Centurion

'It'll be over one way or another.'

'True. But we'll deal with the situation in Palmyra when we get to it.'

Cato could sense that his friend was exhausted, and nodded. 'Of course. Let's just get through this.'

Macro stared at him a moment and then laughed at the concern in Cato's tone. 'You sound like my mother. I'm all right, really.' He gazed back over the desert. 'I was just wondering why anyone would want to fight over possession of territory like this. It's a wasteland.'

'It's a wasteland with a city perched on top of a lucrative trade route right next to an oasis,' Cato replied.

Macro nodded slowly and then pursed his lips. 'Well, if you put it like that…'

A sudden burst of angry shouting caused them both to turn back towards their camp. Several men were clustered round the cart from which the canteens were being replenished. As the two officers watched, more men emerged from the surrounding dusk.

'Bugger! More trouble,' Macro sighed at the chorus of raised voices. 'Come on. Sound like that will carry a long way across the desert.'

They scrambled down from the low mound and ran across to the cart.

'Out of the way there!' Macro called out as loudly as he dared. In the gloom it was difficult for the men to make out his rank as he thrust his way through the crowd. Cato grabbed an arm and forcefully hauled a soldier out of Macro's path. 'Make way for your commanding officer, damn you!'

Ahead of him a handful of men were locked in a savage fight, fists and boots flailing at each other. Macro raised his vine staff and swung it out in an arc ahead of him. It connected with a sharp crack and a man fell back with a cry, hands clutched to his head.

'Stop this bloody nonsense at once!' Macro shouted briefly, and slashed his cane at two men who were still swinging their fists at each other. 'At once, I said!'

The fighting stopped abruptly and those involved drew apart as Macro stood his ground by the back of the cart and glared at the crowd, a mixture of auxiliaries and legionaries.

'What the hell is going on? Where's the optio in charge of the water distribution?'

'Here, sir.' An auxiliary officer rose up unsteadily from the ground.

'Report, man! What's the meaning of this?'

The optio stood to attention. He glanced quickly at the men surrounding him and swallowed nervously. 'Sir, there was a misunderstanding.'

Macro snorted with derision. 'I should fucking say so! Now what the hell is going on?'

The optio realised that there was no chance of keeping the situation a ranker affair and continued in a monotone.

'I was on duty, sir. Supervising the water rations. The canteen carriers from the Second Illyrian came up first, just ahead of the lads from the Tenth. As I start filling the canteens one of the legionaries pushes into the line and demands his section's share before I'd finished with my lads. I told him to wait his turn. He told me that legionaries come first, and that my lads would have to give way for… well, for real soldiers, he said.'

'Which man said this?'

The optio glanced over Macro's shoulder, but before he could identify the legionary the man stepped forward.

'It was me, sir.'

Macro turned to the man and quickly sized him up.'And you are?'

'Decimus Tadius, sir. Sixth Century.'

'And what exactly did you think you were doing, soldier?'

'Sir, it was like he said. The legions always take the first share of whatever's going.'

'That applies to booty, Tadius, and you know it. Not rations. And certainly not rations in this situation. Every man gets his fair share, in his turn, while I'm in command. Whether he's an auxiliary or a legionary.' Macro stepped up to Tadius and rapped his vine cane on the man's segmented armour. 'Got that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good, because if you cause any more trouble, I'll chuck you out of my cohort and have you serve with the Second Illyrian. Then you might learn something.'

Tadius opened his mouth to protest.

'Don't!' Macro warned him. 'Now, the rest of you, get back in line and take your water in turn. Now move!'

'Wait,' Cato added softly to Tadius as the other men shuffled away. 'Not you,Tadius. Stand still.'

Macro growled.'What are you doing, Cato? The matter's resolved.'

'Not yet, sir.This man disobeyed the optio's order.That's a clear breach of the regulations.'

Macro glanced round at the men and saw that the nearest were watching them curiously, while trying to appear as if they weren't. He eased himself closer to Cato and continued in an undertone, 'Look, it's over. No harm done. No point in making an issue of it.'

'We can't avoid it, sir. He defied a superior officer in front of witnesses. We can't allow that to pass. He has to be punished.'

Macro sighed with exasperation.'Listen, Cato. I haven't got time for this. And we've all got enough on our plates without having to worry about some kind of field punishment.'

'Nevertheless, I insist that this man is punished, according to the regulations.'

Macro rubbed his brow irritably and then hissed, 'Very well then.' He turned to Tadius and raised his voice. 'Legionary Tadius!'

'Yes, sir.'

Macro thought quickly. A fine, fatigues or a flogging would be pointless here in the desert. There was only one punishment fit for the situation, and one that Tadius would feel keenly. 'You are denied a day's water rations. Return to your century.'

Tadius swallowed hard and replied through gritted teeth. 'Yes, sir.'Then he saluted and, slinging his canteen across his shoulder, turned and strode stiffly away, every step betraying his rage and sense of injustice. Macro nodded to the optio by the water cart.

'Carry on.'

As the meagre measures of water were poured into the proffered canteens Macro beckoned to Cato and began to walk away from the line of men.When they were safely out of earshot he stopped and faced his friend with a fierce expression.

'What the hell was that about?'

'Discipline, sir.'

'You can drop the "sir" routine when the men aren't listening, Cato.'

'All right then.' Cato nodded. 'I can't understand you. When did you ever let a man get away with something like that? If we were back in camp you'd have Tadius digging shit out of latrines for the rest of his life.'

'I might,' Macro conceded.'But we're not in camp.We're about as far out on a limb as we can be.There's enough bad feeling between your lads and mine already without fanning the flames any further.'

'Your lads and mine?' Cato repeated. 'You make it sound as if we're not on the same side.'

'That's the point. If these men see themselves as enemies then we're in deep trouble the moment any real foes turn up. Petty grievances are a luxury we can't afford.'

'And what about discipline?'

'Sometimes you have to compromise. Anyway, you've taken care of the discipline, it would seem.' Macro sighed. 'If a day without water doesn't kill Tadius, then you will have made yourself an enemy for life. Congratulations.'

Cato was about to reply when there was a shout from the camp. 'Cavalry patrol coming in!'

Macro shook his head wearily. 'Will I get no bloody rest tonight? Come on, something's up.'

The sound of hooves drumming across the desert announced the return of one of Cato's cavalry patrols and the two officers hurried over to where the decurion and his men were reining in at the edge of the column's sleeping lines.

'Where's the prefect?' the decurion called out anxiously.

Cato raised a hand. 'Over here. What's happened?'

'Beg to report, we've sighted a large force of mounted men, sir.' The decurion was breathing heavily as he steadied his mount, still snorting for breath after its gallop back to the camp. 'To the south.'

'How far from here?' Macro snapped.

'No more than two miles, sir. Seemed to be heading towards us.'

'Could you identify them?'

'Too dark, sir. I watched long enough to gauge their heading, then came to report. I'm sure they didn't see us.'

Cato interrupted. 'Mounted men, you say? Horse or camel?'