Cato nodded to himself and felt a surge of irritation at the impulse to explain himself to Macro. His promotion to the rank of prefect after two years of temporary commands had made him superior in authority to his friend. He would have to be sparing with his moments of friendship and especially in seeking advice from the only man he had ever considered a close friend. Cato felt a brief sense of loss as he thought of the years in which he had shared the same rank as Macro. That sense of equality was lost to him now. Lost to both of them, he realised, understanding that Macro would rue its passing at least as much as himself. It was tempting to indulge himself in a moment of loneliness but Cato grimly suppressed his emotions, cursing himself for being weak enough to let them divert him from the obligations and dangers of the present. It had been a hard thing to do to choose Quertus as his second-in-command. He had considered confronting the man, removing him from his command and putting an end to his intolerable challenge to the discipline of the army. But if he tried to face Quertus down now, there was every chance that most of the men in the garrison would back the Thracian. If that happened, he and Macro would be in grave danger. Until the reinforcements arrived, Cato knew that he had to let Quertus think that he could exercise control over his new prefect. Once Cato had enough men at his back who owed no allegiance to the Thracian, then he could put Quertus back in his place.

‘The men are ready for inspection, sir,’ Macro prompted.