The Legion by Simon Scarrow Read Free Book Online Page A

distant sounds of the city outside the palace merged into a constant low drone.

    Cato was sitting at a table, drinking a cup of water, savouring the fact that he no longer had to limit himself to a small ration.

    Macro glanced out at the guards and crossed the room and sat on a stool opposite Cato. ‘What the hell is going on? Why are we under arrest?’

    ‘You heard him. Murder and piracy.’

    ‘What kind of crap is that?’ Macro fumed. ‘We’re officers of the Roman army. And you, you’re a prefect.’

    ‘Glad you’ve noticed.’

    ‘How dare they treat you like this? By the gods, some fool will pay for this, and pay dearly.’

    ‘Macro, there’s obviously been some mistake. It’ll be sorted out. There’s no use flaring up, you’re just wasting your energy.’ Cato filled another cup and pushed it across the table towards his friend. ‘Here. Have a drink.’

    Macro gritted his teeth as he controlled his temper. Then he took the cup and drained it quickly and set it down with a sharp rap. ‘Another.’

    This time he drank more slowly then pushed the empty cup away. ‘That’s better. Bloody tongue was starting to feel like a strip of old boot leather.’

    ‘I know what you mean.’ Cato nodded. ‘I hope water’s been provided for the men on the ships. They’re still out there in the sun.’

    Macro frowned at him. ‘I think you should be concentrating on our predicament rather than theirs.’

    ‘Why? Didn’t you always tell me that a good officer thinks of the well-being of his men before his own? You used to be quite adamant about that when I was your optio.’

    ‘Did I?’ Macro grumbled. ‘What good is that doing you right now, eh?’

    ‘It’s taking my mind off being stuck in here with a firebrand who is storming around the place like a caged bull.’

    Macro’s weathered and scarred face creased into a smile. ‘Sorry. I just don’t take kindly to being called a murderer and pirate. A killer and plunderer, yes. That goes with the job.’

    ‘To some minds that would seem to be a distinction of degree rather than category, Macro,’ Cato replied wryly.

    ‘Really?’ Macro raised his eyebrows. ‘Then fuck ’em, I say. I’m no murderer.’

    Cato had become well used to the rather rough and ready nature of Macro’s soldier’s sophistry and simply shrugged.

    Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of boots in the corridor outside the watchroom and a moment later the guards stepped aside to admit the centurion in charge of the arresting party, as well as the governor of the province and a scribe. The centurion stood to one side and bowed his head as he announced, ‘His Excellency, Gaius Petronius, governor of Alexandria and the province of Egypt, and legate of the Emperor.’

    Cato and Macro stood up and bowed their heads as Petronius strode to the centre of the room and stopped, hands on hips, a dark expression on his face. He snapped his fingers and pointed at the corner. The scribe hurried over, sat cross-legged, and took a waxed tablet and stylus from his satchel.

    Petronius rounded on Cato. ‘I let you take my forces to Crete to quash rebellion, not to spread it about even more widely. You two have a lot to answer for.’ Petronius glared at them. ‘You’ve got the entire delta region up in arms and not just them. The merchants’ and traders’ guilds of the city want your heads. I’m tempted to give due legal process a miss and let the mob tear you to pieces, before their mood boils over into open revolt.’ He folded his arms. ‘So please, in the name of all the gods, tell me just what the hell you two think you are up to?’

    ‘Up to, sir?’ Cato shook his head. ‘I don’t understand.’

    ‘Bollocks! I’ve been getting reports for the best part of a month that you have been terrorising the coastal villages. Landing, demanding supplies and killing those who refuse to cooperate. I’ve even heard that you have been stopping ships, torturing