Macro nodded. ‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘The first jar is on me, as soon as we make camp tonight.’
‘Why wait?’ Macro flipped his cloak back and drew out his canteen. ‘Took the liberty of helping myself to what was left of the Falernian. Not bad stuff.’ He offered the canteen to Cato. ‘You first. Rank has its privileges.’
Cato shook his head. ‘So does friendship. After you.’
Macro laughed, pulled out the stopper and took a healthy swig before he passed the canteen over to Cato. The prefect thought for a moment before he raised the canteen in a toast.
‘To Rome, to honour and, above all, to friendship!’
Вы читаете The Blood Crows
