There was a tense beat as Cato tried to control a new flush of anger. He realised well enough that Maximius was baiting him, trying to force him into some kind of petulant display in front of the other centurions. It was so tempting to bite back, to defend his achievements, to point out the medallions he wore on his harness. Unfortunately, Maximius, Macro and Tullius each carried more sets than he did. Antonius and Felix had yet to win any decorations for bravery and Cato would merely offend them as the other three centurions laughed at his bratish arrogance. Any attempt at a put-down would be taken as insubordination and only make the situation worse. Yet to do nothing would make him look like a weakling, and merely invite further lacerating remarks from Maximius. Bullying was a prerogative of rank, and Cato realised it was something he would just have to put up with. Unfair as it was, few of his fellow centurions would side with him. A man had to pay his dues and put up with all the petty slights and cruel taunts, with no possibility of being able to respond. Any man who succumbed to that temptation was as good as broken. All Cato could do was weather the torment and accept the . . . iniquity - he smiled bitterly to himself - of the situation.

With a flash of insight he realised that was just another way the army had of toughening up its men. The discomforts of army life were as much mental as physical, and he’d better get used to it, because if he didn’t then men like Maximius would break Cato as surely as night follows day. Very well, if he couldn’t afford to outwit his commander, and couldn’t bear to be the butt of his humour then Cato must keep as far away from Maximius as possible.

Cato glanced over his shoulder, back down the line of men towards his century bringing up the rear of the column. He frowned.

‘Sir, I think my century’s falling behind. Can I go back and chivvy them along?’

Maximius looked back and then turned his gaze on Cato with a shrewd narrowing of the eyes. For a moment Cato feared that his request would be denied. Then Maximius nodded.

‘Very well. Make sure they keep up.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato saluted, quickly turned away and strode back down the column of sweating legionaries, under the watchful eye of Maximius.

‘Macro?’

‘Sir?’

‘How well do you know that boy?’

‘Well enough, I suppose, sir,’ Macro replied guardedly. ‘At least I’ve known him ever since he joined the Second Legion as a recruit.’

‘As long as that?’ Maximius arched his eyebrows.’That must be, almost, let me see . . . two years. My, that is a long time.’