Tune in tomorrow

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The slope was taking him downwards, through the battleground and into the area of scattered slaughter, where the allied cavalry had already cut up the fugitives. Narrow and twostoreyed, with a rickety balcony overhanging the street, it was painted all over tune in tomorrow a skyblue wash. Noise of horns, and voices raised in acclamation. The caller was standing in the arched doorway, fully dressed. He touched his brow once more in quiet salute, then he marched out into the darkness and the rain. But now he liked to think that they appreciated the distinction. Months of training his century whenever he got the chance – whenever they were spared from mending roads or walls or digging out latrines, or being sent off to guard the supply convoys – had turnedwhat had been a shambolic set of men into something approaching soldiers. It was a difficult man shy;oeuvre, and the century managed it well. Staring at the far wall, he stood braced with his thumbs hooked in his belt. A festive mood spread through the legion: soon there would be fresh meat from the sacrifices in their bellies, and newly minted gold in their hands. Castus was lost in shock. What had these men been discussing before he entered the room? Perhaps you’d like to wait? Castus said to himself, and twitched an obscene gesture at the departing instructor. Tune in tomorrow stretched his limbs in the water. That’s ten days he’s over now. He killed the leader – flicked off his head with a single blow!