Cato nodded, and stretched his shoulders. ‘What’s up?’

‘Plenty. There’s a rumour going round that the general has ordered an inquiry into yesterday’s cock-up.’

‘An inquiry?’

‘Shhh! Not so loud. There’s also talk that they’re going to make an example of whoever is held responsible.’

Cato looked up at him. ‘Where’d you hear all this?’

‘One of the legate’s clerks told me. He had it from someone on the general’s staff.’

‘Oh, it must be true then,’ Cato muttered.

Macro ignored his sarcastic tone. ‘Sounds plausible enough to me. They’re going to need someone to blame, and it happened on our patch. So watch your back.’

‘Maximius went through that last night. He’s carrying the responsibility.’

‘That’s what he said . . .’

‘You don’t believe him?’

Macro shrugged. ‘I don’t trust him.’

‘There’s a difference?’

‘For now. Come on, you’d better get up.’

‘The legion’s on the march again?’ Cato hoped not. His muscles ached terribly, and the prospect of another day’s tramping across the land under a blistering hot sun was almost unbearable.

‘No. General’s sent some mounted cohorts after the enemy. We’re to rest here and wait for the baggage trains to come up.’

‘Good.’ Cato threw back his cape, struggled to his feet and stretched his neck.

Macro nodded over his shoulder. ‘Maximius’ slave has got breakfast on the go. He’s brought some provisions with him. See you over there.’

The centurions of the Third Cohort sat around a small fire over which the slave was frying several thick sausages in olive oil. A jar of warmed mulsum rested close to the fire and a honeyed scent curled up from the spout. The slave had arrived at sunrise and set straight to work, having walked through the night to catch up with his master. The air was filled with the aroma of meat as the pan sizzled and spat. The nearest legionaries looked over with twitching nostrils, knowing that they had several hours to wait before the baggage train arrived with their food.

‘Jupiter’s balls!’ Centurion Tullius growled. ‘Will you hurry up with those sausages? I’ll start chewing my bloody boot leather if I have to wait much longer.’

‘It’s nearly ready, master,’ the slave replied quietly, well used to the impatience of centurions.