‘What the…?’ The centurion stared down at the last of the contents. Then he slowly looked up at the new recruit. ‘What’s this?’

‘My writing materials, sir!’

‘Writing materials? What does a legionary want with writing materials?’

‘I promised my friends in Rome I’d write, sir.’

‘Your friends?’ Bestia grinned. ‘No mother to write to? No father, eh?’

‘Dead, sir.’

‘Know his name?’

‘Of course, sir. He was…’

‘Quiet!’ Bestia interrupted. ‘I don’t give a toss who he was. Here, you’re all bastards as far as I’m concerned. So then, what’s your name, bastard?’

‘Quintus Licinius Cato… sir.’

‘Well then, Cato, I know only two types of legionary who can write — spies and those who think they’re so bloody wonderful they’re going to be officers. Which are you?’

The recruit eyed him warily. ‘Neither, sir.’

‘Then you won’t need this stuff, will you?’ Bestia kicked the writing kit and the scrolls towards the drainage gully in the middle of the street.

‘Careful, sir!’

‘What did you say?’ The centurion spun round, cane at the ready. ‘What did you say to me?’

‘I said careful, sir. One of those scrolls is a personal message for the legate.’

‘A personal message for the legate! Well, I…’

With a grin, Macro saw that the grizzled centurion was momentarily floored; he’d heard it all before, every excuse, every explanation — but not this one. What on earth could a recruit be doing with a letter for the legate? A first-class mystery, and one that had knocked Bestia off his perch. Not for long though — the centurion stabbed his cane towards the scrolls.

‘Bloody well pick that stuff up and bring it here. Just arrived here and you’re already messing the base up! Fucking recruits,’ he grumbled. ‘You make me puke. Well, you heard me. Pick it up!’

As the tall recruit leant down to retrieve his belongings Bestia barked out a series of orders, assigning batches of recruits to members of the escort to be guided to their units.

‘Now, get moving! NOT YOU!’ Bestia shouted at the lone recruit, who had managed to stuff his belongings back into his pack and had turned towards the safety of the others standing in the pouring rain. ‘Over here! What are the rest of you staring at?’

The escort legionaries started to tell off their charges. While the recruits were cajoled and herded into groups, Bestia snatched the scroll Cato held out to him. Taking care to keep it out of the rain as much as possible, he read the address waxed on to it. He checked the seal as well, rechecked the address and paused a moment to consider his next step. He happened to glance up at the gate and saw Macro grinning. That settled it.

‘Macro! Get your arse down here.’

Moments later, Macro was standing to attention in front of Bestia, blinking as the rain dripped down from the brim of his helmet into his eyes.

‘This seems genuine.’ Bestia wagged the scroll under the junior officer’s nose. ‘I want you to take this and escort our friend here to headquarters.’