'Macro. Lately of the Second Legion Augusta. Same as Cato here.'

'I'm Lollius Asinius. This here's Hosidius Mutilus. Waiting for travel warrants to join the Tenth Legion. The youngster's Flaccus Sosius. Looking for his first appointment.'

The young officer smiled quickly as he fixed his attention on the new arrivals. 'The Augusta? You've been in Britain then? What's it like?'

Macro concentrated for a moment before he replied, remembering the two years of the most intense fighting he had ever witnessed. So many men had died – good men he had known for years, and some he had barely had a chance to know before they were killed. Then there was the enemy: brutal and brave, and led by those deranged druid devils. What was it like? 'Cold.'

'Cold?' Sosius looked confused.

Macro nodded. 'Yes, cold. Don't ever go there. Get yourself a posting somewhere comfortable. Like Syria.'

Cato shook his head in despair. As long as he had known Macro he had had to put up with the constant refrain that Syria was the best posting in the Empire. It was Macro's lifelong ambition to wallow in the fleshpots of the east.

'Syria?' Asinius laughed. 'We've just come back from there. Been training some auxiliary units at Damascus.'

Macro leaned closer to Asinius, eyes bright with intense concentration.'Tell me about it – Syria. Is it as good as they say?'

'Well, I don't know about that, but-'

The door to the procurator's office swung open and a man strode out into the ante-room. At once Cato and Macro rose up and stood stiffly to attention, quickly followed by the others. Demetrius rose last of all, taking just long enough to register his lack of obeisance. The man was wearing the full ceremonial toga of a senator, with a broad purple stripe running along the hem. He nodded briefly to the centurions and strode out of the ante-room as Demetrius stepped into his master's office.

'Centurions Licinius Cato and Cornelius Macro to see you, sir.'

'Are they on my list?'

'An oversight, sir. I'll punish the scribe responsible.'

'Oh, very well. Send 'em in.'

Demetrius stood by the door and closed it behind them the moment the two centurions had entered the procurator's office.

They found themselves standing on a thick rug, one of several that filled the large room. It was situated on the corner of the palace and had windows on two sides. Glazed windows, Macro noted with scarcely hidden astonishment at the luxurious furnishing of the procurator's office. On the far side, behind a marble-topped desk, sat the procurator, a fat man with a thick head of dark hair and a fistful of gold rings on the pudgy fingers of each hand. He glanced up with an irritable expression.

'Well, get over here, then! Smartly now!'

Macro and Cato marched over and stood to attention in front of the desk. The procurator snorted, and leaned back in his chair, revealing a rolling belly that stretched the wool fabric of his tunic. 'What are you here for?'

'We're looking for reappointment to the legions, sir,' said Cato.

The procurator tapped a pile of waxed tablets on his desk. 'So I understand. You must be Centurion Licinius Cato. You've been pushing for a new legion for several months now.'

'Three months, sir,' Cato replied.

'Well, from the quantity of your correspondence and the endless haranguing of my clerks it feels like several months. Truth is, I cannot make any decision until I'm clear about your position.'

'Our position?' Macro cut in. 'What do you mean, sir?'

The procurator crossed his fingers and rested the folds of his chin on his knuckles. 'A few days ago I received information that Centurion Cato was sentenced to death by General Plautius, the commander of the army in Britain. Is that true?'

Cato felt a chilling sensation in the pit of his stomach. He nodded. 'Yes, sir. But I can explain.'

'I think you'd better.'

Cato swallowed.'Our cohort was condemned to decimation for failing to carry out orders. As a result, the enemy general escaped with some of his men. Centurion Macro and I managed to capture him, and the death sentence was lifted by the legate of the Second Legion.'

'So I understand. As it happens, Legate Vespasian exceeded his authority when he rescinded your sentence. I might add that there's some concern, in higher circles, about the extent of your complicity in the death of your cohort commander. Both of you, that is.'

He fell silent as the two officers standing in front of him froze and tried to keep their faces composed. They dared not look at each other and stared straight ahead instead. The procurator continued, 'I understand that following the decimation there was considerable bad feeling towards your commanding officer.'

'Are you surprised, sir?' Macro shrugged. 'Most of the men blamed him for the cohort's punishment.'

'Most of the men?' The procurator looked at him closely. 'And the officers?'

Macro nodded.

'Then you will understand that the death of Centurion Maximius has provoked considerable suspicion. Naturally, in the face of such grave accusations, the army bureau is investigating the matter fully. I've sent a letter to General Plautius requesting a full report on the matter. I'm still waiting for his reply. We should know the full facts soon enough. At which point you will either be in the clear, and I can consider you for some new postings, or you will be taken into custody and disposed of at the Emperor's convenience… In the meantime, I'd be grateful if you didn't try to leave the city.'

He looked up and noticed the despair in their faces and for a moment his hard bureaucratic mask slipped and he shook his head sadly. 'I'm sorry, there's nothing more I can do or say. I only permitted this meeting because I thought that you should know about the situation. In view of your records I felt that Rome owed you that much at least.'

Macro gave a thin smile. 'That much and far more, I'd say.'

'Maybe.' The procurator shrugged. 'That's not for me to judge. Now I think you'd better leave.'

Macro and Cato stared back a moment, until the procurator reached for a blank wax tablet and took up a stylus. They were dismissed.

Outside the office, Cato turned slowly to Macro, who could see that he was still stunned by the procurator's words. His thin shoulders slumped forwards.

'Come on, Cato…' Macro took his arm and steered him towards the street.

06 The Eagles Prophecy

CHAPTER FOUR

They left the palace and fought their way through the crowds streaming across the Forum. Families clustered together amid bands of loud young men clutching jars of wine as they all made for the Great Circus to find good seats for the day's racing. Cutting across this tide of excited humanity, the two centurions made for a corner tavern. The usual morning trade of wagon drivers and night porters was just beginning to dry up as the exhausted, and now inebriated, men began to stagger home to their beds.

Macro waved the barman over.

'What'll it be, gents?' the weasily-looking youth asked politely as he eyed up their uniforms and estimated the tip he might expect from two centurions.

'A jar of your cheapest wine. Two cups,' Macro replied curtly. 'Quick as you can.'

'Quick is the order, swift is the service.' The barman smiled. 'That's our motto.'

'Nice.' Macro glanced up at him. 'But it would be even swifter if you just cut out the motto.'

'Right… yes. I suppose so.' The barman scurried off, leaving Macro to turn his attention back to his friend. Cato was staring across the heaving crowd that filled the Forum and up at the austere heights of the palace on the Palatine. Cato had not said a word since leaving the procurator's office and now he just sat in silence. Macro patted him on the arm.