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then, are there any questions?’
    Cato looked round in the hope that someone else had raised an arm. When he saw that the rest of the centurions were sitting impassively, he swallowed nervously and raised his hand.
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Yes, Centurion Cato.’
    ‘What if the enemy force their way across one of the fords, sir? How will the other detachments know?’
    ‘I’ve assigned two of our mounted squadrons to my command, and one each to Sextus and Maximius. If anything goes wrong we can alert the others and, if need be, the legion can fall back towards this position under cover of darkness. Let’s just make sure it doesn’t come to that. See to your defences and make sure your men give of their best. The advantage will be ours. We’ll have the element of surprise and for the first time their confounded speed over the ground will work in our favour as they hurry towards these fords. If we do our job well the new province is as good as won, and all that remains is to clear up a few last nests of resistance. Then we can concentrate on dividing up the spoils.’
    There was a murmur of approval at this last comment, and Cato saw the eyes of the men seated alongside him light up at the prospect of receiving their share of the booty. As centurions, they stood to make a tidy sum out of the money raised from the sale into slavery of the men they had taken prisoner over the last year. All the land seized fell into the hands of the imperial secretariat, whose agents stood to make vast fortunes from sales commissions. The system for the division of booty was a source of bitter contention amongst the men of the legions when they were drinking, and the unequal shares of legionaries and centurions ensured that the far greater inequality of fortunes between centurions and imperial land agents was generally overlooked.
    ‘Any further questions?’ asked Vespasian. There was a moment’s stillness before the legate turned to his camp prefect. ‘Very well. Sextus, you may dismiss them.’
    The officers rose from their stools and snapped to attention. Once the legate had left the tent Sextus stood them down. The camp prefect reminded them to collect their written orders from the general’s secretaries as they left headquarters. As the centurions of the Third Cohort stood up, Maximius raised a hand.
    ‘Not so fast, lads. I want a word with you in my tent, soon as you’ve set the evening watch.’
    Macro and Cato exchanged looks, which was instantly detected by Maximius. ‘I’m sure my new centurions will be relieved to know that I won’t be keeping them too long, and wasting their precious time.’
    Cato coloured.
    Maximius regarded the youth coldly for a moment before his face creased into a smile. ‘Just make sure you’re both in my tent before the first change of watch is sounded.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Cato and Macro.
    Maximius gave a sharp nod, turned on his heel and strode stiffly from the briefing tent.
    Macro’s eyes followed their commander.’Now what was all that about?’
    The nearest of the centurions drew back, glancing warily at Maximius until the cohort commander had disappeared through the tent flaps. Then he spoke quietly to Macro and Cato.
    ‘I’d play it carefully, if I were you two.’
    ‘Carefully?’ Macro frowned. ‘What are you talking about, Tullius?’
    Caius Tullius was the most senior of the Third Cohort’s centurions after Maximius; a veteran of over twenty years and several campaigns. Although he was reserved in manner, he had been the first to greet Macro and Cato when they had been appointed to the Third Cohort. The other two centurions, Caius Pollius Felix and Tiberius Antonius, had said no more than necessary to Cato as yet, and he sensed hostility in their attitude. Macro was more fortunate. They already knew him from the time before his promotion, and treated him in a cordial manner, as they must, given that Macro’s appointment to the centurionate predated their own.
    ‘Tullius?’