Free Centurion by Simon Scarrow

‘For Rome and victory!’
    All around Cato and Macro the officers punched their fists into the air and echoed the cry. After a quick glance at Cato Macro followed suit and joined in the cheering with a lusty roar. Cato sighed and shook his head before joining in half-heartedly. Not for the first time, despite his hard-won sense of himself as a soldier, he felt detached from the hardy professionalism of the other officers. Up on the podium Cassius Longinus was milking the martial mood for all he was worth, turning to one section of the audience at a time and thrusting his sword up in the air. At length he sheathed the weapon and stood back from the podium as the senior centurion of the Tenth Legion stepped forward and slammed his vine cane down on the flagstone and bellowed, ‘Dismissed!’
    The officers turned and began to shuffle towards the doors, talking animatedly about the prospect of a new campaign. It would be the first action that many had seen since their posting to the province of Syria. The wary balance of power that had existed between Parthia and Rome since the days of the first emperor, Augustus, had finally crumbled. The long game of diplomacy and subterfuge that had been played out between the agents of the two empires was over and now the clash of great armies would decide the conflict.
    ‘Prefect Macro! Centurion Cato!’
    Cato started at the shout echoing off the walls and with Macro he turned to see the senior centurion staring at them. ‘Remain behind!’
    ‘Shit,’ Macro muttered as the nearest officers briefly shot them curious looks. ‘What now?’
    Cato shrugged his shoulders and began to ease his way through the crowd leaving the hall as he led the way towards the podium. Cato saw that Longinus and Legate Amatius were watching as he and Macro strode towards them. They stood before the podium as the last of the officers left the hall. Longinus nodded to the senior centurion.
    ‘That’s all.You may leave.’
    ‘Yes, sir!’ The centurion saluted smartly and turned to march after his comrades, nailed boots echoing across the flagstones. He left the hall, pulling the doors closed behind him, and then Longinus turned to Macro and Cato.
    ‘There’s one other matter to be resolved before my army goes to war. I have decided the fate of Legionary Crispus.’
    All three subordinates stared intently at their commander as Longinus continued. ‘In view of the gravity of the offence, and the utmost need to preserve discipline given the present circumstances, I have decided that Crispus must be put to death.’
    ‘No!’ Amatius shook his head. ‘Sir, I protest.You gave me to believe that he would be spared.’
    ‘I said no such thing,’ Longinus snapped. ‘Did I?’
    Amatius sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. ‘No, sir. But you implied it.’
    ‘Implication is not proof.’ Longinus glanced meaningfully at Macro and Cato before he continued. ‘Crispus will be broken by the men of his century, before the assembled ranks of the Second Illyrian. At dawn tomorrow. You will communicate the news to the prisoner, Legate, and see that he is held securely until the execution is carried out. I have heard of incidents when condemned men have escaped in the past. If Crispus is permitted to abscond, then the men assigned to guard him will take his place. Make sure that they understand that. Clear?’
    Amatius swallowed his anger and turned to Macro with a bitter expression. ‘I imagine you’re delighted by the news.’
    Macro stared back for a moment before he replied, ‘If you imagine that, sir, then I fear that you will never understand the soldiers that you command.’
    Amatius glared at Macro for an instant, then turned back to Longinus and stiffened his back. ‘Is that all, sir?’
    ‘That’s all. Have Crispus’ comrades report to the parade ground outside the camp at first light. They are to wear tunics only and be issued with cudgels.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    Amatius’ tone was subdued