Read Cato 01 - Under the Eagle for Free Online Page B

embarrassment, glad that the dim light partially hid his expression. 'I didn't ask for it.'
    'It don't make sense. Direct appointments are made for men with some kind of army experience but you? I'd dearly love to know the reason why.'
    'It was a reward for my father.'
    'Hah! That's a good one!'
    The light had finally died outside and Pyrax put his tunic and sewing kit to one side. 'By the way,' Pyrax paused at the door, 'don't fall asleep in your kit. It'll need to be cleaned for the morning. Bestia hates untidy soldiers. If he has taken a dislike to you, don't give him any opportunity to make the most if it, eh?'
    'Thanks.'
    'Sleep well, new boy.'
    'My name's…' Cato started to say, but the door had already closed behind Pyrax and the darkened room swallowed up the protest. He was still for a moment, and nearly fell asleep, but Pyrax's warning jolted him back to consciousness. He sat up, groping with his tired fingers for the buckles at the side of the leather jerkin. The drill instructors had kept the new recruits on their feet since that day's dawn had broken what seemed like an age before. He had been kicked out of bed while it was still dark and pushed outside into the street where the other recruits were being rounded up. Still half asleep, shivering in the chill of the pale dawn light and shrinking from the fine drizzle in the air, their breaths had risen in grey wisps as they were led to the quartermaster's stores where the external trappings of civilian life were peeled away and replaced with the uniform of a legionary.
    ~*~
     
    'Excuse me!' Cato had called out. 'Excuse me.'
    The quartermaster's assistant looked back over his shoulder. 'What is it?'
    'Well, this tunic, it seems a bit big for me.'
    The assistant laughed. 'No, mate. It's the right size. You're the one that's the wrong size. You're in the army now. One size fits all.'
    'But look! This is ludicrous.' Cato held the tunic up in front of his body, it was far too wide for his thin frame, and his height drew the hem well above his knees. 'My legs will freeze. Is there nothing else?'
    'No. You'll grow into it.'
    'What?' Cato replied incredulously. 'I'm the shape I am. I'm not suddenly going to shrink and grow outwards. Now find me something the right size.'
    'I told you. That's all there is, and you're stuck with it.'
    The raised voices were audible right through the storeroom and all the other recruits and assistants paused to look in their direction. In the small office behind the counter, a chair screeched back on the flagstone floor and a burly man emerged angrily from the door.
    'What's all the bloody shouting about?'
    'Are you in charge here?' asked Cato, glad to see someone in authority he could make a complaint to. It was as bad as some of the shops in Rome. Everyone was using cheap help these days, staff who neither cared nor knew about their goods. He had been forced to complain about such matters to managers many times before when purchasing for the palace and knew the best approach to adopt. 'I was trying to explain to this man…'
    'Who the bloody hell are you?' The quartermaster bellowed.
    'Quintus Licinius Cato, Optio of the Sixth Century, Fourth Cohort.'
    The quartermaster frowned for a moment and then laughed. 'Oh, I've heard all about you! Optio! Hah! Well then, optio,' he smiled. 'What seems to be the problem?'
    'Look here. I just want this man to provide me with a garment my size.'
    'May I?' The quartermaster reached out for the tunic, and Cato gladly returned it to him. The quartermaster made an elaborate show of examining the tunic, running his hand over the crude stitching and finally holding it up to the light coming in from the open shutters.
    'Yes,' he concluded. 'This is a standard-issue tunic all right. Nothing wrong with it.'
    'But—'
    'Shut it!' The quartermaster flung the tunic back across the counter. 'Now take the bloody thing and don't waste any more of my time.'
    'But—'
    'And call me "sir" — you snotty little