Cato kept far enough back from the wagons to avoid attracting attention and looked for any sign of Lavinia. The wagons were drawn up alongside each other by heaving, cursing muleteers. Their passengers climbed down to begin the tiring process of unpacking the travel chests, carrying them into the large tents being hauled up on tall tent poles by teams of legionaries straining on guy ropes. Cato’s eyes alighted on the household wagons and his frantically searching gaze was finally rewarded by the sight of Lavinia descending from the legate’s personal coach with Titus clenched under one arm. Cato resisted the temptation to wave or call out, and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as he stood still amongst the crowds of legionaries toiling away. He watched Lavinia follow her mistress as Flavia marched into one of the erected tents. Cato stared at the entrance for a long time before he turned and walked slowly away.

He wandered through the Legion until dusk when the meal call was sounded and he realised he was hungry. Cato had had no appetite at midday as he nervously anticipated the arrival of the Legion and news of Lavinia and the injured sentry; an odd mix of heartache and dread that was peculiarly painful. By the time he had rejoined the century the sun had set and the shapes of men and tents were grey and indistinct against the pale glow of the horizon. Cooking fires had been lit and the first faint odours of yet another stew wafted into the rapidly cooling air. Cato had been assigned to the second watch and wanted a full belly before he had to follow the senior watch officer on his rounds, collecting the tokens from each station on the walls and gates. As he sat by the section fire and mopped up the last remnants of his meal with some freshly baked bread, Macro squatted down by his side.

‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I just went for a walk, sir.’

‘A walk, eh? I don’t suppose you happened to pass the general’s quarters?’

Cato smiled.

‘I suppose it’s that woman of yours. Still carrying the candle for that little bint?’ Macro shook his head wonderingly. ‘What did I tell you about all this before — back at the base? A soldier who lets his feelings cloud his thinking is a soldier distracted, and the army can’t afford distraction. Put her out of your mind, boy. As a matter of fact, I might be able to help out in that direction. Some of the lads and I are heading into the town later on tonight — I’ve wangled a pass to purchase barley supplies for the cohort. We’ve been told where to find a nice little inn that offers something a little more tasty than the local brew. You might want to join us once you’ve finished your watch.’

‘Is that an order, sir?’

Macro stared coldly at him. ‘Well, fuck you, lover boy. I’m just trying to help out. But if you want to sit and sulk rather than have a drink with some mates and get your end away, then it’s your funeral.’