Aurelius thrust his fist in the air. A handful of officers followed suit, then a few more, anxious to win the favour of their new commander. Some of the more experienced and professional officers merely nodded or applauded politely. Others, Cato noted, sat in stony silence. Once Aurelius realised that he had won all the acclaim that he was going to get, he raised his hands and gestured for quiet. 'That's all for now, gentlemen. You are dismissed.'

There was a low hubbub of conversation as the men rose and edged away around the pool and filtered out through the columns at the far end. Macro turned to Cato. 'Quite the orator, our camp prefect,' he said wryly. 'There wasn't a dry eye in the house, though for my part it was due to embarrassment. What a pillock.'

'I think he meant it. Every word of it.'

'You're not serious?'

'Oh yes. He knows he is never going to make his mark as a competent staff officer. This is his one chance to win some fame. This has potential to become a dangerous situation, Macro.'

'Really? I thought the fact that we are outnumbered, the soldiers are of questionable quality and now it's possible that Ajax has thrown in his lot with the Nubians meant that things were already dangerous.'

Cato frowned at him. 'All right then, it could be even more dangerous. Happy now? Come on, we have to speak to Aurelius.'

'What about?'

'We have to persuade him to rein in his thirst for glory.' Cato made his way round the end of the pool towards the table where Aurelius was talking to a handful of other officers, some of whom Cato had seen at headquarters since he and Macro had arrived. Aurelius turned towards them as they approached and smiled warmly.

'What did you think of my small oration?'

'Inspiring,' Cato responded warily.

'I know. I have been waiting for the chance to make such a speech,' Aurelius continued in a pleased tone. 'I confess that I was much influenced by a book I read in the Great Library some months back. Battle addresses of history's great commanders. A minor work by Livius, but beautifully written. Just the stuff to stir a man's blood, eh?' He tapped Cato on the chest.

'I haven't had the chance to read it, sir,' Cato replied evenly. 'Perhaps I will once the campaign is over. Speaking of which, I would welcome the opportunity to discuss your plans for the campaign. I assume you will be following normal practice and therefore include both myself and the first spear centurion in drawing up the army's orders, sir.'

A brief look of irritation clouded Aurelius's expression. 'There is no need, Tribune Cato. The plans were drawn up by the legate and his closest advisers. Now they are dead. Only I remain from the ranks of those he trusted with his scheme for defeating the Nubians.' Aurelius paused briefly. 'Of course, I may see fit to amend some details, but I have my own advisers.' He indicated the four men standing to his other side. 'So I will not need to trouble you for any advice.'

'It's no trouble, sir. We would be glad to offer you the benefit of our considerable experience.'

'Your considerable experience?' Aurelius smiled faintly. 'Tribune, these men and I were, in all likelihood, serving the Emperor when you were but an infant suckling at your mother's tit. We can manage with the experience we already have between us. But I thank you for your offer all the same.' His eyes brightened as another thought struck him. 'However, I have every wish to put your abilities, and those of good Centurion Macro, to use. I would be obliged if you would take charge of the training regime of the legion. The men are already fine soldiers, but a little exercise and some sword practice will hone their spirits to the appropriate edge, I should think. Macro here has the stern look of a drill instructor, and the voice of one too, I should imagine. Let your experience be of use to the Twenty-Second Legion in that manner, eh? Leave the operational planning to those who have served in Egypt and know the ground well.'

'It ain't as simple as that, sir,' Macro responded. 'We have good reason to believe that the Nubians have been joined by the fugitive slave that Prefect – Tribune Cato and I had been hunting before we were reassigned to the legion.'

'Oh? And how did you come by this snippet of intelligence?'

'We questioned the survivor of the ambush, sir. He told us that a gladiator led the attack and left a survivor to tell the tale.'

'Nonsense,' Aurelius said firmly. 'The man is delirious. You heard the decurion say so earlier this morning.'

'He seemed lucid enough when we spoke to him, sir,' said Cato. 'If Ajax serves with the Nubians then I think it is vital that we, who have faced Ajax before, and know his methods, should be involved in any plans that are made for the coming campaign.'

Aurelius shook his head. 'I think the fact that you have failed to track down and capture this man is eloquent testimony of your failure to comprehend his methods, Tribune. Perhaps it is time a fresh mind was set to the task. Meanwhile I would like you, and Centurion Macro, to take care of the training. I want a full report on your training scheme, and an accurate projection of the number of men who will be fit to serve once the campaign begins. I would like that report on my desk as soon as possible.' He offered them a brief smile. 'I think you will soon see that we have the measure of our enemy, without the help of any advice you might care to offer. That is all, gentlemen.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato saluted, and after a brief hesitation Macro followed suit. They turned about and strode swiftly away from Aurelius and his staff.

'Why the hell didn't you say something, sir?' asked Macro in an undertone.

'I did, in case you missed it.'

'How dare he dismiss us in such a fashion!' Macro fumed. 'You in particular. No commander of a legion ever ignores the advice of his senior tribune and his first spear centurion. Not if he's any good.'

'It is only common practice, Macro. He is under no obligation to consult us.'

Macro was silent, then he glanced at Cato. 'Fuck, you were right, sir.'

'I was? What about?'

'The situation just got more dangerous.'

Five days later Cato and Macro were standing to one side of the makeshift parade ground outside the temple complex. It was late in the afternoon and the regular breeze that swept in from the desert was swirling the dust kicked up by the First Cohort of the legion as it tramped round the circuit, laden with full kit and marching yokes. A number of men had already collapsed from exhaustion and had been hauled aside to recover in the shade of Karnak's outer wall. The stragglers were being driven on by the centurions and optios Macro had selected to act as his drill instructors. Some of them had served in other legions and still clung to the hard-won values that had been instilled before they were posted to Egypt. They shouted abuse and threats at the legionaries, and used their sticks freely to spur the men on.

Macro regarded the scene fondly. 'Like old times. Nothing I like better than getting the men ready for battle.'

'Nothing?' asked Cato with an amused expression.

'All right, there's wine and there's women too. I'm not that picky. Find me a boozy, belligerent Amazon and I'll die a happy man.'

Cato laughed and then turned his attention back to the exhausted men as they paced past the two officers. 'What is the condition of the First Cohort?'

Macro rubbed his chin. 'Most of the men are sound enough. They struggled on the first two days, but they've rediscovered their marching boots. They're ready for the campaign. Battle drill is another matter.'

'Oh?'

'The sword skills are there. They've had regular weapons practice at least. The trouble is that some of the formations are shaky. When I tried each century on forming a testudo there were gaps wide enough to drive a battering ram through. Looked more like an upended colander than a bloody tortoise. They're getting better though, now that I've turned my best officers on them.'