Brasus blinked as he turned around a bend in the cave and saw its mouth, the red light of the dawn appallingly bright to his eyes. The horn sounded again, oddly fainter this time, and it was even more strange that he did not think about anything apart from forcing life back into his painful feet and legs as he tried not to fall or trip. He felt chilled, and draping the cloak he had left near the entrance did little to warm his naked body. His other clothes were outside, and he fumbled with buckles and brooches as he drew them on. The climb down the little cliff was not hard, and by this time he was shaking off the stiffness. After that the walk to the camp was easy and by the time he reached it he felt invigorated. Men stared at him, some nervous, some showing their awe of what he had done and others with no interest. Half these men were deserters, who understood nothing. Brasus did not speak for it was only as he saw these faces that he realised that his mind had truly been clear from the moment he left the cave. This was how it had always been for him, after the long hours of vigil and the jumble of thoughts, ideas and doubts. Afterwards his mind felt stronger and fresher and everything he set his hand to do went well. Whether or not others felt the same he could not tell and it no longer seemed to matter.

Brasus smiled at one of the younger warriors, a nervous lad whose wisps of beard made him look even more childlike. ‘Soon,’ he said.

XVII

Piroboridava

Six days before the Ides of May

IT DID LOOK odd, no matter how many times he saw it, but this was the first festival day of the standards, so it was to be draped with roses like the other vexilla and that was an end to it. Ferox had already crowned the flag of the vexillation of Legio I Minervia as the senior unit, the standard-bearer lowering it so that he could place the wreath of flowers. The flag was an old one that had seen a fair bit of service, so that its original red had faded to a paler pink, on which the golden boar of the legion charged. After that came the lone banner for the largest contingent of auxiliaries since they were next in seniority even if far fewer in number than the Brigantes. All of the garrison who could be spared were on parade, the regulars immaculately turned out and the Brigantes putting on a decent enough show when it came to polished helmets, armour and metalwork.

Their vexillum dipped, pendants jingling, so that Ferox could place a wreath over the spearhead on top and that meant that he did not have to see the banner itself. He lingered, hoping that the choice of mainly blue flowers would please the warriors because their tribe was fond of the colour and saw it as lucky. Then he was done, and the standard-bearer nodded and raised the pole just as the wind stirred so that the flag hanging from it flapped, almost waving in his face.