And so the process went on for the next three days, until Macro had his two cohorts. At dusk on the third day, a cohort of the Second Legion arrived to escort the supply convoy back to the legion. Every wagon that Macro could lay his hands on had been made ready and fully loaded with supplies. Vespasian would be able to maintain his army in the field for a few more weeks, but the men in the depot now depended upon the safe arrival of the next convoy from Rutupiae, due in less than twenty days. Only a small escort could be spared to protect it when it set out on the last leg of its journey from the fortress on the Tamesis. Unless a covering force from Calleva could meet it on the way, there was a good chance that it would be detected by the scouts of the Durotrigans and ambushed. With a thousand extra mouths to feed from the supplies in the depot the two cohorts were going to have to earn their keep.

‘We’re not going to be ready in time,’ said Cato that night, as he sat at the table in Macro’s quarters, eating cold chicken.

Macro and Tincommius looked up from their platters. Macro finished his mouthful and used the back of his hand to wipe the grease from his lips. ‘Not unless we get the all clear to issue weapons we won’t. Can’t send men out armed with sticks and scythes - that’d be plain murder.’

‘So what do we do?’ asked Tincommius.

‘We start drilling them. We’ve got some marching yokes on the inventory. I’ll get the carpenters to cut them into lengths. At least we can begin basic sword practice.’

Tincommius nodded, and wiped his platter clean with his last hunk of bread. He pushed the platter away from him. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, sir, I’ve got to get back to the royal enclosure for the night.’

‘What for?’

‘The king’s gathered some of his nobles together for a drinking session.’

‘Drinking?’

‘Well, there’ll be dog-fighting, some wrestling and a few tall stories. But mostly drinking.’

‘Make sure you’re back here at dawn. We’ll start training as soon as it’s light.’

‘I’ll be there, sir.’

‘You’d better be.’ Macro nodded his head meaningfully towards his vine cane in the corner of the room.

‘Are you serious?’ asked Tincommius. ‘You’d really strike a member of the royal household?’

‘You’d better believe it, old son. The discipline of the legions applies to all men, or no men. That’s how it is - how it must be - if we’re going to sort out those bloody Durotrigans.’

Tincommius stared down at the centurion for the moment, and then nodded slowly. ‘I’ll be back before dawn.’