Macro was only trying to be kind, and Cato, despite his inner agony, was grateful to the man. He straightened up and forced a smile on to his face. ‘Better get started on the exercise as soon as possible then.’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Macro beamed, and was about to offer some more encouragement when there was a sharp rap on the door.

‘Come!’ yelled Macro.

The door opened and a cavalry scout stepped smartly into the hospital room.

‘Centurions Lucius Cornelius Macro and Quintus Licinius Cato?’

‘That’s us.’

‘Legate requests your presence.’

‘Now?’ Macro frowned as he looked up through the open shutters. The sun was well above the horizon, by some hours. He looked at Cato with raised eyebrows. ‘Tell him we’ll be there directly.’

‘Yes, sir.’

When the scout had closed the door behind him Macro quickly reached for his boots, and gave Cato a gentle nudge. ‘Come on, lad.’

Vespasian waved his hand at a bench in front of the low table where he was eating his breakfast. There was a platter of small loaves, a bowl of olive oil and a jar of fish sauce. Macro met Cato’s gaze and gave a disappointed shrug. If this was how legates ate, you could keep it.

‘Now then,’ Vespasian began, as he spread the dark fish sauce over a hunk of bread, ‘how far have you two recovered from your wounds? Are you fit enough for light duties?’

Macro exchanged a quick look with Cato as their legate tore off a chunk of bread and popped it into his mouth. ‘We’re pretty much up for it, sir. Are we getting sent back to the legion?’ Macro asked hopefully.

‘No. Not yet, at least.’ Vespasian couldn’t help smiling at the centurion’s eagerness to get back in the fight. ‘I need two good men for something else. Something very important to the success of our campaign.’

Cato frowned. The last special task to which he and Macro had been assigned had nearly got them both killed. The legate read his expression accurately.

‘Oh, it’s nothing like last time. Nothing dangerous. Or at least, not likely to be dangerous.’ Vespasian bit off another chunk of bread and started chewing. ‘You shouldn’t even have to leave Calleva.’

Cato and Macro relaxed.

‘So then, sir,’ Macro continued, ‘what do you need us for?’

‘You’re aware that Centurion Veranius was killed yesterday? ‘

‘Yes, sir. We were watching from the gatehouse.’ Macro was momentarily tempted to add some phrase to register the sadness he imagined he was supposed to feel. But he refused to cheapen himself, especially since he had never particularly rated Veranius.

‘He was the only officer I could spare to command this garrison.’

There was an implied judgement in that sentence and Macro was mildly surprised that the legate shared his view of the dead centurion.