Time passed with frustrating slowness, and Cato sat in tense anticipation as his ears strained for the first sound of the cohort commander’s approach. A few times he heard Maximius bellow out an order, or an angry curse, as he did his inspection of the fort. Each time Cato prepared himself for the job he must do, and each time it was a false alarm his resolve crumbled a little more and he felt he was one step closer to succumbing to his fears and running away.

Then, at last, he heard Maximius again, close at hand and clearly approaching the tent.

‘Tullius!’

‘Sir?’

‘Have you briefed the optios about today’s patrols?’

‘Yes, sir. Before the inspection.’

‘Good. Just the centurions, then. Ah, there they are. Get to the briefing! Move yourselves!’

Cato shrank down behind the chest and hardly dared to breathe as blood pounded in his ears. The leather sides of the tent shimmered as Maximius brushed through the flaps into his quarters. There was a grunt as the cohort commander eased himself into a chair, then the tent shimmered again as the other centurions, breathing hard, joined him and Tullius.

There was no preamble as Maximius barked out an order. ‘Take a seat gentlemen, we’re running late.’

There was a short shuffling as the officers sat down.

‘Where’s Acting Centurion Cordus?’ Maximius snapped. ‘Tullius?’

‘Sorry, sir. I sent him to the village to get some natives. The fort’s run-off channel is backing up and needs to be dug deeper.’

‘Hardly requires the personal attention of a centurion, does it?’

‘He was available, sir. And more than keen to do the job.’

‘No doubt,’ Maximius chuckled. ‘Fine lad, that. If only all my officers were as eager to treat these barbarians like the vermin they are . . . You told him to go, Tullius, so you can go and fetch him.’

‘Yes, sir . . . By your leave?’

‘Just go.’

For a moment no one talked, until Tullius had left the tent, then Maximius laughed again. ‘Just make sure that you don’t end up like that one, lads.’

Cato heard Centurion Felix echo his commander’s mirth. Then Maximius abruptly stopped.

‘What’s the matter, Antonius? Cat got your tongue?’

‘No, sir.’

‘So why the long face?’

‘Sir . . .’

‘Spit it out, man!’

‘I was thinking about what Cato said earlier. His warning.’

‘A warning, indeed!’ Maximius snorted. ‘He’s just had enough of the marsh. You saw the state he was in. That crap about a warning was just some pathetic attempt to wheedle his way back into the cohort. Anyway, now that the bastard’s back in our hands, and the rest of them are no doubt dead, we can finish our business here and then take him to Vespasian and rejoin the legion. You should be celebrating, Antonius, not worrying like an old woman.’

Cato heard Felix snort his derision, before Centurion Antonius muttered his reply: ‘Yes, sir . . .’