‘Did you say… new optio, sir?’ someone asked.

‘That’s right, Pyrax.’

‘Isn’t he a little, well, young?’

‘Apparently not,’ Macro replied bitterly. ‘The Emperor’s decreed a new selection procedure for junior officers. You have to be tall and skinny and familiar with selected Greek and Latin histories. And those who have bothered to read the odd work of literature are given preferential treatment.’

The men looked at him blankly but Macro was too cross to offer any form of explanation. ‘Anyway, here he is. Pyrax, I want you to take him to my clerk. Get him written in and issue him with a seal. He’s going to join your section.’

‘Sir, I thought recruits could only be written in by officers.’

‘Look, I’m too busy right now,’ Macro blustered. ‘Anyway, that’s an order. I’m making him your responsibility. So get on with it.’

Macro rushed from the mess and hurried back down the passage to his quarters. Piso was waiting outside his small office with some papers.

‘Sir, if you could just sign…’

‘Later.’ Macro waved a hand at him and snatched up a dry cloak as he made for the outside door. ‘Have to get back on duty.’

As the door slammed after him, Piso shrugged and returned to his desk.

===OO=OOO=OO===

Some time later, Cato was sitting bolt upright on the top bunk of a section room. Such was his height that on the top of his head he could feel the straw which lay under the roof tiles. He flinched, suddenly wondering if there were any rats in the rafters, and nervously twisted the small lead ingot that hung from a thong tied around his neck. It bore his name, his legion and the imperial seal. It would be with him until he left the army, or died in battle. Then it would be used to identify his body. Letting his chin rest on his knees, Cato wondered how he was going to get out of this appalling situation. The section room, with cramped bunks for eight men, was no better than one of the stables reserved for work horses at the palace.

And these men!

Well, they were animals. Pyrax had introduced him round the mess and Cato had been hard pressed not to reveal his disgust at the foul-smelling, boozy, farting, belching legionaries. They, for their part, had seemed unsure how to regard him. There was some resentment to be sure. Apparently an optio was a rank many were struggling to achieve. Nominally he was their superior, but he was in no way given to understand that he would be treated as such.

Conversation was limited to a discussion of who had screwed the most women, killed the most barbarians, spat the furthest, farted the loudest — that kind of thing. Stimulating to the senses maybe, but it left the mind a little cold. After what seemed a decent length of time, Cato had asked if Pyrax might be so kind as to show him to his room. Every face in the room had turned towards him, some wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Cato sensed he had somehow put his foot in it and decided that an early night would clear the air.