‘To a safe house. Where we can talk without any risk of being overheard. It’s also a place where we can meet and where you can drop off any messages safely. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting to and from the Praetorian camp - the soldiers pass in and out of their barracks freely. That’s how we’ll communicate for the most part.’ Septimus looked round warily. ‘Follow me. But let’s make it look casual. Better finish our drinks first.’

He poured himself a cup and raised his voice. ‘For the road!’

Macro and Cato followed suit and forced down what remained in their cups, then reached for their packs and stood up. By now the inn was filling with customers and they had to push their way to the entrance. Outside the tout was still looking for further custom. He smiled as he saw them. ‘Leaving so soon? The night is barely beginning, sirs. Stay awhile and drink your fill.’

Macro stopped in front of him. He drew a breath and spoke loudly enough so that passers-by could clearly hear him. ‘Anyone who drinks their fill of the slop in this place is going to be staying for more than a while. It’s poison.’

The tout tried to laugh it off and clapped Macro on the shoulder as he turned to join Cato and Septimus. In a flash, Macro spun round and slammed his fist into the tout’s stomach. As the man collapsed, gasping for breath, Macro backed off with a look of bitter satisfaction.

‘That’ll knock the wind out of the bugger. Stop him peddling his wares for a bit.’

Septimus glanced nervously at the people who had stopped to witness Macro’s action.

‘Macro,’ Cato hissed. ‘Let’s go before you attract any more attention, shall we?’