‘Of course I am,’ Aurelius replied shortly. ‘I know that.’

He stood still for a moment, looking down at his boots, and then nodded to himself. ‘I’ll summon my senior officers. They have to be informed about Candidus’s death. And then we shall set about dealing with the Nubians.’ He looked up, straightened his back and cleared his throat. ‘We shall meet here at headquarters at noon, gentlemen.’ With that he turned and marched back into the entrance of the priest’s quarters.

Cato watched him go and then spoke softly. ‘What do you make of our new legate?’

Macro dabbed at the sweat on his brow. ‘Have to say that I’m not encouraged. It seems that the man’s been a professional stylus-pusher throughout his career. I’ve never seen the like of the Twenty-Second. Must be the cushiest posting in the entire army. Swanning around the Nile while their officers have nothing better to do than wait until it’s their turn to take the job of first spear centurion or camp prefect. Gods!’ He shook his head in frustration. ‘I just hope the other senior officers aren’t the same. Or their men. I tell you, Cato, I don’t fancy going into battle against the Nubians with a bunch of time-serving bureaucrats at my side.’

Cato nodded as he stared into the mid-distance and Macro sighed wearily. ‘All right then, what’s on your mind?’

‘Sorry?’ Cato stirred and looked at his friend vaguely.

‘I know that look on your face. The body’s there but the mind is off with the muses. So, what are you thinking?’

‘We should go and see the survivor of the ambush.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s something not quite right about it.’ Cato chewed his lip. ‘The decurion seemed to know his business and I could see he wasn’t convinced that either the Arabs or the Nubians were responsible for killing the legate. Come on, Macro.’

The hospital had been set up in a large airy pavilion to the rear of the temple complex. The legion’s surgeon was doing the rounds of the men on the army’s sick list when Cato and Macro located him. Like most of those who served in the same capacity in legions across the Empire, the surgeon was an easterner. His dark face was rimmed with silvery hair, cropped short over his scalp and along his jawline. The creases in his skin told of the long years he had served in the profession. He regarded the two Roman officers coolly as he heard Cato’s request to see the wounded man who had been brought into the hospital shortly before.

‘He’s resting. The man is exhausted and cannot be questioned.’

‘It won’t take long. I just need to find out one thing. Then he can rest.’