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be. Satisfied, Quintus studied the mounds of ominous-looking clouds that were scudding overhead. A biting wind from the Alps was speeding them southwards, and more were following in their wake. He shivered. ‘There’ll be snow before nightfall.’
    ‘You’re not wrong there,’ Calatinus said irritably. ‘And if it’s as bad as it was the other day, we’ll be stuck in the damn camp for a couple of days afterwards.’
    A sudden devilment took Quintus. ‘Let’s go hunting then, while we have the chance.’
    ‘Have you lost your wits?’
    Quintus poked him. ‘I don’t just mean you and me! We’ll gather up ten men or so. Enough of us to make it safe.’
    ‘Safe?’ Calatinus’ voice was disbelieving, but he punched Quintus back. ‘I’m not sure that there is any such thing as “safe” any more, but a man can’t live in fear forever. What are you thinking – a deer, maybe?’
    ‘If Diana aids us, yes. Who knows? We might even spot a boar.’
    ‘Now you’re talking.’ Calatinus was already halfway down the ladder that they’d used to climb up to the rampart. ‘With enough meat, we can barter for wine.’
    Quintus followed, his spirits rising at that thought.
    Some time later, Quintus was wondering if his idea had been rash. He and his companions, ten men in all, had ridden several miles through the woods to the east of Placentia. Finding a fresh game trail had proved far harder than he had anticipated. Despite the cover granted by the mixed beech and oak trees, the harsh weather had frozen the ground to one great block of ice. There were old tracks aplenty, but in many places it was impossible to see any newer marks made by passing wild animals. They’d had one sighting: a couple of deer, but the startled creatures had fled long before any of the men with bows could let off an accurate shot.
    ‘We’re going to have to turn around soon,’ Quintus muttered.
    ‘Aye,’ said Calatinus. ‘Your father will have our heads on a plate if we’re not back in time for our patrol.’
    Quintus grimaced. He tugged on his mount’s reins. ‘We might as well go now. Diana isn’t in a good mood. I don’t think that’s about to change.’
    There were grunts of agreement from those who were within earshot; shouts rang out, calling in those who had been riding further away. No one disagreed with Quintus’ suggestion that they return to Placentia. Everyone was chilled to the bone, and eager not to miss the hot meal that would be served before their afternoon patrol.
    The narrow paths meant that they had to ride in single file. Quintus took the lead; Calatinus came next. The idle banter that had filled the early part of the hunt had died away to an occasional lament about how cold and hungry a particular man was, or about how much he wanted to spend a night in an inn by a fire, drinking until dawn. If there was an attractive whore to take him upstairs as well, all the better. Quintus had heard such talk a hundred times, so it went in one ear and out the other. His horse seemed to know the route to take, allowing his mind to wander. He thought of the letter that Fabricius had written, to which he had added a footnote, and hoped that it had reached his mother. His sister Aurelia might grieve the death of Caius Minucius Flaccus, her betrothed, but at least she’d know that he and their father were alive. That they would return one day.
    Feeling happier, he lapsed into a pleasant daydream about home, near Capua. He and his father were there with Atia, his mother; so too was Aurelia. The family were reclining on couches around a table piled high with dishes of succulent fare. A side of roast pork. Mullet fried with herbs, and bream that had been baked in the oven. Sausages. Olives. Freshly baked bread. Greens. He could almost reach out and touch the food. Quintus felt saliva pooling in his mouth. An image of Hanno walking into the room with a platter of fowl in a rich nut sauce popped into his mind, and he blinked. Was