‘Then what would you have me do?’ Plautius looked up. ‘What if I spared him now? What if he was allowed to live while his men were executed? Just think how that would look to the rest. One rule for them, another for centurions. We’ve had a mutiny in this army already. How many officers lost their lives in that one? Do you really think we’d survive another? If the rankers die, then Cato must die with them.’

‘So spare them all!’

‘And look like a squeamish weakling?’ Plautius shook his head. ‘I think not, Vespasian. You must see that. If I condemn men one day and pardon them the next it’ll be the first step down the road to completely losing our authority over our soldiers. And not just them - the plebs as well. Fear is what holds them all in check, and what better way of focusing their minds on blind obedience than fear of punishment, even if they are quite blameless? That’s how it works, Vespasian. That’s how it has always worked. That’s why our class rules Rome . . . But I forgot,’ Plautius smiled. ‘You’re one of the new men. You and your brother. In time, when you’ve grown used to wearing the broad stripe, you’ll fully understand what I mean.’

‘I understand it well enough right now,’ Vespasian replied, ‘and it disgusts me.’

‘It goes with the rank. Get used to it.’

‘Rank?’ Vespasian chuckled bitterly. ‘Oh, it’s rank all right.’

He felt a weariness that went beyond tired muscles, a weariness that sapped his very soul. He had been raised by a father for whom Rome and everything it stood for represented the best of all worlds. It was his father’s legacy to inspire the same devotion to duty and service to Rome in his two sons. Ever since Vespasian had embarked on a political career, little by little that faith had been chipped away, as a sculptor strikes away shards of stone. But what remained was no proud monument, merely a shrine to selfishness, steeped in the blood of those who were sacrificed, not for the greater good, but for the narrow self-interest of a select circle of cynical cold-blooded aristocrats.

‘Enough!’ Plautius slapped a hand down on the desk, making the slates jump and rattle. ‘You forget yourself, Legate! Now hear me.’

For an instant both men stared across the table at each other with an implacable sense of estrangement, and Vespasian knew he had lost. Not only the attempt to save the lives of his men, but also any admission to the higher reaches of society in Rome. He lacked the necessary ruthlessness. The general’s brow creased with anger as he addressed his subordinate.