Brothers in Blood by Simon Scarrow

even an enemy.’
    Not to be put off by his disappointment over the fate of the prisoner, the general gave orders for the boar hunt to begin. The horses were brought forward and the officers took up their hunting spears and mounted. There were only four boars that had survived the funnel earlier in the day and they were released one at a time to eke out the entertainment. Nervous and worn out, the beasts put on a poor show and were quickly run down and piked, with no injuries to any of the horses or riders.
    By mid-afternoon the panels had been packed up, the victims of the day’s hunt piled on to the bed of a wagon and the column left the vale and made its way back to the army. As they came in sight of the nearest gate Cato saw the rear of a column of legionaries entering the camp, their kit hanging from the marching yokes resting on their shoulders.
    ‘Looks like the boys from the Ninth,’ said Macro and at Cato’s side the young tribune straightened up in his saddle, his eyes bright with excitement.
    ‘So it is!’
    Without further ado, Otho grasped his reins tightly and swerved his horse out of the column, spurring it into a gallop.
    ‘Bit keen, isn’t he?’ said Macro.
    ‘Yes, and I dare say it’s not to rejoin his first independent command so much as his first dependent.’
    Macro gave him a long-suffering look. ‘The boy’s not thinking,’ he commented. ‘The general’s not going to like this.’
    Sure enough, at the sound of pounding hoofs Ostorius had turned in his saddle, just in time to see the tribune galloping past.
    ‘TRIBUNE OTHO!’ Ostorius roared.
    For a moment Cato was sure that the tribune would keep going, but sense prevailed and he reined in and turned his horse.
    ‘Where do you think you are going?’ the general demanded.
    ‘If you please, sir. Those are my men, and my wife is with them.’
    ‘That’s no reason to behave like an excited schoolboy! I will not have my officers tearing around like dogs. What kind of impression does that give the men? Get back in line, Tribune Otho. I warn you. Do not give me any further cause to upbraid you or there will be severe consequences. Do I make myself clear?’
    Otho bowed his head and muttered an apology. With a last look towards the rear of the column entering the camp he trotted his horse back along the column and rejoined Cato and Macro. No one spoke until they reached the camp and passed through the gate. The reinforcements from the Ninth Legion were resting on either side of the main route stretching through the camp to headquarters. They had downed their yokes and stood stretching their backs, or sat where the ground had not been too badly churned up. The four centurions in command of the cohorts were waiting beside a covered wagon halfway along the column and saluted Ostorius as he rode up to them. The general waved the rest of the hunting party on, and gestured to Otho to join him before he turned his attention back to the nearest of the centurions.
    ‘I was expecting you to reach camp earlier than this.’
    ‘Begging your pardon, sir, but we had to keep pace with the wagon.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Cato saw there were two vehicles besides the standard supply wagons. One had a large wine jar painted on its cover, together with the legend, ‘Hipparchus, wine supplier to the gods!’ The other was a carriage covered with goatskin, with a laced flap over the opening at the rear. As he watched he could make out a delicate-looking hand unplucking the laces.
    Ostorius sucked in a deep breath and addressed the centurions. ‘Has the camp prefect assigned you tent lines yet?’
    ‘Just doing it, sir. He’s shifting some of the camp followers.’
    Cato shared a weary glance with Macro and sighed. There would be complaints from the civilians to deal with later on.
    ‘Very well. Tribune Otho!’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘Take command of your men. Get the tents up and then report to headquarters to draw rations from the