Figulus looked startled for a moment, then Macro relaxed his stern expression and grinned. ‘Just taking the piss, lad.’

‘Oh, right . . .’

Macro’s smile faded. ‘As far as Cato goes, I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. Nothing. Orders is orders. You’ll have to get used to that now that you’re acting centurion. How’s it going?’

Figulus shrugged unhappily, and reached out for one of the strands of willow before he realised that Macro was idly stripping a branch. His hand froze, and then dropped back to his side as he decided that it would be bad form to be seen to be aping his superior so openly. So his fingers scrabbled for one of the pebbles that lay in the loose, dry earth where the bank crumbled into the slow current. He tossed it in his hand and then threw the stone out over the river, where a small explosion in the glassy surface marked its fall. He watched the ripples fade before he spoke again without turning to Macro.

‘There must be something we can do about it, sir.’

‘Like what?’

‘We go and see the legate.’

Macro shook his head.’I'm telling you, he won’t change his mind.’

‘The general then.’

‘He definitely won’t listen. Plautius would probably throw us in with them if we so much as breathed a word of protest in his hearing. Besides,’ Macro shrugged, ‘what could we say? That it’s not fair? That’s not going to work. Our unit fucked up, and in a way that looked awfully like we didn’t have the balls to do the job. Nobody’s going to let the Third Cohort off the hook.’

‘But we didn’t run. Maximius ordered us to fall back. He’s the reason we never made it to the ford in time in the first place. He should be taking the blame, not Cato and all the rest, sir.’

Macro twisted towards the optio. ‘You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t give a shit about them? I’m telling you, Figulus, the whole bloody legion knows the score. I’d be surprised if the whole army didn’t. But someone has to pay the price for this almightly balls-up and fate has gone and picked on Cato. It ain’t fair, you’re right there. It’s just bad luck. Sticks in my gut just as much as yours.’

Both men turned to watch the figures swimming on the far side of the river, then Macro idly started to doodle in the dust with the end of the length of branch he had stripped. He cleared his throat. ‘But you’re right. Someone should do something about it . . .’