‘I see.’ Maximius looked searchingly at his subordinate’s expression before turning to look at Macro. ‘And what does Centurion Macro think?’

‘He thinks the Guard are a bunch of idle wasters, sir,’ Tullius chipped in before Macro could respond.

Maximius raised a hand. ‘Quiet. I think Macro can speak for himself. Well, what do you think?’

Macro shot Tullius a withering glance before he replied, acutely bitter at the situation Tullius had forced on him. ‘They’re good men, sir. Good men, but, er, they must go soft after spending too long in Rome . . . sir.’

‘And you think the men of the legions are a tougher proposition then?’

Macro shrugged his shoulders helplessly. ‘Well, yes, sir. I suppose so . . . yes.’

‘Bollocks!’ Maximius spat back. ‘There’s no comparison. Your Guardsman is the finest soldier in the Empire, bar none. I should know. I served with them long enough. Tullius is right. If Claudius had left a few of ‘em behind when he buggered off back to Rome last year, it’d all be over by now. The Guard would have sorted Caratacus out in double time.’ He glared at Macro, breathing hard through flared nostrils. ‘I thought an officer with your experience would have known that. There’s no comparison between a Guardsman and your bog-standard legionary.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Macro coloured. He was tempted to defend himself. To answer back and justify the words Tullius had put in his mouth. To tell Maximius about the balls-up at the battle outside Camulodunum a year earlier that had nearly cost his vaunted Guards their lives. But Macro could not trust himself to continue the discussion: once his spirit of defiance was up there was no telling how indiscreet he would become. Best to let the cohort commander’s umbrage wash over him like one of the flotsam-bloated waves that rolled over the shore at his childhood home just outside Ostia. Macro stiffened his back and stared into his superior’s face. ‘As you say, sir. There’s no comparison.’

Maximius sensed the ironic tone straight away and dismissed Tullius with a curt word of command. As soon as there was no one near enough to overhear their conversation he turned back to Macro.

‘What exactly were you and Tullius talking about?’

‘Like he said, sir, it was a professional disagreement.’

‘I see.’ Maximius stared hard at Macro and chewed on his bottom lip. ‘Nothing to do with that traitor we’re looking for, then?’

Macro felt his pulse quicken and prayed that there was no sign of guilt written into the expression on his face as he replied, ‘No, sir.’

‘We’re not getting very far with that line of inquiry, are we, Macro?’

‘We, sir?’