‘True. And it shows sometimes. But at least you’ve got brains and a good eye for the ground. If we hadn’t had so many casualties in the last year there’d be better men available for promotion than those two jokers.’

Macro stopped talking as they passed by the gate guards, standing to attention in the hot sunshine. The two centurions were passed through on their own authority and then they began strolling down the slight slope towards the river. The summer grass was long and dry, and rustled against their legs as they headed to a spot a few hundred paces upriver of the ford and away from the bodies that still choked the river. Unfortunately the fluky breeze was billowing from the other direction and, every so often, as the nearby willows tossed their long locks of leaves, the sickening stench of dead men wafted over them.

The two centurions found a place where the bank sloped gently into the water and stripped off their tunics and untied their boots. Macro charged into the water and threw himself forward in a dive, sending a sheet of spray into the air. He surfaced almost at once, shaking the drops from his dark cropped hair.

‘Shit, that’s cold!’ He turned and swam a few powerful strokes into the river. Cato waited for him to get clear of the bank and then waded a few paces out. In contrast to the exhausting heat of the summer’s day the water felt icy and he tentatively tiptoed out towards Macro, arms raised and wincing as the current lapped across his stomach. Further out Macro turned round, treading water, and laughed.

‘You bloody old woman! Come on in!’

Cato gritted his teeth and relaxed his knees, dropping to the surface. There was a moment of shock, a gasp at the cold water that clenched his chest, then he struck out towards his friend. The strokes were clumsy and he struggled to keep his face out of the water as he floundered towards Macro.

‘Just as well I decided to come!’ Macro smiled as Cato stopped and trod water close by. ‘You need more than a bit of practice.’

‘And when do I ever get the chance?’

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’

Macro tried his best to teach his friend the rudiments of a good style, and Cato tried to make the most of it, handicapped by the fear of having the water close over his head for even an instant. At length Macro gave up and they sat in the shallows, the river flowing around their midriffs as the sun warmed their backs.

‘I could get used to this,’ Cato murmured.

‘I wouldn’t . . .’

Cato turned towards his friend. ‘Why? Did someone say anything I should know about?’