Chapter 19

The centurion risked a dry grin.

‘It is an annual custom, sir. All our Palestinian forts send deputations to the Holy City during the Week of the Passover, to keep the peace.’

‘And rattle our armour,’ assisted the Proconsul. ‘I presume your Legate is to be found through the Procurator’s Insula?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘We will have to proceed to Jerusalem, then, and deliver our message. It is urgent.’

Mencius was turning Brutus about toward the gate when the centurion invited them to tarry for such hospitality as the fort could offer, but the Proconsul declined. They must be on their way. At the gate he turned to say, ‘This is a different place from the last time I saw it, centurion. Apparently your new Legate believes in brooms and discipline.’

‘He does indeed, sir!’

‘Tough taskmaster, eh?’

‘He keeps the Legion on its toes, sir; but we like it better that way. The Legate is tough—but he’s fair.’

‘Fine!’ approved Mencius. ‘He must be enjoying his command at Minoa.’

‘Yes, sir. Probably not, sir. I don’t see how he could, sir. Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!’

The heavy gates closed behind them, and they laughed all the way up the road.

‘The fellow has humour, sir,’ chuckled Fulvius, with a fair imitation of the centurion’s stiff drollery. ‘He should go far, sir.’

‘Yes, sir,’ snapped Mencius. ‘Probably not, sir.’

In an hour, the crew of The Vestris, unhappy over the brief shore-leave but with too much sense to protest, gave the old ship all the canvas she could carry and sailed for Joppa.

‘Want to ride with me—to Jerusalem?’ asked Mencius.

‘Why not, sir?’ said Fulvius.

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