Centurion by Simon Scarrow Read Free Book Online

men say, sir.’
    ‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they? They want the hide off my man. They’d say anything to have that.’
    ‘Just as your men would say anything to save his skin,’ Macro replied icily.’I think we have to accept that the men’s accounts will be biased. But I was there. I saw what happened. With respect, sir, you didn’t. Crispus is guilty. He has to be punished according to military law.’
    Amatius frowned for a moment before he replied with forced cordiality. ‘Look, Prefect, I understand your feelings on this. It’s only natural that you’d share your men’s desire for revenge.’
    ‘Not revenge, sir. Justice.’
    ‘Call it what you will. But hear me out. If your man had pulled the knife, you’d want him spared, wouldn’t you?’
    ‘What I want is irrelevant, sir,’ Macro responded firmly. ‘The punishment for such a crime is clear enough.’
    ‘Look here,’ Amatius persisted. ‘Macro, you were once a legionary, weren’t you?’
    ‘Yes, sir. So?’
    ‘So you must have some loyalty to your comrades in the legions.You would not want a comrade to be executed over the death of some mere provincial levy, surely?’
    Macro felt his blood pound through his veins as his rage swelled at this description of his men as provincial levies. They were the Second Illyrian. The men who had fought off a rebel army, backed by Parthia, and crushed the uprising in Judaea the previous year. The men were tough and had guts, and they had proved themselves where it counted, in battle. Macro was proud of them. Proud enough to place his loyalty to them above anything he owed to the brotherhood of the legions.That thought came to him in a rush and took him by surprise. Then he realised it was true. He had taken to his new command more than he had thought. Macro felt a strong sense of responsibility and duty to his men and he was damned if he was going to let a pampered aristocrat like Amatius try to drive a wedge between him and the men of the Second Illyrian.
    Macro took a deep breath to calm himself before replying. ‘No legionary I know of would stoop low enough to make that kind of appeal . . . sir.’
    There was a sharp intake of breath as Amatius sat bolt upright and glared at Macro. ‘That’s gross insubordination, Prefect. If you were in my legion I’d break you for that.’
    Longinus cleared his throat. ‘But he’s not in your legion, Gallus Amatius, so he’s not under your jurisdiction. However,’ Longinus smiled, ‘he is under my command and I will not tolerate such dissension between my officers. So, Prefect, I will ask you to withdraw that last remark and apologise.’
    Macro shook his head. ‘Go to Hades, sir.’
    ‘I’m sure I will. But not on your say-so. Now you will apologise, or I shall have to find someone else to command the Second Illyrian.’
    ‘I’m sure one of my officers would relish the chance to whip those auxiliaries into shape,’ Amatius added with relish. ‘One of my tribunes perhaps.’
    Macro clenched his jaw. This was unbearable. The two aristocrats were using him for their sport, but much as he would like to openly reveal his contempt for them and their kind – politicians playing at soldiers – he dared not let his pride come before the best interests of his men. Some smart-arsed tribune from the Tenth Legion with a taste for glory was the last thing the cohort needed when it went up against the Parthians. Macro swallowed hard and turned to Amatius with a frigid expression.
    ‘My apologies, sir.’
    Amatius smiled. ‘That’s better. A man should know his place.’
    ‘Indeed,’ Longinus added. ‘But there, that’s settled. We still have to decide what to do about this legionary of yours.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ Amatius composed his face. ‘A punishment along the lines I suggested is sufficient, given the circumstances. While I can understand the prefect’s feelings on the matter, we are talking about the life of a Roman citizen after all.’
    Macro