Apart from the senior officers, no one in the legion was supposed to know where they were going or why. As far as he could tell, everyone, even the clerks who had attended the meetings, had obeyed orders and kept silent about this. Sentries and other men who happened to be in earshot for a moment may have overheard and made the most of letting slip privileged knowledge, so there were tiny nuggets of truth amid the wilder rumours. The favourite still seemed to be that they were to mount an attack on Armenia from the south, marching over some rough terrain through the mountains to surprise this jumped-up king. Crispinus had dropped a few hints that this was the truth. As far as he could tell, the men were reasonably keen, even though VIIII Hispana and the auxiliaries attached to it were a small force for such a task. In truth they were barely enough for their real job, at least if it came to heavy fighting. Crispinus had managed to muster eight cohorts of the Hispana, with a ninth sent on with the advance guard. All counted at least half their theoretical strength, which was not bad, and several, like the first cohort, were much stronger than that. In addition Hadrian had found a decent number of auxiliaries, most of whom were to join them on the march to Zeugma, apart from the ones with the advance guard. There were two alae of cavalry, one of them milliary, a milliary cohort of infantry and four cohortes equitata, adding very useful cavalry as well as their infantry. Hadrian had promised to search for more units or detachments, and try to see whether he could get some allied soldiers from the kingdoms without drawing too much attention, but was not sanguine. Crispinus would have to get by with what was available. It could have been worse, but then it usually could, and it could always be better. Crispinus half smiled at the thought. That was pessimism worthy of Ferox.

As the sun rose the trumpets sounded for the third time. They still were not ready to march, but they were getting closer, with the majority of the men in formation, although allowed to lean on shields or even sit while they waited. Caecilius and all the other centurions were shouting less, and not simply because their voices were gone. Gradually the animals were chivvied into as much order as was possible, and the last men ran to take their place in the ranks. It was almost time, and Crispinus motioned to the groom to bring his horse. He patted her head fondly, before stepping into the cupped hands of his orderly and climbing into the saddle.

In the intervallum, the open tract between the ramparts and the old tent lines, and in the roadways the legion – his legion – was at long last formed up. The trumpets sounded again, a mix of the curved cornu horns and the straight trumpets of the tubicines in a repeated fanfare, as the escort from cohors I brought the aquila, the symbol of the legion’s pride, out from the old principia and marched straight down the road to the main gate, following a path left for them. Without a signal, apart from the fanfares, the soldiers had sprung to attention. Behind the little golden eagle with its wings raised and the lightning bolt of Jupiter clutched in its claws, all atop an unadorned staff, came the other standards. There were the imagines of the Lord Trajan and his family, several vexilla with their square flags showing the legion’s name and symbols on a dark red field, and finally the serried rows of signa, the standards belonging to each century. The fanfare continued as the standards made their way to what would become the head of the column. Crispinus had never thought of himself as of a romantic disposition, but still felt a thrill and a majesty about the moment. He nodded to the herald.