‘Just one more issue I need to clear up, then you can go. When the Third Cohort reached the ford there was an attempt to hold the enemy back, I understand.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘How effectively, in your opinion, was this defence prosecuted?’

Images of the desperate fight shimmered in and out his memory before Cato forced himself to reflect more objectively on the conduct of the cohort.

‘We were outnumbered, sir. We were forced to give ground.’

‘Forced to?’

‘Yes, sir. Once they had pushed us back from the ford they threatened to outflank us. We had to pull back or be wiped out.’

‘Has it occurred to you that if the Third Cohort had been a little more resolute and held their ground then the battle would have been a complete success?’

‘Of course it has, sir. But, with respect, you weren’t there . . .’

The clerk sucked in his breath nervously and risked a glance at his legate. Vespasian looked furious at having been spoken to in such a manner by the most junior centurion in his legion. For a while he continued to glare at Cato and then he clicked his fingers at the clerk.’Delete that last remark from the record.’

While the clerk reversed his stylus and used the flat end to erase the offending statement Vespasian addressed the centurion quietly.

‘In view of your previous service record I’ll let that one pass. Next time you won’t find me so forgiving. I want you and the others to remain in camp. No more swimming. You may be called on without notice. Dismissed!’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato stood to attention, saluted, turned smartly and marched out of the tent. He walked slowly back towards the Third Cohort’s station. The baggage train had arrived earlier in the afternoon, and after a quick meal the legionaries had erected their tents. Instead of the long lines of kit there were now hundreds of goatskin tents ranged in ordered lines stretching out on both sides of the Praetorian Way, and the men had stowed their equipment inside and now slept in the shade or chatted quietly in small groups outside in the sunshine.

Back amongst his men, Cato found his own tent and saw that a camp bed had been set up for him. He slumped down on it and started to unfasten his harness. A shadow partially blocked the light streaming in through the tent flaps, he looked up and there was Macro.

‘I saw you coming back. How did it go?’

‘Badly. Everything I said seemed to go the wrong way.’

‘I know,’ Macro smiled bitterly. ‘But you’re not usually at a loss for words.’

‘No. But nothing I said seemed to make a difference. I think the legate’s already made his mind up about what happened.’ Cato stopped fiddling with his buckles and looked down at the ground. ‘I think we’re in trouble . . . deep trouble.’

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN