The cavalry's horses were in even worse straits, until some veterans had the brainwave of harvesting seaweed from the shore. Washed in fresh water and dried in the sun, it supplied enough nutrients to keep the mounts alive if not well fed. Such ideas were thin on the ground, though, and the soldiers needed more than seaweed to be able to march – and fight. They had been on two-thirds of their normal rations since arriving, and that could not continue.

Hence the major foraging party, thought Romulus, looking over his shoulder at the long column behind him and the dust cloud hanging over it. He was grateful that the Twenty-Eighth had been given the honour of taking the lead, thus avoiding the choking powder thrown up by the passage of so many men. Led by Caesar himself, the patrol was thirty cohorts strong, and mostly made up of soldiers from his less experienced legions. They had set out less than an hour before, marching without their equipment and prepared for battle. Their main purpose was to spot fields of unharvested crops. Travelling south, they kept to the dirt road which led to Uzitta. Wheat was the preferred foodstuff, but Romulus and his comrades were no longer picky. Barley, oats and whatever other foods could be scavenged would fill their bellies. Yet they had come across precious little so far.

As the soldiers passed through tiny villages full of mud-brick houses, they were watched by the terrified locals, mainly women, children and the old. Under strict orders from Caesar, no looting took place. It was bad enough that they were taking the peasants' food, he said, without stealing what few valuables they had too. For once, it wasn't difficult for his hungry men to obey the order. They only had eyes for the fields around each settlement that contained the crops. Naturally, everything edible this near to Ruspina had already been harvested and hidden by the locals, or previously commandeered by Caesarean troops.

At least they had plenty to drink, thought Romulus. Thanks to the deep wells in Ruspina, every man's leather water bag was full. Marching was much easier when every drop of fluid didn't have to be treated as if it were gold. The fact that it was winter meant that the temperatures were nothing like the cauldron of the Parthian desert either. Romulus had terrible memories of the raging thirst he'd suffered while travelling through that alien landscape with Brennus and Tarquinius.

The thought of the haruspex now made Romulus feel sad, nostalgic even. The passage of time had diluted his anger over what Tarquinius had done. He'd admitted to himself that Caesar's grant of manumission might never have occurred if events hadn't happened the way they did. Yet it was hard not to wonder what would have happened if he hadn't had to flee Rome with Brennus. His life could still have been a success. I might have won my freedom in the arena by earning the coveted rudis. Or died instead, he reflected. Who knows? Romulus had not quite reached the point of forgiving Tarquinius, but he no longer felt the burning fury towards his mentor that he had in Alexandria. It had become a matter that they could discuss and sort out, man to man. If they ever met, that was.

Romulus sighed. What chance was there of that? Precious little. Best not to think about Tarquinius too much. No point worrying about things he couldn't change. Better to concentrate on the matters to hand, such as finding some food. With all the fields empty, that tactic didn't work for long. Thinking about winning the war worked no better – the Pompeians were so numerous that, despite Caesar's unparalleled leadership, success was by no means certain. Only time would tell. Romulus tried another method, tuning into the song being bawled out by someone in the rank ahead. As was often the case, it was about Caesar himself. Each lurid verse featured one of the many noblewomen he had conducted affairs with, while the chorus advised the men of Rome to lock up their wives when the 'bald-headed lecher' returned to the city for good. Romulus joined in with gusto. The first time he'd heard the mocking chant, he had been shocked by Caesar's tolerance of it. Later, he'd come to see that it showed the huge affection in which the general was held by his men, and Caesar knew that.

'Halt!' bellowed Atilius, their senior centurion. 'Halt!'

The order was repeated at once by the unit's trumpeter, who marched beside Atilius.

Wondering what was going on, Romulus peered into the distance. His comrades did likewise. Their German and Gaulish cavalry still only numbered four hundred or so, and a quarter of these were scouting the terrain before them. The eagle-eyed Atilius must have spotted some of the tribesmen returning. An instant later, Romulus' suspicion was confirmed by the sight of a small dust cloud, which preceded the arrival of a troop of horsemen. The Gauls had soon galloped in, passing the Twenty-Eighth. Riding with only small shields for protection, the pigtailed, lightly armed warriors ignored the questions thrown their way by the curious legionaries. Caesar, who had led them through the conquest of Gaul, was the only man they would speak to. As the commander, he was in the usual position halfway along the column.

Still nothing could be seen. The countryside was relatively flat with few trees, which meant that it was possible to see for up to a mile in front of the patrol's position. The legionaries began to relax, grounding their shields and taking sips of water from their carriers. Their officers didn't interfere. With no enemy in sight, there was no harm in this behaviour.

A short while later, most of the Gauls came trotting back past the Twenty-Eighth.

'Look,' said Romulus, spotting a familiar red cloak. 'Caesar is with them!'

Even Atilius turned his head and stared. 'They must want to show him something,' he growled. Like many officers in the Twenty-Eighth, Atilius was a veteran of the Tenth, Caesar's favourite legion. He and his comrades had ostensibly been drafted in to form a nucleus from which the less experienced soldiers could learn backbone and discipline. In some circles, though, it was whispered that they were the mutineers who had marched on Rome just a few months before, posted out of their original unit to prevent more trouble. Either way, Atilius was a fine soldier and reminded Romulus of Bassius, the old centurion who had led him in Parthia.

Wondering where the other Gauls had gone, Romulus glanced over his shoulder. Half a dozen warriors were riding back to the rear. Adrenalin surged through him. 'He's sent for the rest of the cavalry and the archers, sir,' he cried. 'Must be expecting trouble.'

Atilius gave Romulus an appraising stare. The story of the slave who had been condemned to die in the arena yet instead won his freedom by killing a rhinoceros had travelled through the ranks of the Twenty-Eighth long before Romulus had arrived in Lilybaeum. Because of his previous history, he had been assigned to a different cohort from that in which he'd served before. To give him his due, the young soldier was physically fit, responded to orders well and performed his duties to Atilius' satisfaction. That made him no different to many of the legionaries under his command, and so the senior centurion was reserving judgement until an opportunity for Romulus to prove his real worth presented itself. 'So he has. We might have to forget about our grumbling bellies until later.'

'Yes, sir.' Romulus could sense Atilius' coolness and suspected the reason behind it. It was the same, or worse, with a few of his new comrades, who disliked him for receiving what they saw as special treatment from Caesar. There was no outright hostility, just begrudging looks and a lack of camaraderie. Although it was hard, Romulus could cope with that. From the majority, though, he received a kind of reluctant admiration, as well as a good deal of ribbing about being the best man to fight the Pompeians' elephants, of which there were reputed to be 120. Romulus bore these comments with good humour, knowing that it was an eventual route to gaining their acceptance. With luck, fighting together would accelerate that.