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and he’d better get used to it, because if he didn’t then men like Maximius would break Cato as surely as night follows day. Very well, if he couldn’t afford to outwit his commander, and couldn’t bear to be the butt of his humour then Cato must keep as far away from Maximius as possible.
    Cato glanced over his shoulder, back down the line of men towards his century bringing up the rear of the column. He frowned.
    ‘Sir, I think my century’s falling behind. Can I go back and chivvy them along?’
    Maximius looked back and then turned his gaze on Cato with a shrewd narrowing of the eyes. For a moment Cato feared that his request would be denied. Then Maximius nodded.
    ‘Very well. Make sure they keep up.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Cato saluted, quickly turned away and strode back down the column of sweating legionaries, under the watchful eye of Maximius.
    ‘Macro?’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘How well do you know that boy?’
    ‘Well enough, I suppose, sir,’ Macro replied guardedly. ‘At least I’ve known him ever since he joined the Second Legion as a recruit.’
    ‘As long as that?’ Maximius arched his eyebrows.’That must be, almost, let me see . . . two years. My, that is a long time.’
    Even Macro could pick up the heavy helping of sarcasm. He immediately decided that Cato had to be defended, before Maximius settled on a mistaken judgement of the young centurion. First impressions were hard to shake, and the last thing Macro wanted to see was Cato handicapped by some veteran’s prejudice as he made a go of his first legionary command. The legionaries of the Sixth Century, he knew, were still bridling over the appointment of a centurion who was younger than all but a handful of the men. The situation was not helped by Cato’s choice of Figulus for optio. Figulus was only a few months older than his centurion, but at least he had the kind of physique that deters those in the ranks from insubordination. Figulus was safe enough, Macro realised. It was Cato who would be pressured to justify his rapid promotion. Macro knew that Cato, cursed by lack of self-confidence and by driving ambition in equal measure, would do anything to prove he deserved his advancement. Macro had seen the lad’s desperate courage on many occasions. Given half a chance Cato would prove Maximius wrong or die in the attempt. Unless Maximius knew that, and backed off from his snide treatment of his subordinate, then Cato would be a danger to himself.
    Then Macro paused, mid-thought, as something more disturbing occurred to him. What if Maximius recognised that same flaw in Cato and decided to exploit it cruelly?
    Macro cleared his throat, and spoke in what he hoped sounded like a light-hearted tone.’Sure he’s young, sir. But he’s learned the trade fast. And he’s got guts.’
    ‘Young!’ Maximius snorted. ‘I’ll say.’
    The other centurions laughed and Macro forced himself to smile along with them as he steeled himself for another attempt to steer Maximius towards a more sensitive treatment of the cohort’s most junior centurion.
    ‘He’s just a bit touchy, sir.’ Macro smiled.’You know what it was like at that age.’
    ‘Yes I do. That’s precisely why boys should not be placed in command of men. They lack the necessary temperament, wouldn’t you agree?’
    ‘In most cases, yes, sir.’
    ‘In your case?’
    Macro thought about this a moment and then nodded. ‘I suppose so. I could never have been a centurion at Cato’s age.’
    ‘Me neither,’ Maximius chuckled. ‘That’s why I’m not convinced by our young centurion.’
    ‘But Cato’s different.’
    Maximius shrugged and turned his gaze along the track ahead of them. ‘We’ll see soon enough.’
    The dust at the end of the column hung in the air and made the men’s mouths feel dry and gritty. That was why Cato’s men had slowly dropped back from the rear of the Fifth Century. He immediately ordered them forward and then kept them in the correct formation with