Free Centurion by Simon Scarrow Page A

and Cato could well understand why.The haughty legionaries would be humiliated by appearing before the auxiliaries of the Second Illyrian without their armour and weapons. That was quite deliberate. Army discipline demanded that the comrades of a condemned man shared his shame so that they would be sure to punish him for humbling them. In future, they might be more careful about letting another man commit an offence that would rebound on them. Since Amatius would be obliged to lead the party from the Tenth and bear witness to the execution, he too would take some small share of the shame, hence the smouldering hatred in his eyes as he glared at Macro and Cato briefly before striding from the hall, and slamming the door behind him with a crashing boom.
    For a moment nothing was said, then Macro dipped his head in acknowledgement to Cassius Longinus.
    ‘Thank you, sir. It was the right decision.’
    ‘I don’t need you to tell me that,’ Longinus snapped.
    ‘Very well, sir. But thank you anyway.’ Macro paused. ‘Is there anything else?’
    ‘No. Just make sure this doesn’t happen again. I’ve had enough of the pair of you interfering in my business in Syria. If it hadn’t been for the Parthians I’d have got rid of you. By now you’d be well on your way back to Rome to report in person to that snake, Narcissus. As it is . . . I need every man I can scrape together to face the Parthians. There’s no question that I would defeat them if I had the reinforcements I asked for. But there’s only the three legions and a handful of auxiliary units available to take them on. The odds are not good.’ Longinus smiled coldly. ‘So if I succeed then the glory is greater. But if I fail, then I shall draw some small comfort from the knowledge that you two will be dying alongside me.’
    Cato wondered at the change in Longinus’ mood from the triumphalism of his address to his assembled officers. Then he realised that this was what Roman aristocrats trained so many years for: the perfectly pitched performance to win over their public, despite any personal misgivings over the cause that they were promoting. And Longinus had been persuasive enough, Cato reflected. It seemed that Cato alone had not been swept along on the wave of his rhetoric. Even Macro, who knew of the governor’s dubious political manoeuvres, had been momentarily carried away by the prospect of action and glory.
    ‘Leave me,’ Longinus ordered. ‘Go and make your preparations for the execution.’
    He gestured casually towards the door. Macro and Cato stood to attention, saluted, and turned away, marching in step as they left the Roman governor of Syria alone in his makeshift audience chamber.

    In the thin light of pre-dawn the men of the Second Illyrian were stirred from their tents by the harsh cries of their optios and centurions as the officers strode down the tent lines, yanking back the tent flaps and bellowing at the rudely awakened men inside. Hurriedly pulling on their rough woollen tunics, boots and chain-mail corselets, they emerged into the cool air before cramming on their skullcaps and helmets and tying the chin straps. Lastly, they gathered shields and javelins and took up their positions in the centuries forming in front of the tents. The cavalry squadrons, with their longer blades and thrusting spears, formed up on the flanks. Their mounts would not be needed for the assembly to bear witness to the execution, and they remained tethered in the horse lines, chewing contentedly on the barley in the feed bags that had been brought to them as soon as their riders had risen from their tents.
    Macro, with Cato at his shoulder, paced down the lines inspecting his men. The execution of Crispus would be a formal affair. Even though the legionary was a condemned murderer he was still a soldier and would be accorded appropriate respect even as he died.Though the man he had killed was one of their comrades the men of the Second Illyrian would pay