Simon Scarrow - Britannia

Macro eased himself down beside his friend and leaned his back against the wall, letting the tension drain from his body. He took long, deep breaths as his body warmed.

‘The Blood Crows will always be remembered, lad. Always. By every one of the men they gave their lives to save. I can’t begin to imagine your sorrow over Julia, but she will live on in your son. Try and take comfort in that. You still have Lucius. I am sure he’ll be a fine boy. And a man you can be proud of. Hold on to that, eh?’

Cato opened his eyes and stared at Macro bleakly before he forced himself to nod. ‘I’ll try.’

They sat in silence for a while longer, warming themselves and accepting the offering of the optio’s food and wine. It was enough to take the edge off their appetite before they had a proper meal.

There was a blast of cold air as the door opened and a heavily muffled figure entered the gatehouse then quickly shut the door behind them. He flipped his hood back and lowered the scarf that had covered his nose and mouth as he quickly looked round the room and fixed his stare on the two officers. Approaching them, he took out a stylus and waxed tablet from the folds of his cloak and addressed Cato,

‘Excuse me, sir. I’m Tribune Gaius Portius. In charge of supplies here. I was just told the final contingent of the Fourth Cohort of the Fourteenth and the Second Thracian had arrived. I need to draw their rations. But I can’t seem to find the men.’

Macro’s lips parted thinly. ‘You have found them. That’s us.’

Portius frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘We are what’s left of the rearguard. And we’ll have our rations, thank you. Right now I could eat for the rest of the lads and come back for seconds. So you see to it. You get back to headquarters directly and you make sure there’s a bloody feast waiting for us when the prefect and I get there. A feast fit for heroes. Understand?’ Macro glared at him and the young tribune wilted.

‘I- I’ll see to it, sir. At once.’

He bowed his head, put away his writing materials and pulled up his hood before leaving the gatehouse.

Macro settled back against the wall with a contented expression. ‘Thank the Gods for army regulations. Rations for each cohort, and enough to go round, for once.’ He gave Cato a nudge. ‘We’ll eat our fill and toast the lads.’

‘Yes. Let’s do that. We’ll honour the men.’

‘And while we’re waiting . . .’ Macro sat forward and rummaged in the bottom of his waist purse before pulling out the small box containing his lucky dice. He took out the dice and kissed them before turning to the auxiliaries sitting around the room.

‘So, boys . . . I’ll need plenty of coin for wine at headquarters. Who fancies a game?’