Maximius glared at him, mouth tightly shut and nostrils flared. The other officers and the nearest legionaries stirred uneasily. Macro drew himself up to his full height and stared calmly back. He had said his piece, and braced himself for the counterblast. He was surprised at the calmness that suffused his body. He had felt this way a few times before, when death in battle seemed inevitable. Calmness. Or was it merely resignation? Macro didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. It was simply a moment of curiosity about himself and his motives. Cato would have known the answer, he thought, and could not help smiling at the introspection he normally did not tolerate in his young friend. It was almost as if he had to fill in for the lad when Cato was not there, so used to his company had Macro become.

‘What’s so funny?’ Maximius asked softly.

‘Nothing, sir. Really.’

‘I see . . .’ The cohort commander narrowed his eyes. ‘I had hoped that you, of all my officers, would be loyal to me. I can see now that my trust in you was misplaced. I wonder how deep your treachery runs.’

‘Sir, I am no traitor. I’m loyal to the oath I’ve sworn every year since I joined the Eagles.’

Maximius leaned closer. ‘Is it not part of your oath to obey the orders of a superior officer?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Macro replied evenly. ‘But I question your fitness to command this cohort.’

Maximius took a sharp breath, then spat out his reply. ‘You dare to question my authority?’

‘I do. If the other centurions have any sense, and the guts to own up to their feelings, they’d say the same.’

‘Silence!’ Maximius roared and struck Macro across the face with the back of his fist. The blow was sharp and hard, and Macro saw an explosion of white as he staggered back under the impact. As his vision cleared he tasted blood in his mouth and, raising a hand to his lip he discovered it was split. Blood dripped steadily from his chin as he steadied himself and faced the cohort commander again.

‘Centurion Macro is confined to his tent.’ Maximius looked round and sought out a face in the press of men who had drifted closer to witness the extraordinary confrontation. ‘Optio Cordus! Step forward! I’m making you acting centurion in command of Macro’s century.’

‘Yes, sir!’ Cordus smiled.

‘You will carry out my orders concerning the villagers. To the letter, understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You will show no mercy, and none of your predecessor’s lack of backbone.’

‘No, sir.’ Cordus flashed a smug sidelong glance at Macro.

‘Now escort Macro to his tent, and post a guard outside. He is to speak to no one. Get on with it.’