Jarza was right about the risk, but he was dead wrong about the hesitation, for Alpheo held none.
He knew the nightmare of overseas logistics; he knew that shipping grain across a wide stretch of water was a drain on the treasury, and he knew that every legionnaire sent across the sea was a blade missing from home. And in their world where a four-month training cycle was the difference between a recruit and a soldier, the manpower was a precious currency he was currently spending on a gamble. Especially when war was so close to his shore.
But Alpheo had made his name through motion, so he did not hesitate.
"Legate," Alpheo said. His voice was suddenly stripped of all warmth. The familiarity of two lifelong friends vanished, replaced by the weight of their position.
Jarza snapped to attention. Even with the remnants of dinner on his breath, the soldier's instinct took over; his spine straightened against the back of his chair as if he were standing before a reviewing stand.
