And officers could be such unpredictable bastards, the sentry thought nervously, first whiff of power and they either don’t know what to do with it, or they insist on giving bloody-minded and stupid orders. Macro suddenly realised that he had been gazing at the sentry for a while and that the legionary was shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny, as one tends to in front of a silently staring superior. For, when all his qualities were placed in the balance, Macro was a good soldier – when good soldiering was required – conscientious in his duties, reliably obedient to orders and he could be counted on to hold firm in a fight and inspire others to do the same. But, for some months before the promotion, Macro had been aware that senior officers were considering him for the first available vacancy in the centurionate and had done his best to keep indiscretions to a minimum. It was hard to register a respectful attitude to one who so recently had been seen emptying his guts of a skinful of cheap wine.

His former comrades in the ranks were still inclined to treat him as an equal. Only a few months earlier Lucius Cornelius Macro had been an optio and was still finding promotion to the centurionate hard to handle. ‘No, sir!’ The sentry snapped to attention under the glare of his superior. ‘I don’t recall asking for an opinion on policy, soldier.’ ‘Unless there’s been some change in marching drill.’ Chapter One An icy blast of wind swept into the latrine with the sentry.

Simon scarrow under the eagle