‘You can’t burn her house, sir.’

‘Can’t I?’ Scrofa looked amused. ‘We’ll soon see about that.’

‘You can’t do it!’ Cato blurted out. ‘I won’t let you.’

The amused expression faded from Scrofa’s eyes.’How dare you challenge my authority, Centurion? I could have you broken to the ranks for that. I could have you condemned. In fact-’

Before he could continue, Macro moved in, took Cato’s arm and drew his friend away, towards the sun shelter. ‘The lad’s had a bad knock on the head, sir. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Come on, Cato, sit down in the shade.You need rest.’

‘Rest?’ Cato glared at him. ‘No. I have to stop this folly.’

Macro shook his head. He thrust Cato away from the prefect, whispering, ‘Shut your mouth, you fool. Before I have to shut it for you.’

‘What?’ Cato looked at him in shock as he was propelled towards the shaded bench.

‘Just sit still and say nothing.’ Cato shook his head, but Macro clamped his hand on his arm and hissed, ‘Sit down!’

Cato’s head was reeling with confusion. Scrofa was about to perpetrate a monstrous injustice, one that Cato knew he must resist. And yet Macro was siding with Scrofa. He was clearly determined to prevent Cato’s making any further protest, and Cato slumped helplessly as he glanced back towards Miriam. She was grim-faced, but there was no hiding the tears that gleamed in the corner of her eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, Symeon put his arm round her and led her back inside the house.

‘Miriam, let’s save what we can. While there’s still time.’

She nodded as they disappeared into the shadows.

Dusk was closing in as the column rode out of the village. Riding between Macro and Symeon, Cato took a last glance back over his shoulder. Flames roared and crackled as the fire consumed Miriam’s house. She stood some distance away, embracing her grandson. A handful of the villagers stood still and gazed at the inferno.To one side, silhouetted by the flames, the brigand hung from the makeshift frame that the auxiliaries had erected after ripping the timbers out of Miriam’s house. A hastily scribbled message on a wooden plaque had been nailed beneath the brigand’s feet, warning the villagers not to render the man any comfort, and not to remove his body once he had died. Otherwise, his corpse would be replaced by one of their own.

As he turned away, Cato felt sick with despair and self-loathing. Rome had taken away her son, and now it had destroyed her home. If this was how they treated those who bore so little malice towards them, then there would never be peace in this land.

07 The Eagle In the Sand

CHAPTER TEN

What the hell were you doing back there?’ Cato ‘ snapped. ‘Why didn’t you back me up?’