His bruised head had been shaved, but several days without any attention had left it with a dark furze. Somewhat younger than Cato, his eyes were deep-set either side of the wide curved nose that was typical of the native race. He wore a plain red military tunic, which Cato guessed must have been lent to him. He stood before them barefoot and unbowed. He spoke in Greek, fluently. ‘You sent for me, sir,’ he announced, somehow making the last word sound like a condescension. ‘Indeed.’ The governor nodded. ‘I’d like you to tell your story to these two officers.’ ‘Why? I’ve already given a statement, which was taken down by your scribe. It’s not necessary, a waste of time.’ ‘There’s no need for the high and mighty act,’ said Macro with a frown that would have unnerved a less easily subdued man than Hamedes. ‘Just be a good lad and give us the details.’ The priest looked Macro up and down. ‘And who might I be addressing, if I may ask?’ Macro puffed his chest out.
