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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 As it happens, Legate Vespasian exceeded his authority when he rescinded your sentence.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.

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.
    ‘Cheer up, lad. The wine’s ordered.’
    Cato turned his head to stare at Macro. ‘I have no legionary