The contrast between the ordered interior of the depot and the disorganised jumble of huts, barns, cattle byres and narrow, muddy thoroughfares of Calleva struck Cato once again. The tribal capital was home to nearly six thousand people in normal times, but with the enemy raiding supply convoys and farms across the kingdom, the population of Calleva had swelled to nearly twice the size. Packed into the crude hovels inside Calleva’s walls, the people grew more hungry and desperate by the day.

Despite its ideal location on top of a gently sloping hill, there had been no attempt to create an adequate drainage system, and the deeply rutted streets, if they could be dignified by such a word, were covered with dung. Foul-smelling puddles formed wherever the ground was so saturated that nothing drained away, and Cato felt a wave of disgust at the sight of two children making ‘mud’ pies at the side of a waterlogged wagon rut.

By the time the two centurions reached Calleva’s main gateway a mixed crowd of natives and Romans was packed on to the turf ramparts to watch the desperate drama on the slope below. Aside from the men from the garrison, the Empire was represented by the first wave of merchants, slave traders and land agents out to make a quick killing before the new province became settled enough for the natives to get wise to their profiteering ways.

Now they jostled with the Atrebatans for the best view as the remnants of the supply column struggled towards the safety of Calleva. Cato caught the eye of the optio in command of the legionaries manning the gatehouse, and raised his vine cane to indicate his rank. The optio immediately ordered a handful of his men to clear a path for the two centurions and they went about the task with the usual insensitivity of soldiers. Shield bosses slammed into native bodies without regard for their age or sex, and howls of anger quickly swelled above any cries of surprise and pain.

‘Easy there!’ Cato shouted above the din, cracking his vine cane down on the nearest legionary’s shield. ‘Go easy, I said! These people are the allies of Rome! They’re not bloody animals. Understand?’

The legionary snapped to attention in front of his superior, and glared at a fixed point over Cato’s shoulder. ‘Yes, sir!’

‘If I catch you, or any others laying into the locals again, I’ll have you on latrine cleaning duties for the rest of the year.’ Cato leaned closer to the legionary, and continued softly, ‘Then you’ll really be in the shit, won’t you?’

The man tried not to smile and Cato nodded. ‘Carry on.’

‘Yes, sir.’

As the legionary led the way through the crowd the protests of the natives died away, now that the soldiers’ heavy-handedness had been seen to be punished.

Macro nudged Cato. ‘What was that all about? The boy was only doing his job.’