‘Now then, gentlemen, I know I have been commanding this cohort for a little more than a month, but I have watched the centuries being put through their paces and I’m certain that I have never served with a finer body of men . . . outside Rome, that is. I’ve also had the chance to assess the potential of Felix, Antonius and Tullius, and I’m pleased with what I’ve seen. You’re good men. Which brings me to our recent appointments …’ He turned fully towards Macro and Cato and made a brief smile. ‘I’ve read through your records and I’m glad to have you both serving under me. Macro, two years of service in the centurionate, with excellent reports and commendations from the legate and the general himself. I’m sure you will have every chance to build on that while you serve in my cohort.’

For a moment Macro felt a bitter twist of resentment in his guts. He had served with the Eagles for over fifteen years. Fifteen years of hard experience and some of the toughest fighting to be had. He doubted that anyone he had left behind in the small fishing village along the coast from Ostia would recognise him now. The thickset boy who had hitched a ride to Rome to join the legions was a distant memory, and Macro fumed at the patronising tone of his superior’s welcome. But he bit back on the anger, and nodded stiffly. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Maximius smiled, and turned his gaze to Cato. ‘Of course, Centurion Cato, some records were quicker to read through than others. Despite your years you’ve racked up some impressive achievements, and you’ve even picked up some of the local lingo. That might come in useful,’ he mused. ‘It’ll be interesting to see how you cope tomorrow.’

‘I hope I won’t disappoint you, sir,’ Cato replied, tight-lipped as he bit back on his injured pride.

‘You’d better not.’ The smile faded from Maximius’ face. ‘There’s a lot riding on this for all of us, from the general right down to the legionaries in the front rank. We carry it off and there’ll be more than enough glory to go round. We fuck it up and you can be sure that the people back in Rome won’t ever forgive us. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Antonius and Felix answered at once.

‘That’s good. Now, gentlemen, if you’ll join me in a toast . . .’ Maximius reached under the table and lifted a small wine jar from the shadows. ‘It ain’t the best vintage, but think of it as a taster of the spoils to come. So I give you, the Emperor, Rome and her legions. Jupiter and Mars, bless them all, and grant bloody defeat and death to Caratacus and his barbarians!’