‘My lads are good,’ Cerialis said, ‘and can fight as well on foot as on horseback.’

‘Say we use everyone. Say the Nicopolitans are half asleep, and say, because some god loves you, we get over the walls, what then? That’s a fair-sized city. I’ve seen it. Main streets are broad, but the rest is a maze of alleys. Houses are high, flat roofed, so anyone can lob bricks down at us, but it’s hard to get at them. That’s not to mention the citadel, with its own walls. So if we get in, we die one by one, because Crispinus isn’t going to get here anytime soon. But we’ll never get in.’

Cerialis had nodded as Ferox spoke. ‘Yes, that is what I think. No point to it at all. We’ll lose good men for nothing. Worse, we will start a war and, worse still, start it by giving the enemy a victory. Maybe they’ll see sense when Hispana and the rest parade outside their walls.’

Ferox stared at him.

‘No, I don’t believe that either,’ Cerialis admitted. ‘But it seems we must try.’ He wiped his brow. ‘Hercules’ balls it’s hot.’

‘This is just the spring,’ Ferox said. ‘Be summer soon and then these plains will be like a furnace.’

‘Huh, makes me wish I was back in Britannia with Lepidina.’ Cerialis leaned over, and poked his index finger into the soil. Then he lifted it to his mouth and tried to spit, but was so dry he had to lick his lips before he could manage. ‘My people say that brings good luck,’ he said. It was a rare moment when he spoke as a Batavian. Ferox was tempted to say that he could not remember what it felt like to have that sort of luck.

‘That’s that then,’ Cerialis concluded. ‘For the present anyway. No sense lingering here. The fodder won’t last long enough for us to wait for Crispinus. I don’t believe his two days and reckon it will be more like four. If we start taking from the locals then the last chance for diplomacy will be gone. So we ride back to meet Arrian and then all march towards Crispinus and Hispana. The route is easy, you say?’

Ferox nodded.

‘Good. I need another hour so that everyone gets some rest and time out of the saddle. We’ll go then.’

It was nearly dark by the time they met the infantry, four or five miles back from where Cerialis had hoped that they would be. The men, especially the legionaries from VIIII Hispana were visibly struggling.

‘It’s the heat,’ Arrian said in explanation. ‘We have had to leave dozens behind because they could not keep up at all.’

They were close to a stream, so Cerialis decided to camp where they were and give time for the stragglers to come in. Judging the legionaries too exhausted to entrench the position, he ordered spears thrust into the ground to mark where the ramparts should be. Tent lines were laid out for each century and turma, not that they had brought any tents with them, and standing pickets established to watch the non-existent gates. The only digging was a straight, rather shallow trench to act as a latrine, placed away from the stream and downwind from the camp; Cerialis had the sense not to let every regulation slip. Sadly the horses were less fussy, so the camp soon smelled like a stable. Cavalrymen were better paid and had more slaves than ordinary soldiers, with three or four men often owning a groom. None had come on the expedition, but the troopers set to caring for their horses with a will. Everything he saw about the ala continued to impress Ferox.