Not long out of training then, Macro thought. A stickler for regulations, which he no doubt applied in every circumstance. He’d learn in time; how to compromise between following strict procedure and doing what was needed to get by.

‘So then, why do we need to call out the guard?’

‘Regulations, sir. If an unidentified body of men is approaching the camp in force the guard century should be called out to man the gate and adjacent walls.’

Macro raised his eyebrows in surprise. The quotation was word perfect. Syrus clearly took his training seriously. ‘And what then?’

‘Sir?’

‘What happens next?’

‘The duty centurion, after assessing the situation determines whether or not to call a general alarm,’ Syrus continued tonelessly, then hurriedly added, ‘Sir.’

‘Good man.’ Macro smiled and the sentry smiled back in relief, before Macro turned back towards the approaching column. ‘Now then, exactly how threatening do you think that lot is? Do they scare you, soldier? Do you think all two hundred of them are going to charge over here, climb the walls and slaughter every mother’s son of the Second Legion… Well, do you?’

The sentry looked at Macro, looked carefully at the flickering lights for a new moments and then turned back sheepishly. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘I don’t think so, sir,’ said Macro gruffly as he punched the lad on the shoulder.

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Tell me, Syrus. Did you attend the sentry briefing before the watch?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Did you pay attention to every detail?’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘Then you would recall me saying that a replacement convoy was due to arrive at the base, wouldn’t you? And then you wouldn’t have had to haul me out of the latrine and spoil a particularly good shit.’

The sentry was crestfallen and he could not bear the long-suffering expression on his centurion’s face. ‘I’m sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.’

‘You see that it doesn’t. Or I’ll have you on double duties for the rest of the year. Now get the rest of the lads ready at the gate. I’ll deal with the recognition call.’

Shamefaced, the sentry saluted and went back into the gatehouse. Soon Macro could hear the sounds of the guard rousing themselves and descending the wooden stairs to the main gate. Macro smiled. The lad was keen and felt guilty about his mistake. Guilty enough to make sure that it never happened again. That was good. That’s how dependable soldiers were made — there was no such thing as a born soldier, Macro reflected.

A sudden blast of wind buffeted Macro and he retreated into the shelter of the gatehouse. Inside he positioned himself close to the glowing brazier and let out a sigh of relief as the warmth soaked into his body. After a few moments, Macro opened the small viewing shutter and looked out into the night. The convoy was nearer now and he could make out the wagon in detail as well as the individual men in the following column. A miserable bunch of recruits, he thought, not an ounce of spirit in them. You could tell that by the apathetic way they trudged along, even though they were in sight of shelter.