Maximius well knew that he would be called to account for this costly error in judgement, and before the cohort had bedded down for the night he had summoned his officers for a quiet meeting, out of earshot of the men.

‘There’ll be questions asked about today’s events,’ he had begun, staring intently into the moonlit faces of his centurions. ‘I’m counting on you to stick together on this. I’ll speak for us, and take whatever blame the legate tries to pin on the Third Cohort.’

His expression had been sincere and Cato had felt a simultaneous wave of relief that the blame would not attach to him, and then a shameful sense of empathy for the cohort commander who could expect to be harshly disciplined. Maximius’ career was over. He would be lucky if he was only broken back to the ranks. That in itself was a bad fall from grace. His pay, pension and the privileges due to his present post would all be lost and the men who had suffered punishment at his hands would be seeking to exact a painful revenge when he became their equal.

‘I’m sorry I led you to this,’ Maximius had continued. ‘You’re fine men, and you lead fine men. You deserved better.’

There’d been a painful silence before Felix leaned forward and clasped the cohort commander’s arm. ‘It’s been an honour to serve with you, sir.’

‘Thank you, lad. I knew I could count on your loyalty. And the loyalty of the rest of you, eh?’

The centurions had murmured their agreement, all except Macro, who stood stiffly and refused to make a sound. If Maximius noticed, he’d made no mention of it as he clasped the arms of his officers and bid them good night.

‘Remember, I’ll speak for us all . . .’

Before sunrise the trumpets sounded and all across the marching camp men stirred, muscles stiff. Those with injuries winced at the aching and throbbing from under their dressings. Cato, who had finally fallen asleep only a few hours earlier, did not stir with the others and his men let him sleep on, partly out of kindness but mostly because the longer he slept the longer it would be before his orders stirred them into the daily routine. So it was that Macro came to find him after the sun had risen, tutting as he discovered his lanky friend still asleep under his cape, mouth hanging open and an arm stretched out above the shock of dark curls on his head. Macro shoved his boot into Cato’s side and rolled him over.

‘Come on! Wakey, wakey! Sun’s burning your eyes out.’

‘Ohhh . . .’ Cato groaned, squinting up at the clear sky. His gaze drifted across to the grizzled features of his friend and he sat up with a guilty start. ‘Shit!’

‘You fully awake now?’ Macro asked quietly as he glanced around.