There was a rattle of iron studs on wood and a moment later Maximius’ head appeared above the planking of the watch-tower. He hauled himself up and mopped his glistening brow on the back of a forearm.

‘Hot work!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But it was worth pushing the men on so we got here before nightfall.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Macro replied, casting a glance at the legionaries still labouring to finish the last section of ditch and rampart on one side of the camp. The men of the picket line stood in a thin screen a hundred paces out from the ditch. Most were leaning on their shields in postures of absolute exhaustion. If the enemy were to attack now, or this night, the men of the cohort would be too weary to mount a good defence of their camp. To be fair to Maximius, it was the kind of decision that plagued most commanders: a trade-off between a good position and the fighting readiness of the men. At least, when the morning came, the Third Cohort would only have a short distance left to march and would be fit and ready to meet any threat that emerged from the marshes.

Centurion Maximius was staring down the valley in the direction of the hidden settlement. He raised his arm and pointed.’See that small hill there, to one side of the forest, over that stream?’

Macro followed his direction and nodded.

‘That looks like the best spot to set up a more permanent camp. Good views on all sides and a supply of water to hand. Should suit us well, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Macro was getting tired of the rhetorical attempts to instigate a conversation. If Maximius wanted to talk then he was better off seeking the company of the ever-eager-to-please Centurion Felix. Besides, Macro was not sure that he trusted himself to speak with Maximius, burdened as he was with the knowledge that he had been the one to free Cato and the others. Maximius was still looking for the one responsible and so Macro was naturally wary of any attempt to trick him into even the smallest admission of complicity or guilt.

The cohort commander turned to face his subordinate and scrutinised his expression silently for a moment. Macro was uncomfortably aware of Maximius’ gaze but was unsure how to respond, and simply kept his mouth shut and stared ahead, as if taking in the lay of the land the cohort would have to march through the next morning.

‘You don’t like me very much, do you?’

Macro had to face the man now and affected a puzzled frown. ‘Sir?’

‘Oh, come now!’ the cohort commander smiled. ‘You’ve made little secret of your disapproval of me since your appointment to the Third Cohort.’