‘You may well shake your bloody head, Centurion. Once again you present me with the ultimate conundrum, young man. Once again I’ve allowed you out into the countryside only to have you come back with your reputation enhanced and your profile raised. You’ve drawn more attention to yourself than either you or this cohort can bear. It’s a mystery to me that we’ve not all been nailed up months ago…’ He rubbed reflexively at his bald scalp, turning to Julius. ‘I know Tribune Antonius isn’t the sharpest officer you’ve ever served under, but surely even he could see that there’s something not quite right about a man so obviously Roman serving in an auxiliary cohort?’
His deputy shrugged.
‘In truth, First Spear, I think he was somewhat preoccupied with the fact that a pack of auxiliaries had whipped whatever glory there was to be had from stamping the remnants of the Carvetii flat out from under his nose.’
The first spear mused on the comment for a moment.
‘Yes. With a bit of luck he’ll have been too busy working out how he’s ever going to distinguish himself enough to get command of his own legion, and not looking too closely at you, Centurion Corvus. Very well, I’d better go and report to the prefect. You four can go and get ready to march to the coast tomorrow. We’ve had word that our replacements have arrived from Germania, so you’d best get over to Arab Town and get them before someone less deserving finds out they’ve arrived and has them away. And you, Corvus, can reflect on whether there’s any way that you could manage a simple march to the coast and back without taking on and defeating any more barbarian warbands. Dismissed.’