The silk felt good against his skin - soft and smooth, and scented with dabs of the citron oil his wife had sent him from Rome. After he had briskly rubbed his matted hair in a linen cloth Vespasian made his way out of the tent and sat down at the desk. A clerk sat at one end, ready to take notes, and a neat pile of scrolls and wax tablets was waiting for the legate at the other end, beside the plain Samian jug and goblet. Vespasian poured himself some water and downed it in one go, relishing the cool and refreshing sensation. He poured another goblet and, with a deep breath, began to tackle the day’s paperwork.

First he dealt with the casualty lists and unit strength returns. The numbers on the sick list for the Third Cohort looked excessive and he made a note on a wax tablet to call the cohort’s commander in for a little chat. It was unlikely that Centurion Hortensius would sanction such a large number of men unfit for duty out of leniency. Vespasian well knew the man’s reputation for driving his men on savagely, and while the legate approved of firm discipline, he would not countenance unnecessary harshness and cruelty. He sighed. It would not be an easy meeting. Most legates only served for a few years and it might seem presumptuous for Vespasian to lecture the vastly more experienced centurion on matters of discipline. Yet he could not afford to let the centurion abuse the men under his command, if that was what was causing the inflated sick list. If not that, then what? Either way, Vespasian had to know, and then deal with the problem.

Vespasian cast a quick glance over the latest set of supply and equipment inventories, approved them with a quick scratch of the stylus and thrust them towards his clerk.

‘File them. We’re low on javelin heads - add that to our next supply requisition.’

‘Yes, sir.’