'I'm sorry I led you to this,' Maximius had continued. 'You're fine men, and you lead fine men. You deserved better.'

There'd been a painful silence before Felix leaned forward and clasped the cohort commander's arm. 'It's been an honour to serve with you, sir.'

'Thank you, lad. I knew I could count on your loyalty. And the loyalty of the rest of you, eh?'

The centurions had murmured their agreement, all except Macro, who stood stiffly and refused to make a sound. If Maximius noticed, he'd made no mention of it as he clasped the arms of his officers and bid them good night.

'Remember, I'll speak for us all…'

Before sunrise the trumpets sounded and all across the marching camp men stirred, muscles stiff. Those with injuries winced at the aching and throbbing from under their dressings. Cato, who had finally fallen asleep only a few hours earlier, did not stir with the others and his men let him sleep on, partly out of kindness but mostly because the longer he slept the longer it would be before his orders stirred them into the daily routine. So it was that Macro came to find him after the sun had risen, tutting as he discovered his lanky friend still asleep under his cape, mouth hanging open and an arm stretched out above the shock of dark curls on his head. Macro shoved his boot into Cato's side and rolled him over.

'Come on! Wakey, wakey! Sun's burning your eyes out.'

'Ohhh…' Cato groaned, squinting up at the clear sky. His gaze drifted across to the grizzled features of his friend and he sat up with a guilty start. 'Shit!'

'You fully awake now?' Macro asked quietly as he glanced around.

Cato nodded, and stretched his shoulders. 'What's up?'

'Plenty. There's a rumour going round that the general has ordered an inquiry into yesterday's cock-up.'

'An inquiry?'

'Shhh! Not so loud. There's also talk that they're going to make an example of whoever is held responsible.'

Cato looked up at him. 'Where'd you hear all this?'

'One of the legate's clerks told me. He had it from someone on the general's staff.'

'Oh, it must be true then,' Cato muttered.

Macro ignored his sarcastic tone. 'Sounds plausible enough to me. They're going to need someone to blame, and it happened on our patch. So watch your back.'

'Maximius went through that last night. He's carrying the responsibility.'

'That's what he said…'

'You don't believe him?'

Macro shrugged. 'I don't trust him.'

'There's a difference?'

'For now. Come on, you'd better get up.'

'The legion's on the march again?' Cato hoped not. His muscles ached terribly, and the prospect of another day's tramping across the land under a blistering hot sun was almost unbearable.

'No. General's sent some mounted cohorts after the enemy. We're to rest here and wait for the baggage trains to come up.'

'Good.' Cato threw back his cape, struggled to his feet and stretched his neck.

Macro nodded over his shoulder. 'Maximius' slave has got breakfast on the go. He's brought some provisions with him. See you over there.'

The centurions of the Third Cohort sat around a small fire over which the slave was frying several thick sausages in olive oil. A jar of warmed mulsum rested close to the fire and a honeyed scent curled up from the spout. The slave had arrived at sunrise and set straight to work, having walked through the night to catch up with his master. The air was filled with the aroma of meat as the pan sizzled and spat. The nearest legionaries looked over with twitching nostrils, knowing that they had several hours to wait before the baggage train arrived with their food.

'Jupiter's balls!' Centurion Tullius growled. 'Will you hurry up with those sausages? I'll start chewing my bloody boot leather if I have to wait much longer.'

'It's nearly ready, master,' the slave replied quietly, well used to the impatience of centurions.

While they waited Cato looked across the river. The far bank was covered with bodies, washed in the rosy glow of sunrise. Above them wheeled a swirling cloud of carrion birds, drawn to the ripe stench of death. Scores of them had already settled to plucking shreds of flesh from the bodies. But even that failed to ruin Cato's appetite when the slave handed him his mess tin, filled with steaming sliced sausage and hunks of bread. The centurions set to the meal and soon the warm food in their bellies had revived their spirits and, mouths full, they began to talk about the battle.

'How was it on the island, Macro?' asked Felix. 'How long did you hold them for?'

Macro thought about it, trying to recall the detail.'An hour or so.'

'You fought them off for an hour?' Felix's jaw dropped in amazement. 'The whole bloody army?'

'Not the whole army, you twat!' Macro jabbed a finger towards the ford. 'They could only take us on a few at a time. And then only after they cleared away the little surprises we'd prepared for them. I doubt we were in contact for a fraction of that time. And that was more than enough.'

Maximius was watching him closely. 'Why did you give way?'

'Once they'd opened a gap in the barricade what else could we do? And I'll tell you something else.' Macro wagged a finger at him to emphasise the point. 'Those bastards are starting to pick up a few tricks from us now.'

'What do you mean?' asked Tullius.

'They only went and formed a testudo when they came in for the second attack!'

'A testudo?' Tullius shook his head. 'I don't believe it.'

'It's true! Ask any of my men. That's why we had to fall back. We had no way of stopping that. If we'd stayed they'd have cut us to pieces in short order.'

'Same as the rest of us on the river bank,' Maximius said thoughtfully. 'We had to give ground or fall where we stood. Wouldn't have taken 'em long to carve us up.'

The other centurions glanced at each other warily, and ate their food in silence until Antonius looked up.

'Oi! Slave!'

'Yes, master?'

'Any more sausage there?'

'Yes, master. There's one left.' He looked to Maximius, waiting for instruction. 'Master Maximius… sir?'

'What?' Maximius looked round irritably. 'What is it?'

'The sausage, sir.' The slave nodded towards Centurion Antonius, who was holding out his mess tin.

Maximius smiled and nodded his assent. 'Let him have it. He's a growing boy and needs his food.'

'Thank you, sir.' Antonius beamed, eyes greedily fixed on the skillet the slave swung towards him. He thrust his mess tin forwards, caught the edge of the pan and the sausage jumped over the rim into the fire.

'Fucking shit!' Antonius glared at the sausage spitting in the heart of the fire and everyone else laughed.

'Consider that a sacrifice!' Maximius grinned. 'An offering to… which god shall we honour?'

'Fortuna,' Macro said seriously.'We need all the luck we can get. Right now.'

He nodded over Maximius' shoulder and the centurions turned to look at a squad of soldiers marching down the sleeping lines of the men of the Third Cohort.

'Provosts!' Felix spat into the fire.'Trust them to go and ruin a decent breakfast.'

They fell silent as the squad marched up, led by an optio from the legate's personal bodyguard. They halted a short distance from the group sitting round the fire. The optio stepped forward.

'Centurion Maximius, sir.'

'Yes.'

'You're to come with us. The general wants to question you.'

'I see.' Maximius bowed his head for a moment, as if composing himself, then he nodded. 'All right… All right, then. Let's go.'

He set his mess tin down and rose to his feet, brushing the crumbs from his soiled and bloodied tunic. He forced a smile on to his face. 'I'll see you lads a bit later. Tullius?'

'Sir?'

'Get the cohort up for me. Ready for duty. I'll do an inspection as soon as I get back.'