Gradually the shadows shortened and the light strengthened into a dazzling glare that caused the men to squint their eyes and keep their gaze cast down as they tramped further into the wasteland. Then came the heat. Quickly overpowering the last of the cool dawn air, it wrapped itself around the men of the two cohorts. Now, seasoned veteran and fresh-faced recruit alike began to feel the weight of their equipment and their yokes pressed on to their shoulders as they set their expressions into grim masks and put one foot in front of the other and tried not to think of the remainder of the day stretching ahead of them. As the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky the men became drenched with perspiration that for many caused a hot prickling sensation under their military tunics which became unbearable as the day wore on.

Finally, as the sun neared its zenith, Macro called a halt and the men downed their yokes with weary sighs and groans, before slumping down and taking the midday drink from their canteens.Then they made what shade they could from their shields and cloaks and rested until the midday heat had passed, and the order was given to make ready to continue the march. Back on their feet, the men raised their yokes again and formed up on the track. Then, as the order was given, they shuffled forward into a leaden stride for the rest of the afternoon until the sun slipped towards the horizon. Only as the light faded did the day's march end.

On the third night after leaving Chalcis Cato organised the watches and then went to report to Macro. Several more of his men had fallen behind during the march and three of the cavalry horses had gone lame. Under normal circumstances the beasts would be slaughtered and the meat distributed to the men to cook. But since they were not constructing marching camps Macro had forbidden the lighting of any fires – not that much of a fire could be built from the pitiful stunted growths they had occasionally encountered beside the track – so the animals were killed and their carcasses left in the wake of the two cohorts.

Macro was standing on a small rise, a short distance from his men, surveying the ground ahead of them in the gathering dusk. He turned as he heard the sound of Cato's boots approaching. Forcing a smile on to his cracked lips Macro waved a greeting.

'Two more days of this, and it's over, Cato. Just two more days.'

'It'll be over one way or another.'

'True. But we'll deal with the situation in Palmyra when we get to it.'

Cato could sense that his friend was exhausted, and nodded. 'Of course. Let's just get through this.'

Macro stared at him a moment and then laughed at the concern in Cato's tone. 'You sound like my mother. I'm all right, really.' He gazed back over the desert. 'I was just wondering why anyone would want to fight over possession of territory like this. It's a wasteland.'

'It's a wasteland with a city perched on top of a lucrative trade route right next to an oasis,' Cato replied.

Macro nodded slowly and then pursed his lips. 'Well, if you put it like that…'

A sudden burst of angry shouting caused them both to turn back towards their camp. Several men were clustered round the cart from which the canteens were being replenished. As the two officers watched, more men emerged from the surrounding dusk.

'Bugger! More trouble,' Macro sighed at the chorus of raised voices. 'Come on. Sound like that will carry a long way across the desert.'

They scrambled down from the low mound and ran across to the cart.

'Out of the way there!' Macro called out as loudly as he dared. In the gloom it was difficult for the men to make out his rank as he thrust his way through the crowd. Cato grabbed an arm and forcefully hauled a soldier out of Macro's path. 'Make way for your commanding officer, damn you!'

Ahead of him a handful of men were locked in a savage fight, fists and boots flailing at each other. Macro raised his vine staff and swung it out in an arc ahead of him. It connected with a sharp crack and a man fell back with a cry, hands clutched to his head.

'Stop this bloody nonsense at once!' Macro shouted briefly, and slashed his cane at two men who were still swinging their fists at each other. 'At once, I said!'

The fighting stopped abruptly and those involved drew apart as Macro stood his ground by the back of the cart and glared at the crowd, a mixture of auxiliaries and legionaries.

'What the hell is going on? Where's the optio in charge of the water distribution?'

'Here, sir.' An auxiliary officer rose up unsteadily from the ground.

'Report, man! What's the meaning of this?'

The optio stood to attention. He glanced quickly at the men surrounding him and swallowed nervously. 'Sir, there was a misunderstanding.'

Macro snorted with derision. 'I should fucking say so! Now what the hell is going on?'

The optio realised that there was no chance of keeping the situation a ranker affair and continued in a monotone.

'I was on duty, sir. Supervising the water rations. The canteen carriers from the Second Illyrian came up first, just ahead of the lads from the Tenth. As I start filling the canteens one of the legionaries pushes into the line and demands his section's share before I'd finished with my lads. I told him to wait his turn. He told me that legionaries come first, and that my lads would have to give way for… well, for real soldiers, he said.'

'Which man said this?'

The optio glanced over Macro's shoulder, but before he could identify the legionary the man stepped forward.

'It was me, sir.'

Macro turned to the man and quickly sized him up.'And you are?'

'Decimus Tadius, sir. Sixth Century.'

'And what exactly did you think you were doing, soldier?'

'Sir, it was like he said. The legions always take the first share of whatever's going.'

'That applies to booty, Tadius, and you know it. Not rations. And certainly not rations in this situation. Every man gets his fair share, in his turn, while I'm in command. Whether he's an auxiliary or a legionary.' Macro stepped up to Tadius and rapped his vine cane on the man's segmented armour. 'Got that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good, because if you cause any more trouble, I'll chuck you out of my cohort and have you serve with the Second Illyrian. Then you might learn something.'

Tadius opened his mouth to protest.

'Don't!' Macro warned him. 'Now, the rest of you, get back in line and take your water in turn. Now move!'

'Wait,' Cato added softly to Tadius as the other men shuffled away. 'Not you,Tadius. Stand still.'

Macro growled.'What are you doing, Cato? The matter's resolved.'

'Not yet, sir.This man disobeyed the optio's order.That's a clear breach of the regulations.'

Macro glanced round at the men and saw that the nearest were watching them curiously, while trying to appear as if they weren't. He eased himself closer to Cato and continued in an undertone, 'Look, it's over. No harm done. No point in making an issue of it.'

'We can't avoid it, sir. He defied a superior officer in front of witnesses. We can't allow that to pass. He has to be punished.'

Macro sighed with exasperation.'Listen, Cato. I haven't got time for this. And we've all got enough on our plates without having to worry about some kind of field punishment.'

'Nevertheless, I insist that this man is punished, according to the regulations.'

Macro rubbed his brow irritably and then hissed, 'Very well then.' He turned to Tadius and raised his voice. 'Legionary Tadius!'

'Yes, sir.'

Macro thought quickly. A fine, fatigues or a flogging would be pointless here in the desert. There was only one punishment fit for the situation, and one that Tadius would feel keenly. 'You are denied a day's water rations. Return to your century.'

Tadius swallowed hard and replied through gritted teeth. 'Yes, sir.'Then he saluted and, slinging his canteen across his shoulder, turned and strode stiffly away, every step betraying his rage and sense of injustice. Macro nodded to the optio by the water cart.