One evening, shortly after the conversation with Pyrax, found Piso and his protégé working in the warm fug of the century’s office. The brazier glowed and the wooden fuel crackled pleasantly as the two men examined Cato’s latest attempt at writing in the arid style beloved of the army. Piso grunted appreciative noises as he read over the brisk but irrefutably logical requisitions and nodded approvingly at some of the well-turned phrases calculated to provoke a sense of urgency, or implying that an authority well above that of a lowly century clerk was indirectly responsible for the request.

The doorlatch clattered and Macro came into the room rubbing his hands and making straight for the brazier. He stretched his arms out and smiled as the heat soaked into his palms. A vague smell of wine betrayed the fact he had just returned to barracks from the centurion’s mess.

‘Cold night, sir.’ Piso smiled.

‘Bloody cold!’ Macro nodded. ‘How’s our new boy working out?’

‘Fine, sir. Just fine.’ Piso exchanged a look with Cato. ‘In fact, he’s going to make an excellent clerk one day.’

‘So you think young Cato is ready to step into your shoes?’

‘I didn’t say that, sir. There’s still quite a bit to learn. But he’s got a talent for it and no mistake. We were just looking over some of his requisition statements. Would you care to have a look, sir?’

Macro shook his head. ‘Another time. When I’m not so busy. Anyway, I’m sure he’s doing as well as you say. And so you should, what with all that education you’ve picked up.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Cato replied, wondering slightly about the change of tone in Macro’s voice. ‘It’s proved to be very useful, sir.’

‘Yes.’ Macro stared at him silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. ‘Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. It’s about time you got some field experience. There’s a detachment being sent to a local settlement tomorrow morning. The local chief sent a Roman tax-collector packing after cutting out his tongue. Seems the chief’s related to some troublemaker trying to make a name for himself on the other side of the Rhine. Anyway, Vespasian’s sending the Third cohort to arrest the chief and confiscate all precious metals and stones to compensate the tax-collector. One of the centurions of the Third got kicked unconscious by a mule this afternoon and the optio’s already in the hospital. I’ve been ordered to take temporary command of his century — you’re coming with me.’

‘Oh! Will there be a fight, sir?’

‘Doubt it. Why?’

‘It’s just that we haven’t trained with real weapons yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it. Borrow some kit from one of our lads. Shouldn’t need it though — as soon as those Germans see us coming they’ll do everything they can to get rid of us. We just go in, make the arrest, requisition whatever we can find and leave. Should be home by nightfall.’

‘Oh…’ Cato could not keep the disappointment from his voice. He had hoped that the excursion might keep him out of Pulcher’s reach for a few days at least.