‘The, uh, situation pertaining to the command of this cohort.’ Macro spoke with slow deliberation, as if weighing each word that he uttered as he played for time. ‘That is to say, the correct protocol for the, uh, transmission of authority from the present command to the assumption of command by, er, me. As it were . . . sir.’

‘Get to the point, Centurion,’ Scrofa snapped irritably, and jabbed his finger towards Macro. ‘You’d better not be wasting my time. So spit it out. Tell me what’s so bloody important that I must interrupt my afternoon rest to hear it, or I’ll send you back to your quarters at once.’

‘Very well.’ Macro nodded. ‘I’ll tell you. Your command of this cohort is forfeit. Your confinement of me and my fellow officer is illegal. The protection racket you operate on the caravan route passing through your territory is a corruption of your duty, responsibility and rank, for which I will bring charges against you and Centurion Postumus in due course, once I have assumed command of the Second Illyrian.’ Macro paused to draw breath and glanced out of the window and down into the courtyard. His heart sank a little as he saw that it was still empty. He took a breath and continued. ‘Moreover, I will add to the charges against you that through deliberate provocation you endangered the security of the Roman province of Judaea and-’

‘Be quiet!’ Scrofa interrupted. ‘This is pointless!’

‘I haven’t finished saying my piece.’

‘Oh yes you have. Centurion Postumus!’

‘Sir?’

‘Take these two back to their quarters. And don’t let them waste my time again.’

‘Yes sir.’

Cato had been listening to the exchange with growing concern. He felt his pulse quicken as he knew it was time to act. His hand was being forced, but there was no alternative.

‘Wait a moment!’

He reached for the leather thong round his neck and pulled the scroll case from under his tunic.

‘What’s that?’ asked Scrofa.

Cato pulled the cap off the case and pulled out the roll of parchment inside. He approached the desk, unrolling the document, and spread it out across the flat surface, the right way up for the prefect to read it. Scrofa’s gaze went straight to the imperial seal and he glanced up at Cato with a surprised expression. Cato tapped the document.

‘Read it, sir.’

As the prefect glanced over the authority that Narcissus had penned for Macro and Cato, Centurion Postumus edged closer and moved round to read over his superior’s shoulder.

Cato waited until Scrofa had finished examining the document before he broke the silence.