‘Of course, sir. How’re the lads of the Fourth doing?’

‘Not too bad. Still formed up and heading this way. By the time I get over there with the relief I imagine it’ll all be over.’

‘Maybe,’ Sextus replied with a shrug as he squinted at the distant fight. ‘Are you sure you should be leading the relief column, sir?’

‘You think I shouldn’t?’

‘Frankly, sir, no. Legates should look after the legion as a whole, not arse around on minor details.’

Vespasian grinned. ‘That’s your job, I suppose.’

‘Yes, sir. As it happens.’

‘Well, I need the exercise. You don’t. So be a good chap and look after things here for an hour or so. I’ll try not to make a mess of your First Cohort.’

Both men chuckled; camp prefects were promoted from the rank of senior centurion of the First Cohort, and they were notoriously protective about the last field command of their career.

Vespasian turned and swung himself onto the sentry ladder, slipping easily through the hatchway. Back on the ground, he paused by the gate where his body slave carefully slipped on his helmet and tied the chin thongs securely. The men of the Third Cohort were tramping by, heading through the gates to join the column formed up on the track outside. Vespasian felt a thrill of excitement flow through his body at the prospect of leading the relief column to the aid of the Fourth Cohort. After the tedium of the long winter, most of it snugged down in temporary barracks, here was a chance to get back to some proper soldiering again.

Vespasian allowed his body slave a final tweak of the red ribbon fastened about his cuirass and then turned to march out of the camp and take up his position at the head of the column. Before he made it through the gate, a shrill cry from the top of the watchtower stopped him in mid-stride.

‘Horsemen approaching from the north-east!’

‘Now what?’ muttered Vespasian, angrily slapping his hand against his thigh. Through the gate he saw the three cohorts waiting to go to the aid of their comrades. But he could hardly leave the legion until he had ascertained whether the camp was being threatened on another front. Equally, any delay in sending help to the Fourth Cohort would cost lives. The relief column had to set off at once. And since he had to investigate the sighting to the northeast, it would need a new commander. He looked up at the watchtower.

‘Camp Prefect!’

A face, dark against the sky, appeared above the palisade. ‘Yes, sir?’

‘Take charge here.’