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Felix replied, ‘just wish we could see
something
— not much of a reconnaissance if all there is to report is bloody trees,’ he spluttered and then moaned as yet another branch whipped into his face, leaving a sprig of leaves in his forked beard.
    Gallus’ eyes were trained on the map and the large red dot on the southwest edge of the diamond; the fortified citadel of Chersonesos, the old Roman capital. Now it was rumoured to be the Goths’ main trading centre. Tribunus Nerva had explained that the mission sponsors had favoured this complex countryside reconnaissance over the alternative; sending a single spy into the city disguised as a merchant to measure the Gothic strength. Gallus sighed; Emperor Valens and the shadowy figures that surrounded him saw the first century as little more than pawns, happy to face the implications of orders thrown down from above like scraps of meat. He bit back the urge to moan.
    ‘If leaves and branches are all we have to face here, Felix, I’ll be a contented man.’
    He had to stay positive. Gallus knew there was still work to do with his new century to form them into a cohesive unit of men — men who could trust each other in battle. Nerva had set this only as a secondary objective for Gallus during the mission brief. However, to Gallus it was key to their survival in this foreign land and to the future of the limitanei, the border legions, as a whole. A hotchpotch of recruits, veterans and comitatenses dropouts, the XI Claudia were withering. As small an operation as this was, a successful reconnaissance could sow the seeds that might see the XI Claudia return for a full conquest of this old province. It could inspire the thousands of men in the other border legions, spread along the frontiers in draughty forts with nothing to aspire to but staying off the end of a Gothic spear.
    He turned to his optio as an icy trickle of rainwater spidered down inside his tunic. ‘It’s cold, wet and painful, aye, but Nerva wants us to be the leading light for the Danubian legions, wants us to breathe a bit of belief back into the frontiers.’
    Felix lifted his eyebrows. ‘Aye, and wants to pay us triple, I hope?’
    Gallus offered him a cocked eyebrow. ‘What, so you can fill the coffers and drain the barrels at
The Boar?
’
    Felix chuckled, then dropped back and took the silver eagle standard from the aquilifer again, hoisting it so that the ruby bull banner caught the gentle breeze. ‘Up the pace, lads. Baked pheasant and garum dates for grub tonight!’ Mocking catcalls were hurled from the veterans, and the recruits to the rear buckled into a chorus of laughter.
    Gallus felt a rare sparkle of warmth course through his veins at the brief glimpse of camaraderie. Since his wife’s death, the legion had meant everything to him. He could only numb the loneliness in his heart by becoming part of the military machine. The hazy days of his upbringing in Rome, when life had colour, were slipping away. To be old and grey, settled on the porch of a small villa by Capua in the Italian countryside, sipping wine with their children and grandchildren at play — that was the dream he and Olivia had shared. Now, it was the sweet memories of his precious few years with her that were fading like a dream.
    Suddenly, something whipped across his face. Stunned for an instant, Gallus raised his hand to his cheek — dark-red stained his fingers. All around him, the forest writhed as he eyed the arrow quivering furiously in the tree to his side.
    ‘Ambush!’ He roared. As the word left his mouth, the air filled with a swarm of hissing missiles, punching into the pack of legionaries. A handful fell with a grunt, arrows shivering in their exposed necks and limbs.
    ‘Shields!’ Gallus cried. The rest of the men collapsed into a shielded column, three lines of men, presenting shield bosses to their attackers; those in the middle using their shields as a roof. Those too slow to slip into position were