He stooped to pick up his helmet and turned to make his way over to the other centurion, sitting propped up against a mud wall. Cato stared fondly at his friend for a moment, then got up and entered the nearest building. He searched around in the rooms that had suffered least from the fire damage and found a bedroll tucked in a corner. He took it outside, where the stench of burning was less overpowering, unrolled it and lay down on his side, trying to ignore the insects that filled the night. For a while he thought of Ajax, and the moment when his death seemed unavoidable. Then the dreadful exhaustion of the day’s march through the mangroves and swamps carried him off into a deep sleep.

Cato woke shortly before dawn, immediately feeling guilty that he had slept while Macro had tended to the watch-keeping. The months aboard the ships had left him in poor condition for a difficult march and his legs ached abominably. Cato rose to his feet with a groan and stretched his back, feeling the joints crack.

‘Shit,’ he muttered, then rubbed his eyes and looked about. Some of the men had already stirred and a handful were busy constructing litters for the wounded out of wood salvaged from the ruins. The air was delightfully cool and a thin mist lay across the low-lying land around the village. The sight of the mist immediately made Cato uneasy. Here was yet more cover for Ajax, and the men under his own command would not be safe until the morning heat drove the mist away. Cato made his way across to the wounded and stood over Centurion Rufus. He nodded at his bandaged leg.

‘How does it feel?’

‘It hurts. Not enough to prevent me joining the main column.’

‘I want you to take charge of the wounded,’ Cato said firmly. ‘I need a good man to ensure their safety.’

A brief look of disappointment crossed Rufus’s face before he nodded. ‘As you wish, sir.’

‘You can rejoin us once the wounded are seen to safety.’ Cato looked round. ‘Where’s Macro?’

‘He went forward to the picket line a bit earlier, sir.’

Cato nodded and then turned to stride up the street to the far end of the village. As he passed the animal pen he saw that it had burned to the ground during the night and a large tangled pile of charred remains stood within the damaged wall. The air around was still warm and filled with the stench of burned flesh. Cato quickened his pace and strode out of the village. A short distance along the path he saw the first two men keeping watch. At the sound of his footsteps one of them turned to challenge him.

‘Who goes there?’

‘Prefect Cato. Where’s Centurion Macro?’

‘Walking the line, sir. He went to the right, should be back any moment.’

‘Any sign of the enemy on your watch?’