‘Not happy?’ Ferox asked. He understood the mood of the men already in garrison, but needed to get a better sense of their officers. It would have been nice to think that only the Brigantes were discontented, but even a few hours at Piroboridava was enough to get a sense of the wider frustration of its garrison.

‘Yes, sir.’ Sabinus glanced nervously at Sertorius Festus, the only other centurion from I Minervia, eager for his support.

‘They’re fed up,’ Festus said. He struck Ferox as capable enough in his way, without imagination or spark. It was hard to know why either man was posted to this vexillation and whether it was chance, their turn on the roster, or more deliberate than that. Outposts often received the men no one wanted anywhere else. Both centurions were understandably and very reasonably loyal to their men, putting them on the defensive and making it hard to admit that their legionaries were anything less than bursting to do their duty.

‘Rumour was that we were all being relieved.’ That was Julius Dionysius, the remaining centurion left in the garrison. He was a small man, his movements precise and very controlled. His dark complexion and delicate features marked him as an easterner, and as an auxiliary centurion he was junior to the other two, although ranking above poor Cunicius. He had a young, open face, even though he must be nearly Ferox’s age, and hard, intelligent eyes. When no one else said anything, he continued. ‘Everyone expected to be relieved as soon as you and your men reached us. Then they found out that only a handful are to leave and the rest are to stay. Indefinitely for all they know.’

‘That is not our fault,’ Cunicius said defensively. Ferox was glad he had the confidence to speak up.

‘Of course not.’ Dionysius’s smile was disarming. ‘But you are here and they have no one else to blame.’

‘And your men need to show more respect,’ Sabinus declared. ‘These are not simply legionaries, but veterans.’

‘We are Brigantes,’ Cunicius replied, defiant in his pride. ‘We step aside for no man.’

Festus sneered. ‘You are barbarians.’ He was not a tall man, but very broad in the shoulders with long, powerful arms. Ferox had not been at the fort long before he heard legionaries calling the centurion ‘the ape’; he was not sure whether or not Festus knew of his nickname. Probably not, as the man lacked subtlety. Still, this was getting them nowhere.

Ferox drummed his fingers on the wooden table. The silence was immediate. None of them, not even Cunicius, knew him at all well and all – with the possible exception of Dionysius – were nervous of their new commander.

‘Soldiers fight,’ Ferox said, speaking softly. ‘I suppose that is why they pay us!’ Even Festus laughed and whether they were genuinely amused or felt obliged did not matter so much. ‘When there are no enemies they will fight each other. If there were only your legionaries here, then I daresay in time men who had served in one cohort would band together against those who had spent their time in another, or the Spaniards against the Italians or even the Blues against the Greens. You know how devoted the fans of each faction can be. So they will fight if they are bored and have time on their hands. That is the key.’ He scanned the faces. Cunicius doing his best to seem eager, but still unused to the army and its ways and smarting at the contempt shown by Festus. The ‘ape’ had his chin thrust forward belligerently waiting to be told what to do. Sabinus seemed to understand, while Dionysius had clearly heard it all before.