‘He was a slave, sir.’ The embarrassment of the admission was clear, even to a bluff fellow like Macro. ‘Before Tiberius manumitted him. I was born shortly before.’

‘That’s tough.’ Macro sympathised; freed status did not apply to existing heirs. ‘I take it you were manumitted soon after. Did your father buy you?’

‘He wasn’t allowed to, sir. For some reason Tiberius wouldn’t let him. My father died a few months ago. In his will, he begged that I be set free on condition that I continue to serve the Empire. Emperor Claudius agreed, provided that I join the army, and here I am.’

‘Hmmmm. Not much of a deal.’

‘I don’t agree, sir. I’m free now. Better than being a slave.’

‘You really think so?’ Macro smiled. It seemed like a poor exchange in status: the comforts of the palace with the hardship of life in the army — and the occasional opportunity to risk life and limb in battle. Macro had heard that some of the wealthiest and most powerful men in Rome were to be found amongst the slaves and freedmen employed in the imperial service.

‘Anyway, sir,’ Cato concluded, with a touch of bitterness. ‘I didn’t have any choice in the matter.’

Under The Eagle

Chapter Two

The guards on the gate at the headquarters building crossed spears as the two figures squelched out of the darkness, one with the crested helmet of a centurion and the other a bedraggled youth. They stepped into the flickering light of the torches clamped into the portico.

‘Password?’ a guard asked as he stepped forward.

‘Hedgehog.’

‘Your business, sir?’

‘This boy has a despatch for the legate.’

‘Just a moment, sir.’ The guard disappeared into the inner courtyard leaving them under the watchful eyes of the other three guards, all large men — hand-picked for the legate’s company of bodyguards. Macro undid his chin strap and removed his helmet before tucking it under his arm in preparation for meeting any senior officers. Cato pushed back his hood and brushed his straggling hair to the side. While they waited, Macro was aware of the youth glancing keenly about himself even as he shivered. A spark of sympathy pricked Macro as he recalled his own feelings on admission to the army; the excitement tinged with fear as he entered a completely unknown world with its strict rules, its dangers and its harsh life away from the comforts of his childhood home.

Cato busied himself with wringing water out of his cloak and a puddle soon formed about the boy’s feet.

‘Stop that!’ Macro snapped. ‘You’re making a mess. You can dry out later.’

Cato looked up, hands wrapped around a tightly squeezed section of the hem. He was about to protest when he was aware that all the soldiers were looking at him with grave disapproval.

‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he muttered, and let go of the hem.

‘Look here, lad,’ Macro said as kindly as possible. ‘No-one minds a soldier being in a mess when he can’t help it. But what they do mind is a soldier who fidgets. It drives the army mad. Isn’t that right, boys?’ He turned to the guards and they nodded vigorously. ‘So from now on, no fidgeting. Get used to standing still and waiting. You’ll find that’s what we spend most of our time doing.’