On this day, for the very first time, they had begun picking men from the squads to take over and drill the rest. They started with the senior soldiers, the experienced ones, and they did not do too badly. Then with the two hours of drill almost at an end, they asked if anyone else wanted to try. There were plenty of volunteers, for Brigantes were rarely short of confidence.

The centurion arrived just as they were starting, with four squads in a line along the long edge of the parade ground and the fifth and sixth formed opposite each other on the shorter edges. Festus came to stand beside one end of the main line, gesturing to the instructors to show that he was merely there to observe and did not want to take over.

‘Silentium!’ One of the Brigantes chosen to lead had a deep, powerful voice.

‘Siwentium!’ The other one was tall, the most corpulent man in the whole unit and one of the least bright. His voice was high pitched, and as he shouted turned into a squeak as he mangled the command. One of the instructors had picked him to remind the rest that this was not easy, and because a few laughs at the end of two hours of stamping and marching would do no harm.

There were sniggers from behind Festus.

‘Iunge!’* The squad shuffled into close order, doing the manoeuvre well enough.

‘Lungee!’ The second squad was no less proficient in spite of the order. Behind Festus a man laughed, louder than all the others. The centurion glanced and saw that it was a tall, good-looking young recruit.

‘Parati!’†

‘Rapatii!’

There were giggles now, and the youth was cackling, his face red. Festus glared at them and then at the closest instructor, who was not looking in his direction. With an effort, he stopped himself from interfering, but resolved to have a word with the instructors after the parade was over. This sort of behaviour would not do at all.

‘Move!’‡ The first squad stepped forward as one, prompting a satisfied grunt from the centurion. Done well, Festus found drill a very moving, almost spiritual experience.

‘Mole!’ The second squad responded almost as well, although he could see some of the soldiers were grinning. Behind him there was more laughter, the boy closest to him barely able to control himself. Festus gripped his slim vine cane with both hands to stop himself from intervening. The squads were marching towards each other, until they were fifteen paces apart.

‘Sta!’§ The first squad halted, stamping their feet as one, shields and javelins not jostling too much considering how little drill these men had received.

‘Tsss!’ The command was a piercing squeal. Grinning, and fully aware of what they were doing, the second squad ignored him and kept marching forward.

‘The daft bugger’s forgotten the order,’ someone said from the ranks behind him.

‘Quiet there!’ an instructor ordered, although he could not keep the amusement out of his own voice.