A ragged murmur of approval rippled along the bodyguards.

‘There! You see?’ Quintillus turned to Macro. ‘Just takes a little practice.’

‘Quite a lot of practice, I should imagine, sir.’

‘Not really.’ The tribune pursed his lips. ‘No more so than any other weapon.’

‘Is that so?’ Macro replied quietly.

‘Of course.’

‘There’s a difference between throwing a spear and using a sword. And there’s a difference between using it against a wicker target and a real man, sir. Quite a big difference.’

‘Nonsense! It’s all about technique, Centurion.’

‘No, sir. It’s about experience.’

‘I see.’ Tribune Quintillus crossed his arms and carefully looked Macro over. ‘Care to put that to the test, Centurion?’

Macro smiled. ‘You want to fight me, sir?’

‘Fight? No, just a little fencing practice. Chance for you to prove your point about experience.’

‘Excuse me, sir,’ Cato intervened quietly, ‘but I doubt it would do Roman prestige much good if we had a fight in front of the natives.’

‘Like I said, it’s not a fight. Just a little practice. Well, Centurion Macro?’

For a moment Macro glared back, and Cato noticed a little tightening of his friend’s jawline. Cato felt a dead weight settle on his heart as he knew Macro would not be able to refuse the tribune’s challenge. Then, to the younger centurion’s surprise Macro shook his head.

‘I don’t think so, sir.’

‘Oh? Don’t fancy your chances, then?’

‘No, I don’t. It’s clear to me that you’ve spent years training for this. I haven’t had that luxury, sir. My swordplay is fairly basic, just the moves necessary for battle, and the rest is gut instinct. Right now, I doubt I could hold a lamp to you. But if we met in battle, I should think the odds would be a little more even.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so . . . sir.’

‘I’m still not convinced. Fight me, Centurion.’

‘Is that an order, sir?’

Quintillus opened his mouth to reply before he thought it through, and then shook his head instead. ‘Perhaps not. That would hardly be fair.’

‘No. Is there anything else, sir?’

‘Just make sure you don’t let the side down tomorrow. Both of you. And keep a respectful distance from me at all times. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Macro and Cato.

‘Dismissed.’

As the two centurions passed back through the hall Cato turned to Macro. ‘For a moment there I thought you were going to take him up on that offer.’

‘I was. But a sensible man picks his fights, he doesn’t let others pick them for him. That twat would have thrashed me. He knew it and I knew it. So what reason was there to fight?’