‘Did you notice?’ Macro asked.

‘What, sir?’

‘How you instantly did what I said?’

Cato nodded.

‘That’s what I’m talking about. It’s the tone of voice. You need to practise giving orders a while before it feels natural. But once you’re there it’s a doddle — comes as easy as breathing.’

‘If you say so, sir.’

‘I do. Now then, what’s the news?’ Macro eased himself back on the bed so that he was propped up against the bolster. With the window closed the red glow of the brazier added to what little light there was filtering through the shutters. ‘Pull up the stool and fill me in. What else have you been up to?’

Cato shifted uneasily. ‘I was summoned to headquarters this morning by the legate.’

‘Oh yes?’ Macro smiled. ‘And what did Vespasian have to say?’

‘Not much… He’s investing me with a decoration, a grass crown. I’m not quite sure why.’

‘Because I recommended it,’ smiled Macro. ‘You saved my life, remember? Even if you did nearly lose the standard while you were at it. You deserve it, and once you get the phalera attached to your harness I think you’ll find the men will go easier on you. All good soldiers respect well-earned decorations. How’s it feel to be a hero?’

Cato blushed, grateful that the uncomfortable glow in his cheeks was lost in the flickering orange of the brazier. ‘Frankly, I feel a bit of a fraud.’

‘Why on earth?’

‘I can’t be a hero on the strength of one battle.’

‘Hardly a battle. More of a skirmish actually.’

‘Precisely, sir. A skirmish, and one in which I only managed to injure an enemy by accident. Hardly the stuff of heroes.’

‘Killing men in battle doesn’t necessarily make you a hero,’ Macro gently reassured him. ‘Admittedly it does help and the more bodies you pile up the better. But there are other ways to be heroic. All the same, I wouldn’t go around blabbing about not having knocked a few Germans on the head if I were you. Look, you didn’t have to come back for me but you chose to — against the odds. In my book that takes guts and I’m glad you’re with us.’

Cato stared at him, searching for the least sign of irony in his superior’s face. ‘Do you really mean that, sir?’

‘Of course. Have I yet said anything to you I didn’t mean?’

‘No.’

‘There you are then. So take it at face value and don’t get sentimental on me. I take it there’ll be an investiture?’

‘Yes, sir. The legate’s holding a parade two days from now. There are a number of decorations to hand out, including one for Vitellius.’

‘Oh really?’ Macro interrupted sourly. ‘I’m sure that’ll look good on his CV when he gets back to Rome.’

‘Then there’s a private dinner in the evening. He’s invited all officers who served with the Third cohort that day in the village, those of us who survived, that is.’