'Yes, sir.'

'I'll see you later, Cato.'

As Macro strode off down the street Cato stared at the body at his feet. The campaign had not even begun and already they'd lost two men. Worse, if Macro was right, the damage done by a single drunken brawl would fester in the hearts of the men. Just when they needed every ounce of their wits about them if they were to defeat the Parthians.

08 Centurion

CHAPTER THREE

The body of the auxiliary had been placed on a bier and carried to the pyre by his comrades just before dawn. The pyre had been constructed a short distance from the camp gates. The dead soldier's century had mounted the honour guard, but almost every man of the cohort had been there to bear witness. Macro had noted their sullen, vengeful mood while he gave a brief oration for Menathus and then lit the pyre. The men watched the flames catch the oil-drenched wood and then crackle into life, sending up a swirling vortex of smoke and sparks into the clear sky. Then, as the pyre began to collapse in on itself, Macro nodded to Cato to give the order to return to camp and the men turned away quietly and marched off.

'Not in the happiest of moods, I think,' Cato muttered.

'No.You'd better find them something to do. Keep 'em occupied while I see Longinus.'

'How?'

'I don't know,' Macro said tersely. 'You're the smart one. You decide.'

Cato glanced at his companion in surprise but kept his mouth shut. He knew that Macro had spent the whole night dealing with the report and the preparations for the funeral, on top of the previous day's drinking, and his black mood was inevitable. So Cato simply nodded.

'Weapons drill. With training swords. That should wear them out.'

A few hours with the double-weighted swords and wicker shields would exhaust even the strongest of men and a thin smile flickered across Macro's expression.

'See to it.'

Cato saluted and turned to follow the men heading in through the main gate. Macro watched him for a moment, wondering when Cato would fully master the drill technique that Macro had taken so many years to become familiar with. Where Macro could shout instructions, and not a little invective, loud enough to be heard across the parade ground for hours at a stretch, Cato had not yet developed his lungs to the same degree and tended to come across as more of a schoolteacher than the front-line centurion he had proved himself to be. A few more years under his belt, Macro reflected, and the young man would carry it off as naturally as any other officer. Until then? Macro sighed. Until then, Cato would just have to keep proving himself worthy of the rank that so few men of his age had ever risen to.

Macro turned towards the gates of Antioch. The governor had commandeered one of the finest houses in the city as his headquarters. No rudely constructed praetorium for Cassius Longinus, then. Nor the relative discomfort of a suite of well-appointed marching tents. Macro smiled grimly. If one thing was for certain in the coming campaign, it was that the army's general would travel in the kind of luxury that most of his men could only ever dream about as they tramped in full armour under the burden of their heavily loaded equipment yokes.

'I do love a man who leads by example,' he said softly to himself as he trudged off to his appointment with Longinus.

The governor of Syria looked up from the report and leaned back in his chair. On the other side of the desk sat Macro and Legate Amatius, commander of the Tenth Legion. Longinus regarded them silently for a moment, and then raised his eyebrows.

'I can't say I'm terribly happy about the situation, gentlemen. One man dead, and another man facing punishment. I imagine this will cause a lot of bad feeling between your two commands. As if preparing the army for war wasn't demanding enough, I now have to deal with this.'

Macro felt his anger rise at the accusing tone of his superior. It was hardly his fault that Menathus was dead. If he and Cato hadn't stepped in to prevent the situation from escalating out of control, then there would have been far more funeral pyres casting their pall across the sky outside the camp that morning. It was hardly likely that Crispus was the only legionary carrying a blade in the crowd outside the bar last night. Or that none of Macro's men was similarly armed. In an atmosphere of drunken dissent the brawl could easily have become more widespread and far more ugly. Macro bit back on his irritation as he replied.

'It is unfortunate, sir, but it could have been worse.We have to make sure that the lads settle down and forget the business as soon as possible. My lads, and those of the Tenth, sir.'

'He's right.' Legate Amatius nodded. 'The, er, matter has to be resolved as swiftly as possible, sir. My man has to be tried and punished.'

'Punished…' Longinus stroked his chin. 'And what punishment would be suitable for this man Crispus, I wonder? Clearly an example has to be made, if we are to discourage any more incidents like last night's.'

Amatius nodded.'Of course, sir. Nothing short of beating will do. That and breaking the man back to the ranks. My men won't forget that in a hurry.'

'No.' Macro shook his head firmly.'That won't do.A man has died, needlessly, as a result of Crispus' pulling a knife. He could have fought it out fairly, and he didn't. Now he must face the full consequences of his actions.The regulations are clear enough. It was in your standing orders, sir. Any man off duty within the walls of the city was forbidden to carry weapons, I imagine with just such an incident as happened last night in mind. Isn't that so, sir?'

'Yes, I suppose.' Longinus opened his hand towards Macro. 'And how do you think he should be punished?'

Macro steeled his heart. He derived no satisfaction from the thought of sending Crispus to his death, but he knew that the consequences of not doing so would cause a great deal of harm to the army's discipline. He met the governor's gaze directly.'Execution, to be carried out by the men of his century, before the rest of his cohort.'

'Who's his cohort commander, by the way?'

'Centurion Castor, as it happens,' Amatius said sharply. He looked at the governor.'In his absence, I can tell you that the men would not stand for the punishment Prefect Macro suggests. And why should they? After all, the man he killed was a bloody auxiliary. I regret the death every bit as much as Prefect Macro, but the loss of that man's life hardly compares to the loss of a legionary, and a Roman citizen. Especially since this was simply the result of some drunken fight in the street.' He turned to Macro. 'I know what happened, Macro. I've made my own enquiries. It seems that your man cheated the legionary during a game of dice.'

'That's not what my men say, sir.'

'Well, they wouldn't, would they? They want the hide off my man. They'd say anything to have that.'

'Just as your men would say anything to save his skin,' Macro replied icily.'I think we have to accept that the men's accounts will be biased. But I was there. I saw what happened. With respect, sir, you didn't. Crispus is guilty. He has to be punished according to military law.'

Amatius frowned for a moment before he replied with forced cordiality. 'Look, Prefect, I understand your feelings on this. It's only natural that you'd share your men's desire for revenge.'

'Not revenge, sir. Justice.'

'Call it what you will. But hear me out. If your man had pulled the knife, you'd want him spared, wouldn't you?'

'What I want is irrelevant, sir,' Macro responded firmly. 'The punishment for such a crime is clear enough.'

'Look here,' Amatius persisted. 'Macro, you were once a legionary, weren't you?'

'Yes, sir. So?'