Any gun can play

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Nigrinus was wrapped in a cloak. Knots of men passed in the darkness, some of them saluting when they noticed the centurions’ staffs. Modestus was looking more than usually sallow and sweaty. Fiftysix armoured bodies in four ranks, crouched and standing with spears levelled through the gaps. There’s not much call for them out here, y’know. You need to rest, though. They wore no armour or helmets– they were thankful for small mercies – but now as they marched they slung the tools and carried their shields and javelins instead. Nigrinus was wrapped in a cloak. Stripped naked, he eased himself down into the hot water. There was a sense of heritage, if nothing else. So he was still, but this life any gun can play work details, route marches and paperwork, overseeing building and roadmending, ordering his men to cut wood for the baths or whitewash the charcoal to stop the locals from stealing it – did not seem much like soldiering. Unless you want to give me time to get dressed first? The road ran down from the gates to the stone bridge that Any gun can play the river.