‘It’s possible. But then why are there signs of grain in every one of the storage chambers? It looks to me like they had all of it here before they moved it on. So why did they do it …?’ Cato chewed his lip. ‘They must have been worried that it would be discovered. They’re playing safe. After all, we discovered the location readily enough. In any case, I’m certain that the grain is still here in Rome.’

‘Where then, smart-arse?’

‘That’s the question.’ Cato looked round at the silent walls of the warehouse. ‘It would have to be another place like this.’

‘Cato, there must be scores of warehouses along the wharf on this side of the river alone. Not to mention those on the other side of the Tiber, and the warehouses behind the Forum, and the other markets in the city. We can’t search them all.’

‘Not without alerting the other side,’ Cato conceded. ‘As soon as they got wind that we were on to them they’d have to make their move and put whatever they’re planning into effect.’

‘So what do we do?’

Cato sighed. ‘Tell Septimus to report back to Narcissus. What else? Now let’s get out of here.’

They returned to the wall where one of the handcarts had been left a short distance to one side of the gate. Macro climbed up on to it and again lifted Cato up on to the wall. He cautiously peered over the top to where the guard had returned to his stool to continue his meal. Beyond, the fight over the spilt fruit had ended. The gang master and his thugs had re-established their cordon and the unloading of the barge had resumed. Several bodies lay on the ground about them, most moving feebly and a few lying still. Those who had managed to gather some of the dates had already fled the scene while the rest continued to watch the unloading of the barge, hoping for another chance to snatch something to eat. Cato looked for, and then saw, Septimus. The imperial agent raised a hand in acknowledgement and then made his way along the wharf to the gate. He stopped a short distance from the guard.

‘Spare me some of that?’ Septimus pointed to the bread and sausage resting in the man’s lap.

‘Fuck off.’

‘Come on, friend. I’m hungry.’

‘That’s not my problem. And I’m not your friend, so like I said, fuck off.’