Free Brothers in Blood by Simon Scarrow

making a packet and she wants me to join her and expand the business.’
    ‘Oh?’
    This was the first Cato had heard of the letter, and he felt a twinge of anxiety as he regarded his friend, the man he had served with ever since joining the Second Legion as a pasty-faced recruit ten years ago. Life in the army without Macro was unthinkable, but he had to accept that his friend was reaching the end of his enlistment and might well choose to take his discharge bounty and retire.
    Macro considered a second spoonful and decided against it for the moment. He looked up at Cato. ‘I don’t know, lad. Sometimes I think I’m getting a bit long in the tooth for soldiering. Can’t deny the prospect of running a drinking hole for the rest of my days isn’t tempting.’
    ‘And you handle your drink so well,’ Cato smiled.
    ‘I don’t get as much practice as I’d like.’
    ‘I think regular practice would kill you, on the evidence of this morning.’
    ‘If anything is going to kill me, it’s this bloody poison your servant has mixed. Might as well cut out the middle man.’ Macro turned and flicked the contents of the mess tin into the fire where the gruel steamed, bubbled, spat and hissed for a moment. He scratched his chin in thought. ‘I don’t know, Cato. My limbs are getting a bit stiff. I ain’t as strong or as quick as I used to be, and in this trade that isn’t good. I’ve been in plenty of fights. Good times, eh? Up until this year I’ve fought well enough. But lately? I get the feeling that I’ve already been as good a soldier as I am ever going to be. From here, it’s downhill. At some point, I’m bound to run into an enemy I can’t beat. When that day comes the chances are I’ll be cut to pieces. It might be for the best if I quit before that happens.’
    Cato had been listening with a sinking heart. When Macro finished he looked at him to see how he would respond.
    Cato shook his head slowly. ‘Well, I have to say, I’m surprised. I’d never have thought you’d be the one to jack in soldiering to run an inn. There’s still plenty of fight left in you as far as I’m concerned, and of course it’d be a sad loss for the army . . .’ The string of platitudes dried up and Cato sat in awkward silence, not quite certain how to voice his real reasons for not wanting Macro to take his discharge.
    His friend was watching his downcast expression closely and suddenly he could contain his mirth no longer and let out a roar of laughter.
    ‘If you could see your face! It’s a bloody picture!’
    Cato was startled by the sudden transformation. ‘What are you talking about?’
    Macro shook his head. ‘Just fucking about with you, lad! Paying you back for that shit you had Thraxis put together. Think I didn’t see that wink?’
    ‘You mean . . . You aren’t thinking of leaving the army?’
    ‘What? Are you mad? What else can I do? I’d be bloody useless on civvy street.’
    It was hard not to show his relief, even though he was annoyed by the petty trick. Cato wagged a finger at him.
    ‘Next time, I’ll give orders for your discharge myself. Just to make certain.’
    ‘Oh sure. Anyway, you’ll not get your chance. I’ve already handed in my request to extend my enlistment. Just waiting to hear back from the legate, and then I’m signed up for another ten years.’ He leaned forward and clapped Cato on the shoulder. ‘You don’t get rid of me that easily!’
    ‘Glad to hear it,’ Cato said with feeling and hurriedly turned his attention back to his breakfast, determined not to let his relief show.
    The grizzled veteran smiled to himself, touched by the sentiment of his younger friend. His gaze returned to the pot by the fire. A thin trail of steam curled up from the gruel and he felt his stomach lurch in disgust at the very idea of trying to eat.
    ‘You should try some,’ Cato urged. ‘Or you’ll be hungry later on.’
    ‘Eat that? No fucking chance. I’d sooner lick a turd off a