Cato bit back on the rush of anger that filled his head. Macro was right. He should keep such thoughts to himself. Centurions had no right to contemplate defeat openly. That’s what Macro had told him nearly two years ago, when they first met. So the young centurion forced himself to breathe deeply and calm his raging doubts.

‘I suppose we’ll just have to hold on until some relief arrives. Quintillus should reach the legion by the end of the day. Take them a little while to get here. We’ll just have to hold them off until then.’

Macro turned and studied Cato’s expression for a moment. ‘That’s more like it, lad. Never say die, eh? Goes with the job.’

‘Some job.’

‘Oh, come on! It’s not so bad. Good pay, decent quarters, first dibs on the booty and a chance to shout all you like. Who could ask for more?’

Cato laughed despite himself, and was profoundly grateful that Macro was here at his side. Nothing ever seemed to shake him. Only women, Cato reminded himself with a faint grin.

‘What’s so bloody funny?’

‘Nothing. Really, nothing.’

‘Then wipe that stupid look off your face. Tincommius and his mates won’t be coming for a while yet. Tell our lads to stand down. Then go and tell your native chums to do the same. And get some rest yourself. You look done in.’

Cato paused on the ladder at the back of the watchtower. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll rest when it’s all over.’

‘When do you think they’ll attack?’

‘How should I know?’ Macro glanced round the enemy lines. ‘But when they do, they’ll rush us from several directions at once. Most of the attacks will be feints, trying to commit all our men before the real assault goes in. We’ll have to watch for that.’

Macro stared across the plain towards the scene of the previous day’s disaster. The two hills on either side of the vale rose clear of the mist, like islands on a pearly sea. It was fortunate that the mist covered the hundreds of Atrebatan bodies and concealed them from the men on the ramparts, whose spirits were low enough already. When the mist cleared they would see their fallen comrades scattered across the plain. They would also see the size of the force opposed to them, and Macro knew there would be even more desertions once the natives had had a chance to weigh the odds. There were few enough men as it was. He turned towards the rows of thatched roofs behind the town’s defences. Not a soul had stirred from the huts.

‘Shame we can’t persuade a few more of the locals to fight for us.’

‘Can you blame them?’ Cato replied. ‘They’re not stupid. They know we don’t have much hope.’