Chapter 3

‘Then you will have time,’ said Marcellus, ‘to clear the Commander’s quarters, so that I may occupy those rooms to-night.’

Sextus acknowledged the order and tramped heavily to the door. Appetites were not keen, but the staff made a show of finishing dinner. Marcellus lingered at his table. At length, when he rose, they all stood in their places. He bowed and left the room, followed by Demetrius. As they passed the open door of the Commander’s rooms, on their way to the quarters which had been assigned them earlier, it was observed that a dozen slaves were busily engaged in making the place ready for occupation.

After a few minutes, the men came and transferred their various gear to the Commander’s quarters. When they were alone, Marcellus sat down behind the big desk. Demetrius stood at attention before him.

‘Well, Demetrius?’ Marcellus raised his brows inquiringly. ‘What is on your mind?’

Demetrius brought the shaft of his spear to his forehead in salute.

‘I wish to say, sir, that I am much honoured to be the slave of the Commander of Minoa.’

‘Thanks, Demetrius,’ smiled Marcellus, wearily. ‘We will have to wait—and see—who commands Minoa. This is a tough undertaking. The preliminary skirmish was satisfactory, but—making peace is always more difficult than making war.’

For the next few days the nerves of the legion were tense. The new Legate had demonstrated his determination to be in full authority, but it was by no means clear whether that authority would be maintained on any other terms than a relentless coercion.

Paulus had suffered a severe loss of prestige, but his influence was still to be reckoned with. He was obeying orders respectfully, but with such grim taciturnity that no one was able to guess what was going on in his mind. Whether he was not yet fully convalescent from the wounds dealt to his pride, or was sullenly deliberating some overt act of revenge, remained to be seen. Marcellus had formed no clear opinion about this. Demetrius planted his bunk directly inside the door, every night, and slept with his dagger in his hand.

After a week, the tension began to relax a little as the garrison became accustomed to the new discipline. Marcellus issued crisp orders and insisted upon absolute obedience; not the sluggish compliance that had been good enough for Gaza, but a prompt and vigorous response that marched with clipped steps and made no tarrying to ask foolish questions or offer lame excuses.

It had seemed wise to the new Commander to let his more personal relations with the staff develop naturally without too much cultivation. He showed no favouritism, preserved his official dignity, and in his dealings with his fellow officers wasted no words. He was just, considerate, and approachable, but very firm. Presently the whole organization was feeling the effect of the tighter regulations, but without apparent resentment. The men marched with a fresh vigour and seemed to take pride in keeping their equipment in order. The appearance and morale of the officers had vastly improved.

Every morning, Paulus, now second in command, came to the office of Marcellus for instructions. Not a word had passed between them relative to their dramatic introduction. Their conversations were conducted with icy formality and the stiffest kind of official courtesy. Paulus, faultlessly dressed, would appear at the door and ask to see the Commander. The sentry would convey the request. The Commander would instruct the sentry to admit the Centurion. Paulus would enter and stand straight as an arrow before the official desk. Salutes would be exchanged.

‘It is necessary to replace six camels, sir.’

‘Why?’ Marcellus would snap.

‘One is lame. Two are sick. Three are too old for service.’

‘Replace them!’

‘Yes, sir.’