Hamedes smiled uncertainly before he replied. ‘Depends how much time you have.’

‘Very well, tell Macro to lend you a few men to get the job done.’

Hamedes nodded and turned to follow in the footsteps of Rufus, making for the wounded lying in the street.

As he stared at the legionaries, Cato wondered how many of them would realise that he was to blame. How many would resent him and be wary of following him into the next fight?

He turned at the sound of approaching boots and saw the unmistakable stocky bulk of Macro emerging from the darkness.

‘Sentries are posted, sir. I’ve told them to keep a good watch. Don’t want anyone catching us unawares. The lads are clapped out so I’ll be changing the watch regularly during the night.’

Cato forced a smile. ‘So you won’t be getting much rest then.’

‘I suppose.’ Macro shrugged. ‘Nothing I’m not used to.’

‘And you didn’t sleep last night either.’

‘True, but I’ve put up with worse before. Many times.’ He gestured towards Cato. ‘As have you.’

‘I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight either.’

‘You get some rest,’ said Macro. ‘I’d feel better knowing your mind was fresh when we continue the pursuit tomorrow.’

‘Why?’ Cato asked bitterly. ‘So that I can lead us into another ambush?’

‘What is this?’ Macro frowned and placed his hands on his hips. ‘Do you think to blame yourself?’

Cato looked at him squarely. ‘It was my fault, Macro. I should have known that Ajax would anticipate our attempt to flank him . . . I made a bloody mess of it. I was too keen to put an end to him and rushed in.’ Cato shook his head at the memory of it. ‘Ajax was waiting for us. He had it all worked out.’

‘What did you expect? He’s no fool.’ Macro glanced at his friend and tried to offer a crumb of comfort. ‘Still, I expect I would have done the same if I had been in your place.’

‘I wonder.’

‘Mind if I sit?’

‘Be my guest.’

Macro unfastened the straps under his chin and removed the bulky helmet with a sigh of relief. Then he eased himself down on the edge of the trough next to Cato and leaned forward, resting his thick forearms on his knees. He was silent for a moment and then pursed his lips before speaking quietly so that they were not overheard. ‘Could you take a little advice? From a friend?’

Cato looked at him. ‘From a friend, yes.’

‘Right . . . Look here, Cato, you’re a bloody prefect now. You can’t afford self-pity.’

‘Self-pity? No, you have me wrong. This isn’t self-pity. It’s a question of poor judgement. I led these men badly.’

‘And what? You want to take some form of punishment for it?’

‘That’s what I deserve,’ Cato admitted.