Just as he surrendered to the need to shut his eyes and savour the image of a neat little desk close by the warm, flickering glow of a brazier, Cato was snapped back to reality by a sudden cry. Figulus had stumbled and fallen and was scrabbling to retrieve his scattered equipment. Gratefully dropping out of the column, Cato dumped his pack and helped Figulus back onto his feet.

‘Pick up your stuff and get back in line.’

Figulus nodded and reached for his yoke.

‘Sweet mother! What the fuck is going on here?’ Hortensius bawled as he raced down the column towards the two men. ‘You ladies are not being paid by the fucking hour! Optio, is he one of yours?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then why aren’t you giving him a bloody kicking?’

‘Sir?’ Cato blushed. ‘A kicking?’ He looked up the column towards Macro, in the hope of support from his centurion. But Macro was veteran enough to know when not to intervene in a confrontation and did not even glance back.

‘Deaf as well as dumb?’ Hortensius roared into his face. ‘Only dead soldiers are allowed to fall out of line in my cohort, understand? Any other bastard who gives it a try will fucking wish he was dead! Get it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

To one side, Figulus quickly continued hooking his equipment to the yoke. The senior centurion spun round. ‘Did I say you could move?’

Figulus shook his head and the senior centurion’s vine cane instantly lashed out and smashed onto the side of the legionary’s helmet with a sharp clang. ‘Can’t hear you! You’ve got a bloody mouth. Use it!’

‘Yes, sir,’ Figulus snapped back, clenching his teeth against the ringing pain in his head. He dropped his equipment and stood to attention. ‘No, sir. You did not say I could move.’

‘Right! Now pick up your shield and javelin. Leave the rest. Next time you’ll think twice about dropping your equipment.’

Figulus burned with the injustice of the order. It would cost him several months’ pay to replace the equipment. ‘But, sir. I was tired, I couldn’t help it.’

‘Couldn’t help it!’ Hortensius shouted. ‘Couldn’t help it? YOU CAN FUCKING HELP IT! One more word out of you and I’ll cut your hamstrings and leave you here for the Druids. Now get back in line!’

Figulus snatched up his fighting equipment, and with a pained glance at his yoke and his scattered belongings, ran back towards the gap in the Sixth Century where he had been marching. Hortensius turned his wrath back onto Cato. He leaned closer, speaking in a menacing whisper.