Maximus rose stiffly to his feet. ‘Omnes ad stercus, sir?’

‘Omnes ad stercus.’

Maximus grinned. ‘Yes, thought so as soon as I saw you here. Just seemed natural after all that had happened. Had a feeling that you would turn up. Like old times.’

‘Good luck to you, Maximus.’

‘And you, sir.’

‘Odd chance running into an old comrade like that,’ Sabinus said after Maximus had gone.

‘Does seem like a small army sometimes,’ Ferox said.

‘Perhaps it is an omen.’

‘Perhaps. The last time we served together a legion died.’

XX

Piroboridava

Close to dawn on the eleventh day before the Kalends of June

FEROX SILENTLY CURSED the mist and himself for having been so certain. The mist had appeared soon after sunset and thickened, as it had several times in the last month. The bright moon was no more than a vague presence, lending the mist a faint glow, while leaving it hard to see very far. The picket of half a dozen soldiers stood as darker shapes in the gloom where the road passed between the front ditch. That was an uncomfortable job at the best of times, and a long, slow nightmare when there was little chance of seeing an enemy until they were almost on top of them. All they could do was stand and wait, staring out into nothing and wondering when the attack would start. Ferox had been sure that the Dacians would attack, making the most of the night and the even heavier veil provided by the fog.

So the garrison was on alert, with half the men on the walls and the rest waiting in the closest barracks, sleeping in armour with helmets, shields and weapons to hand. That is if they could sleep. Some probably could, Ferox thought, for there were always those few who were able to close their eyes and be snoring in moments. More would pretend to sleep, eyes closed, but minds racing. Others talked, and that included some of the handful actually asleep. He had heard the murmurs of low conversation and the sudden shouts and screams of nightmares whenever he had taken a walk around to see how everyone was.

Yet most of the time he had stayed here, on the tower above the porta praetoria. Without the mist, a man up here on the gate tower would see glints from the river and could just about make out the dim shape of the bridge. Instead, during this long night there was nothing much visible beyond the shivering picket and the outer ditch, while even the closest buildings in the canabae were no more than vague shadows. If they survived this night, then he would have to see about tearing them down. Their occupants were inside the fort, on that much he had insisted, and as far as he could tell all had been brought in. If the enemy had been watching they would have seen this, or the unnatural quiet and absence of activity outside the fort earlier that evening, and guess that the garrison was wary and on the alert.