Scrofa stared at him for a moment. ‘While I am prefect of the Second Illyrian, I am the senior officer in this fort. Therefore you will defer to me, Centurion Macro.’

‘Fair enough, sir.’ Macro bowed his head. ‘While you are the prefect, that is.’

Scrofa clamped his lips together for a moment to bite back on the flash of rage Macro’s reply had prompted. Then he drew a deep breath and continued. ‘Very well. I think we understand each other well enough. But I wouldn’t feel too smug about replacing me if I were you. Not for a while yet.’

Centurion Postumus coughed. ‘Sir, I am sure Centurion Macro is perfectly aware of the correct protocol in this situation. If we might move on to more important issues?’

‘What?’ Scrofa turned irritably to look up at his subordinate. ‘Oh, very well then.’ He turned back to Macro and composed himself before continuing in a more formal tone. ‘Centurion Postumus has filed an official complaint about your conduct in relation to an event which occurred while you were on patrol.’

Macro could not help smiling briefly at the prefect’s pompous manner and ponderous choice of words.

‘What’s so amusing, Centurion?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘Well, then, it seems that you struck Centurion Postumus in front of his men, and then seized control of his auxiliaries and ordered them to attack some Arabs who were obstructing the progress of a caravan.’

‘Obstructing the progress . . .’ Macro had to laugh. ‘That’s a fine use of words, Centurion Postumus. If you mean that I took command of your men to rescue the caravan from desert raiders, because you refused to, then yes I agree with your allegation.’

Postumus tilted his chin up as he replied. ‘Whatever the words, the fact of the matter is that I was the lawful commander of those men, and therefore you illegally usurped my authority.’

‘Because you were failing in your lawful duty.’ Macro stabbed a finger at him. ‘You would have sat on your arse and let those raiders completely destroy the caravan.’

‘That is immaterial to the charge I’m bringing against you.’

‘Immaterial?’ Macro scoffed. ‘It is the reason why I was forced to take command.’

‘What about striking a fellow officer?’ Scrofa interrupted, leaning forward across his desk. ‘What about that, eh? Do you deny it?’

‘No. And I’d do the same again,’ Macro snapped back. ‘And with good cause. Now, if you really want to try to make something of this, I will be happy to submit to a proper military tribunal, back in Rome. It’s my right to insist on that, as you well know. So then, Prefect, do you wish to continue with this foolishness?’