They were sitting in the room allocated to Macro. Cato had been given a room nearby. Scrofa had explained that until the issue of Macro’s appointment had been sorted out there was no question of providing them with quarters appropriate to their alleged status. So the cohort’s quartermaster and his assistant had been required to temporarily give up their offices and the clerks had laboured into the evening to clear the rooms and introduce the bare minimum of furniture needed by the newly arrived centurions. The column had returned to the fort some time after dusk, in the silvery light of a crescent moon, and it was not until the fourth hour of the night that the preparation of their hastily arranged quarters was complete. Symeon had been allocated a bunk in the cavalry barracks and had immediately gone off to sleep, leaving the two officers to sit in an atmosphere of muted tension until at last their rooms were ready.

‘What was I doing?’ Macro looked astonished. ‘I was behaving like a bloody officer, that’s what I was doing. Not buggering about like some indignant bloody child.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Cato, when a senior officer gives an order, you obey it without hesitation.’

‘Macro, I know that. But he’s not the senior officer. You are.’

‘Not until I can prove it. Until then Scrofa is in command, and what he says goes.’

‘No matter how wrong-headed the order?’

‘That’s right.’

Cato shook his head. ‘That is ridiculous, Macro. The woman did nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve having her house burned down.’

‘I agree with you,’ Macro responded with forced calmness. ‘It’s a bloody great shame. An injustice. Call it what you will.’

Cato was exasperated.’So why didn’t you say anything at the time?’

‘You know the score. When an order is given there is no discussion, whatever I might think.’

‘But that’s madness.’

‘No - it’s discipline. It’s what makes the army work. There’s no room for debate. No place for weighing up the pros and cons. The order is given and you obey.’ Macro paused and continued in a harsh tone. ‘What you don’t do - in any circumstances - is question the order of a senior officer, and never in front of the bloody men. Do I make myself clear?’

Cato, surprised at Macro’s hostility, nodded.

Macro went on. ‘You start down that road, my friend, and discipline crumbles. If men start thinking about orders and not acting on them, then the army falls apart and we become easy pickings for our enemies.There’s no shortage of them. Then who’s going to protect the Empire, eh? So go ahead and weigh that up against some woman’s house going up in smoke. Next time, you think about that before you go and question the orders of a superior.’