the men once they had pulled him out. A signifer was kicked in the head by a mule, and that was funny too, until he would not wake up. One legionary had his foot crushed by a wheel when a loaded cart was being dragged too quickly towards the waiting team, while another slipped while running to form up and stabbed a comrade in the thigh with his pilum – one of those bizarre accidents that Crispinus suspected would be hard to reproduce even if they tried. Thus the first casualties of the campaign were suffered, and the chaos went on.

The animals were even more of a problem than the men, for the army always believed that it was cheaper to keep the bare minimum and find the rest locally on the rare occasions a big campaign was planned. It was a minor miracle to have assembled sufficient to equip the baggage train. Since last year Syria and the neighbouring provinces had been combed for anything with four legs able to carry packs or pull a waggon, as well as for mounts. The well was running close to dry when it came time for the Hispana to begin its search. Hadrian had made it possible, releasing ample funds and allowing them to search far afield. Somehow they had found the numbers, even if this meant a motley selection of gaunt horses, half-wild mules and asses, and more camels than the army preferred. The lixae struggled to manage so many unruly and inexperienced animals, and the soldiers assigned to assist them were worse, so that Crispinus had hired as many locals as he could to help and the volunteers were an even motlier looking bunch than their animals. He guessed that he would have to flog and even crucify a fair few of the fellows before the campaign was done.

At least Hadrian was not here to witness all of this chaos and delay. The acting governor was at Zeugma and had arranged for pontoons to be floated and the bridge put together for a couple of days. Most of the year it was no more than a stub on either bank, so that river traffic could pass freely, and was only put in place a few times a year, when the big trade caravans wanted to cross. Crispinus and the main force would march to Zeugma, arriving late tomorrow, by which time he hoped that everything would look more ordered. They would cross the Euphrates the following day and march to Nicopolis. Hadrian’s hope was that the city would already be held by the advance party and they would be welcomed, but Crispinus sensed that this was a thin hope. The main force would carry all the artillery and other engines and supplies, which was another reason why it was so good to have the bridge instead of having to get each waggon on and off a barge.