The sounds of the men training across the parade ground were clearly audible through the open window of Macro’s office, and Cato was struck by the suddenness with which so much good work was now threatened by coarse power play. The terrible tension following Verica’s banquet could be assuaged eventually and the rift in the tribe would heal. But what Quintillus was proposing would unite all but a handful of men against Rome. It was madness, and he must make the tribune see that.

‘Sir, we’ve raised two good cohorts of warriors here. They fight well and they fight alongside Rome because they believe we are friends, not oppressors. In time they might be allowed to serve as auxiliary units, and where they lead, other tribesmen will follow. All of that would be lost if you reduced their kingdom to a province. Worse, you would find them ranged against us . . . I doubt the general would approve.’

Quintillus frowned for a moment, before his expression relaxed and he smiled. ‘You’re right, of course. We must not squander this opportunity you two have created. While these cohorts of yours are still around we’d better tread carefully.’

Cato relaxed and nodded. Then the tribune gracefully rose from his chair. Macro and Cato shot up from their seats and stood to attention.

‘Now, gentlemen, if you’d excuse me, I really must pay my respects to King Verica, before I cause our ally any further offence.’

After the tribune had gone Macro smiled. ‘You got him in a nice twist! Bastard’ll have to leave us be, for now at least.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

‘Come on, Cato! Why do you always have to be so bloody suspicious? You heard the man: he thinks you’re right.’

‘That’s what he says . . .’

‘And?’

‘I’m not sure.’ Cato looked down between his feet. ‘I don’t trust him.’

‘You think he’s dodgy?’

‘No. Not deceitful, maybe. Just ambitious. It’s not everyday the general hands out procuratorial powers.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning our friend Quintillus might be awfully tempted to exercise those powers, come what may. Even if that means provoking the Atrebatans into open rebellion.’

Macro looked at him a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. Nobody would be that foolish.’

‘He isn’t a nobody,’ Cato said quietly. ‘Quintillus is a patrician. His kind doesn’t serve Rome. The way he sees it, Rome is there to serve him, any way he can make her. If the Atrebatans rise up, then he can use his powers to take command of all available troops to crush the tribesmen. A glorious victory has a funny way of erasing memories of the reasons why a victory was needed in the first place.’

When Cato had finished the older centurion let out a deep laugh. ‘The gods help me if you ever decide to take to politics. You’ve got a bloody devious mind, young Cato.’