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their senior tribunes and step down to await replacements from the capital. The rumour, as the despatch rider told me once I had him appropriately well oiled, is that Prefect Perennis intends to put equestrian officers in command of all three legions in order to teach the senate a sharp lesson as to the realities of power, promoting men who learned their trade in command of auxiliary cohorts like yours …’
    ‘And so there you have it, gentlemen.’ Tribune Sorex’s voice rode over his colleague’s with the ease of a man born and raised to rule those around him. ‘Legatus Equitius is confined to the fortress at Yew Grove, with all of the respect due to his rank of course, and I am empowered to keep the legion in hand. Soon enough now I expect a new legatus to take command of Sixth Victorious, and a new governor to deliver the orders which I expect will have us marching south again.’
    Julius looked at him with a questioning expression.
    ‘You’re still occupying the northern wall, Tribune?’
    Sorex shrugged.
    ‘Of course we are, Centurion. We were ordered to do so by the previous governor and we’ve received no orders to withdraw since then, only the despatch which called Ulpius Marcellus home and relieved the three legions’ legati of their commands. An uncontrolled withdrawal could quickly turn into an undisciplined rush south, or worse, trigger another mutiny. So, for the time being we hold all twenty-six of the northern wall’s forts, and we will continue to do so until ordered to withdraw by the replacement legion commanders.’
    Tribune Scaurus stroked his chin, his eyes narrowed in thought.
    ‘All of which is very interesting, and I greatly appreciate the time taken by two august personages such as yourselves to come all the way out to the end of the wall to brief me, although I doubt it needed both, or even either of you to pass a message that could just as easily have been delivered, albeit without quite such sensitivity, by a centurion.’ He stood up, turning his back to the stove and luxuriating in its heat before looking down at the two men with a look that combined curiosity with an edge of irritation.
    ‘So, am I right, gentlemen?’
    Dubnus shook his head in mock amazement.
    ‘ Our sort of centurion? There’s the problem, right there! You’ve let them get soft, big brother, unused to the touch of proper discipline. I pity whoever gets them when you stop a bluenose spear, or finish your twenty-five and go to live out your days with some pig-ugly giant of a woman who’ll be able to suffer you on top of her without bursting. That poor bastard will have to use a tree trunk for a vine stick, won’t he! And you can shove that “your highness” crap right up your big fat arse, the days when my father ruled in the lands south of Hadrian’s Wall are dead and gone.’
    Titus laughed aloud, well used to their habitual arguments about the way he led his men and delighted to have drawn blood with his jibe.
    ‘I shouldn’t worry your pretty head on the subject, Prince Dubnus, you’ll never have command of my boys. I plan on outliving you, given your habit of throwing yourself into the thick of the fight at the first opportunity. You’ll be the one who ends up as a pincushion, not me!’
    The two men grinned at each other, ignoring Arminius who was shaking his head in disgust at their argument.
    ‘Two grown men arguing as to who’s got the biggest prick? If your first spear was here, he’d be telling you both to get a grip.’
    The two centurions turned to look at him with hard smiles, and Dubnus smirked in amusement.
    ‘And this from a long-haired slave whose main duty is to test the heat of his master’s bath!’
    The German raised a sardonic eyebrow.
    ‘Serving Rutilius Scaurus has many benefits that you may not have considered, Dubnus. Remember all those dinner parties he was invited to at every fort we camped outside on our march back up the Rhenus? While you were taking your pick of the