‘Don’t worry, son,’ Macro said kindly, having misread Cato’s expression. ‘You’ll get to see some fighting one day, I promise. But it’s good that you’re keen to get stuck in. No good being a soldier unless you enjoy your work.’

Cato smiled weakly. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right then!’ Macro clapped him on the shoulder, shoving him backwards good-naturedly. ‘See you at dawn by the north gate. Full armour, cloak and provisions for the day.’

‘Yes, sir. If it’s all right with Piso, I’d like to get an early night, sir.’

Macro turned to his clerk, eyebrows raised.

‘Certainly!’ Piso smiled. ‘If the centurion pushes those men like he pushes us you’ll need all your energy for tomorrow.’

After the door had closed behind Cato and his footsteps could be heard fading down the corridor, Macro turned back to his clerk.

‘What do you think of him?’

‘He’s got a knack for paperwork; neat hand and a good memory.’ Piso paused for a moment.

‘But…?’ Macro filled in.

‘I’m not sure if he’s cut out for army life, sir. Seems a bit too soft.’

‘You ever met anyone from the palace who wasn’t? Too much good living — that’s their trouble. Most of ‘em wouldn’t last five days in the army, but so far that lad’s kept up. What he lacks in fitness he makes up with determination. You know, I think we might be able to make something out of young Cato after all.’

‘If you say so, sir.’

‘I say so, but you don’t think so, eh Piso?’

‘To be honest, no, sir. Determination’s one thing but fighting requires quite different qualities. I don’t think he’s got what it takes.’ Piso paused. ‘There’s a rumour going round that he’s a coward.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard. But you know how it is with rumours — there’s nothing in most of ‘em. We have to give the lad a chance.’

Piso was struck by a sudden insight. ‘Then you are expecting trouble, sir?’

‘It’s possible, you know what the Germans are like, any excuse for a fight. But I doubt it will amount to more than knocking a couple of heads together. Still, it’ll give me a chance to see how Cato reacts.’

‘If what I’ve heard’s true, he’ll run.’

‘Care to make a wager on that?’ Macro smiled. ‘Five sestertii? I know you can afford it.’

‘Yes, sir. But can you?’

‘Five sestertii.’ Macro ignored the gibe and spat on his hand. ‘Five says that if there’s trouble Cato doesn’t run. Or are you too scared to take the bet?’

Piso delayed no more than a moment before slapping his centurion’s palm. ‘Five it is!’

Under The Eagle

Chapter Six

The night had been cold and, as the soft light of dawn struggled through the morning mist, the fortress of the Second Legion was revealed in a sparkling white frost. The men of the Third cohort were forming into their centuries in a businesslike manner as the air was wreathed in the steam of their breath. Five hundred men, in full armour and heavy cloaks, were gathered in faint filtered shafts of light, rubbing hands and stamping feet in an effort to generate a small bit of warmth against the biting winter air. Jeers and good-humoured insults were exchanged with passing legionaries from other cohorts fortunate enough to be remaining in the fortress for the day. The officers stood apart from the loose columns of men and Cato had no trouble locating Macro’s stocky form.