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arrows, his empty shield arm clenching. A chill wind whistled from upriver, snaking inside Pavo’s armour and clothing. He and each of the infantry glanced back to Lupicinus. The comes had managed to stealthily remain some way back from the Roman front; there he sat on his saddle, his tongue jabbing out to dampen his lips and his eyes darting nervously across the forest in front of them. Even from here, Pavo could see Lupicinus’ cuirass judder from a panicked heartbeat.
     
    ‘Orders, sir?’ Quadratus asked. ‘A member of your cavalry might want to stoke those bushes, flush ‘em out? Show them how to launch an attack? Or perhaps we should call for reinforcements from the fort?’
     
    Lupicinus scowled at Quadratus’ thinly disguised swipe. ‘Two infantry, advance and scout,’ he replied abruptly.
     
    Quadratus nodded, then made to shout for Avitus to come with him.
     
    But Pavo, still feeling the shame of his reluctance only moments ago, widened his eyes and nodded to the big Gaul.
     
    Quadratus cocked an eyebrow. ‘Fair enough then. Pavo, you’re with me.’
     
    They stalked off the bridge then across the wide dirt path that hemmed the northern bank of the river. Then Quadratus made a forking gesture with two fingers, each pointing round a side of the thicket.
     
    Pavo nodded, buried his fears and set his eyes on the undergrowth. He held his spatha before him, ready to cut through the gorse bush or any Goth that might try to spring upon him.
     
    ‘Wait, what’s that?’ Quadratus whispered from a few feet away.
     
    Pavo squinted through into the gorse and saw nothing but a tangle of leaves and branches. Then his skin froze as he saw the outline of . . . something, something in the shade and foliage. It looked like a figure, crouching in the shadows. He blinked, sure it was a trick of the light, but sure enough, there was someone there. A man, a huge man.
     
    Pavo filled his lungs to roar, when a shape burst from the gorse, butting into his chest. The wind was gone from his lungs and he tumbled back, instinctively lashing out at the figure. Then, bleating filled the air and his spatha blade stopped only inches from the neck of a panicked goat. A little Gothic boy in a blue tunic ran out after it.
     
    The boy hugged the goat’s neck, eyes wide in panic.
     
    ‘My oxen! They’re trapped in the swamp back there!’ The boy cried, pulling the goat back from Pavo by its tether. The lad’s eyes were red with tears, his topknotted blonde hair bedraggled and spattered with mud. A bout of pained lowing sounded from behind the gorse.
     
    ‘It’s okay,’ Pavo said in a soothing tone, tucking his spatha into his scabbard, his skin prickling in embarrassment.
     
    Quadratus closed his eyes, shook his head and muttered a frustrated prayer to Mithras. ‘False alarm, sir,’ he shouted over his shoulder to Lupicinus.
     
    Pavo looked again into the foliage, frowning as Lupicinus’ belly laughter filled the air.
     
    ‘Perhaps you’ll be capable of dealing with this situation, Pavo? You and Centurion Quadratus can round off this business.’ With that, he swept his hand above his head in a circle. ‘The rest of you, back to the fort. There is much to sort out with this sham of a legion.’
     
    With a thunder of hooves and boots, the comes and the rest of the group were off. Pavo and Quadratus shared a dark look, then the boy tugged on the hem of Pavo’s tunic.
     
    ‘My oxen?’
     
    Pavo nodded and tried to soften his expression. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll see you safely on your way. Show me where they are.’
     
    The boy scampered round the gorse bush and Pavo followed. As he passed Quadratus, the big Gaulish centurion grumbled, his foul glare fixed on the departing Lupicinus.
     
    ‘If I ever whinge about Gallus again, kick my stones for me, will you?’
     

     

     

     
    The figure remained in the shadows of the thick foliage, his gaze trained on the two Romans as they crossed the bridge into the