Cato stretched his stiff limbs and rose to his feet with a groan. The enclosure was alive with the low grumbling of men roused from sleep, and the harsh shouts of the centurions aimed at those who were slow to rise. Torches flared by the storehouse being used by the legate and the small staff he had brought with him. Cato saw Vespasian hurriedly briefing the cohort commanders by the glow of spluttering flames. Bending down to retrieve his segmented armour, Cato wriggled his body inside and fumbled with the leather ties. Some of the men from the Wolf Cohort were already awake and gazing around anxiously.

‘Centurion!’ Mandrax approached him, and Cato realised that it was the first time for some days that he had seen the man without the standard to hand. ‘Sir, what’s going on?’

‘We’re leaving.’

‘Leaving?’ Mandrax looked surprised, then frowned. ‘Why, sir? We won. The enemy have gone. Why abandon Calleva now?’

‘Orders. Now help me get our men formed up.’

For a brief moment Mandrax stood quite still, staring at his centurion with an expression that Cato read as suspicion. Then he nodded slowly and turned away to see to his duties. Cato felt guilty about the order. These men he had fought alongside looked to Rome as their ally, and this order to quit Calleva would smack of betrayal, even though it made sense. Vespasian must have changed his mind. Or worse, Tincommius had proved to be telling the truth after all. Cato fastened his sword belt, tucked his helmet underneath his arm and strode over to the two lines of his men.

The Wolf Cohort existed in name only: Cato counted thirty shadowy figures standing behind Mandrax and the standard. Many bore dressings on their arms, but each still carried the oval shield, javelin and bronze helmet they had been issued months before. A surge of pride welled up inside Cato as he quickly inspected them. These men had proved themselves the equal of the legionaries in valour and steadfastness, and with more drill they would match their Roman comrades in skill at arms. The bond he shared with them through training and battle was as tight as any he had shared with his comrades in the Second Legion.

But now they were ordered to quit Calleva, and their kin, and the centurion feared how they might react when they looked back over their shoulders and saw Calleva lying defenceless, a ripe fruit waiting to fall into the eager hands of Caratacus and his allies. That would be the true test of their loyalty to him and their standard.

‘All officers to the legate!’ a voice bellowed across the enclosure. ‘All officers to the legate!’

Cato turned to his men. ‘Wait here!’

A small group of centurions clustered around Vespasian and the legate wasted no time on the usual formalities as he addressed them.