‘If any fool can see it then you don’t need me to inform on my fellow officers.’

‘No one is asking you to be an informer,’ Cato replied gently. ‘But a veteran like you must know what is going on. Why didn’t you complain to the prefect, or someone higher up the chain of command?’

‘I did. I had a word with Scrofa. Told him standards were slipping amongst the men. He seemed a little bemused by my complaint. Anyway, I haven’t been assigned any desert patrols since then. He’s kept me well away from the caravan routes. And now he wants me to go in heavy on the local villages.’ Parmenion sniffed derisively. ‘What good’s it going to do sticking it to a bunch of farmers scraping a living in this wasteland? We should be going after Bannus.’

‘Yes,’ Macro replied thoughtfully. ‘We should.’

Parmenion turned to face him. ‘Is that what you plan to do, sir? When word comes of your appointment?’

‘Seems the logical way to proceed.’

Parmenion nodded with satisfaction. ‘Be good to get the officers back to proper soldiering. Do the men good as well.’

‘True. But there’s nothing I can do about it right now.’ Macro scratched his chin and turned to stare out into the desert. ‘I think it’s time I had a look at some of the territory the Second Illyrian is supposed to be covering.’

Cato looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘What’s on your mind?’

‘I think I’ll join one of those patrols Scrofa is sending out.’ Macro smiled. ‘You might want to join Parmenion here, see what the situation is in the local villages.’

Cato shrugged. ‘Fair enough. There’s nothing else we can do until we hear back from the procurator.’

Prefect Scrofa stared at Macro and Cato. ‘Why would you want to do that? You’ve only just arrived here and you want to leave the fort already?’

Cato answered for them.’As you yourself pointed out, sir, we are surplus to requirements, as things stand. So we might as well get some experience of the area. See how the men perform. That sort of thing.’

Scrofa exchanged a look with his adjutant before he responded. ‘I’m not so sure about that. I mean, we have our own way of doing things here. Perhaps it’s best if you spend some time observing how we run the cohort before you throw yourselves into action.’

Macro smiled back. ‘No point in wasting any time. There’s an expression we had in the Second Augusta, back on the Rhine. Best thing a soldier can do is get his arse in the grass.’

Scrofa frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Field experience,’ Macro explained. ‘There’s no substitute for it.Though, I admit, the saying doesn’t seem to have much currency out here. What with grass being in such short supply.’

‘Get your bust in the dust?’ Cato suggested.