‘I’m not sure. He didn’t seem to move. Not even when I called to challenge him. He made no reply, sir.’

‘I see.’ Macro squinted ahead for a moment. ‘And nothing since then. No sign of movement? No sound?’

‘No, sir. Nothing.’

Macro turned to Cato. ‘What do you think?’

Cato felt his heartbeat quicken and suppressed the urge to tremble that was building at the base of his spine. He swallowed before replying as steadily as he could, ‘I think we should see for ourselves, Centurion.’ He turned to the decurion. ‘Trebellius, if you hear anything, come forward at once with your men. Understand?’

Trebellius nodded and made no offer to join his superiors as they walked their horses forward.

The mist hung across the landscape like a veil wafting in the lightest of airs. Thicker one moment and then thinning in patches before it closed in again. An eerie quiet and sense of menace pressed in from all sides. Then a fluke in the light breeze revealed the track before them and they saw a thin shape emerge from the mist fifty paces ahead. At once the two halted their horses.

‘What’s that?’ Macro squinted. ‘Your eyes are better than mine. Is that a man?’

‘I think so, but he’s not moving.’

If it was a man, there was something odd about his posture, Cato decided. He drew a deep breath and called out, ‘Who goes there?’

There was no reply, and still no sign of movement, and after a short interval Cato walked his mount on, followed closely by Macro.

‘I don’t like it,’ the centurion muttered. ‘What if it’s another ambush?’

‘If it is then they’re doing their level best not to catch us by surprise.’

Despite his calm tone, Cato’s heart was pounding inside his chest and his hands felt clammy with anxiety as he led the way along the track. He glanced to each side, straining his eyes and ears for any sound of movement, but all was as before. Ahead, the figure slowly resolved into a firm outline as they approached. It was clearly a man, and at last they could see why he had made no movement nor responded to Macro’s challenge. He was naked and impaled on a stout wooden stake that had been driven into the middle of the track. The man’s pale, mottled skin was covered in painted native designs and his limbs and head hung lifelessly. As they drew closer, Cato could see that the stake had been driven up under his groin and the wood was covered in a dark stain that had also pooled on the ground around the base of the stake.

‘What in Hades’ name is this?’ Macro asked softly.

‘A marker, I should think. Quertus is setting out the boundary of his territory and warning those who dare to enter the valley.’

‘Warning who? The enemy, or us?’