A lifetime of fighting in foreign lands did not make for soft men, Julius reflected as he marched on toward the end of the second day, half blinded with dust and sweat. If the veterans had let themselves go in their retirement, he doubted they could have matched the eager pace of the younger men. It looked as if the hard labor of clearing land for farming had kept them strong, though some of them seemed made of sinew and skin under their old armor. Their leather tunics were cracked and brittle after so long lying in chests, but the iron straps and plates of their armor gleamed with oil and polish. They could call themselves farmers, but the speed with which they had responded to his summons showed their true natures. They had once been the most disciplined killers in the world, and every stride of the long march brought back something of their old fire. It showed in their posture and their eyes as the enthusiasm for war was rekindled. They were men for whom retirement was the death, who felt most alive in the camaraderie of soldiers, when they could spend their fading energies in sudden blows and the dry-mouthed terror of meeting the enemy charge.

Julius carried an old shield on his back, torn from its hangings over someone’s door by Quertorus. It was prevented from chafing against his shoulder blades by a heavy waterskin that gurgled musically with every step. Like the others from the galleys, he felt the lack of fitness that comes from having your movements restricted to a deck, but his lungs were clear and there was no trace of the shuddering fits that had plagued him since the head wound. He didn’t dare to dwell on them, but he still worried at what would become of his authority if they started again. There was nowhere private on a forced march.

For most of the first day, Julius had set a comfortable pace. They had too few men to risk losing more of the veterans than was inevitable, and they had all made it to the first camp. Julius had used the younger men for sentry duty, and none of them had complained, though Suetonius had clearly bitten back a comment before taking his post with surly obedience. There were times when Julius would have been happy to have him flogged and left on the trail, but he held his temper. He knew he had to form bonds with the men. Bonds that would be strong enough to withstand the first hectic moments of battle. They had to see him as he had once seen Marius—a man to follow into hell.