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furthest from Tullus, it was easy to spot his rolling step, the shield hanging at an awkward angle on his back.
    ‘He’s learning, sir,’ said Fenestela. ‘Another few months and he’ll pass muster.’
    ‘Aye.’ Content that Piso, who’d made it through the tough initial training, would go on to become a decent soldier, Tullus’ gaze strayed to the shining silver band that was the Rhenus. The river came from behind them to the right and ran parallel to the road at a distance of a couple of hundred paces. Half a mile onward, it flowed past the vicus , or civilian settlement, that served the massive military camp – their legion’s base – to their rear. The watercourse’s span was interrupted close to the vicus by large islands covered in trees, making it impossible to see the far bank, as they could from their current position. Germania Magna began on the other side, and it was where they were heading.
    Discerning the direction of his gaze, Fenestela scowled. ‘I don’t like going over there, sir,’ he muttered.
    ‘You always say that, Fenestela. Any tribes still hostile to Rome live a hundred miles to the east, or more. The ones who live closer know better than to resist our rule. They’ve been taught enough lessons over the last twenty years.’
    ‘Aye, sir.’ Fenestela’s tone revealed his doubt.
    Tullus didn’t comment. It was a topic that they had argued over countless times. According to Fenestela, he was overly trusting. Tullus thought his optio far too cynical. The longer Rome’s rule lay upon a land, the less likely it was that there would be trouble. There hadn’t been a major uprising close to the Rhenus for almost five years. If it continued, he mused, he could end his career in peacetime. That prospect appealed now more than it ever had – the price, perhaps, of seeing so many of his soldiers die in battle.
    Despite the attraction of retirement, Tullus knew that he would sometimes miss the insanity of combat, when the blood pounded in his ears, and the men around him felt closer than brothers. He increased his pace, indicating that Fenestela should walk with him.
    ‘Are we taking the usual route today, sir?’ asked a soldier from the depths of the ranks.
    ‘We are. Over the bridge at the vicus to the other side. Out the east road, alongside the River Lupia for about ten miles, and back again.’ Tullus saw the sideways glances of the legionaries, and heard the low grumbling that followed. ‘I make it just over twenty miles. An easy march,’ he added, winking at Fenestela.
    Fenestela returned the wink. ‘Without their full kit they’ll want to run it, sir.’
    More muttering.
    ‘That’s an idea,’ said Tullus. ‘Maybe we’ll double-time it back to the camp.’
    As he’d expected, someone took the bait. ‘There’s no need for that, sir, surely?’ called a voice from another rank, rendering the speaker invisible.
    ‘I don’t know,’ declared Tullus, with a glance at Fenestela.
    The faceless soldier and several others groaned.
    ‘Don’t give me reason to insist on it,’ warned Tullus as Fenestela chuckled.
    The complaints died away fast.
    Tullus wasn’t going to force his men to return to the camp at that pace, but there was no harm in them thinking it might happen. The uncertainty kept them on their toes. The last ranks of the century marched past once more, and he conferred with the tesserarius , the most junior of his officers. No one was lagging. Content, he and Fenestela trotted back up the patrol, resuming their positions in turn.
    The straggling development of houses, businesses and stables that formed the outskirts of the vicus drew near. They harked back to the settlement’s humble beginnings. Nowadays, most wanted to forget those rough times. The council talked of little but knocking the shacks and brothels to the ground, of grand new building projects and of a wall around the settlement’s perimeter. Part of Tullus would be sorry when these inevitable