‘What’s going on here, then?’ a gruff voice interrupted. Cato glanced to his left and saw Macro emerging from the gloom, picking his way through the stunted saplings growing along the edge of the hollow. There was a small growl of frustration in Quertus’s throat before he sheathed his weapon and eased himself into a more erect posture. Cato followed suit, his heart still pounding inside his chest. In a wild moment of fancy he thought about calling on Macro to help him kill Quertus here and now while they had the chance. But there was the danger that he might fatally injure one of them. And what if they returned to the camp without the Thracian? How would his men react? Whatever story Cato made up, they would be suspicious and send someone to look for their leader. When they found the body, they would tear Cato and Macro apart. With bitter realisation he knew that this was not the time to act. He turned to his friend and tried to sound calm.

‘Macro, what are you doing here?’

‘You’ve been a long time, sir. I was worried. Came to make sure nothing had happened to you. Both of you.’

If his meaning was clear to Cato, it was just as clear to Quertus who glanced up at the sky and pressed his lips together before he spoke.

‘We’d better get on with it, sir. Before the enemy stir.’

‘Yes.’ Cato nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on Quertus. ‘Back to the camp. You lead the way.’

Quertus set off at once, striding up and out of the hollow, his bulky shoulders brushing through the slender limbs of the saplings, spraying dew in his wake. Cato hurried after him and Macro fell into step at his shoulder.

‘You all right, sir?’ he asked softly.

‘Fine.’

‘Looks like I turned up at the right moment just then. What was going on?’

‘A difference of opinion. That’s all.’

Macro was quiet for a moment. ‘A difference of opinion with that Thracian cunt is likely to be the death of a man. You’d better keep a close watch on him.’

‘I already am, believe me.’

They struggled to keep up with Quertus as they left the saplings and entered the tall pines that stretched up the slope. Already a pale light was spreading across the sky and filling the trees with a milky hue. Ahead Quertus strode swiftly, occasionally glancing back, but he neither slowed his pace to let them catch up nor tried to draw ahead and leave them behind. He seemed content to maintain a safe distance between them. A short while later they reached the clearing where the four squadrons of Thracian cavalry had spent the night without fires to warm them. The men had already saddled their mounts and stood in small groups, talking in undertones, their spears against their shoulders and their oval shields resting on the ground.