‘Is that wise?’

Macro smacked his lips and shrugged. ‘Hair of the dog and all that.’

‘I wonder what your dear mother would say.’

‘You can’t imagine. So what are you doing, slumming it back here with the squaddies?’

‘Passing on orders from the governor. He wants us on our best behaviour in front of the locals. So I’d go easy on the wine if I were you.’

‘Not a problem, I can handle it when I want to. Right now I’m just having a laugh with the lads. You can trust me to play my part when the time comes. Have I ever let you down before?’

‘Not let down as such. You’ve got me involved with a few brawls in your time. There’s a time and place for that. For now we have to be good boys. Model citizens.’

‘If I wanted to be a model citizen I’d never have joined the army.’

‘We’re under orders, Macro. That’s all there is to it.’

Macro nodded sullenly and dropped back to return the wineskin to its owner before he rejoined Cato, who was glancing warily from side to side as the column clopped through the eerie mist. Macro could not help an ironic snort.

‘I just hope the tribes are as keen to win prizes for good behaviour. This would be a fine spot for an ambush. They could hit us from all sides before we knew it.’

‘Thanks for the comforting thought.’ Cato’s eyes and ears were straining to pick up any suspicious movement or sound but there was nothing apart from muted conversation between the tribunes and the bodyguards and the steady, dull clopping of the horses. Above them the sky cleared a little and the sun appeared as a pale disc, providing light but little warmth.

Some hours passed and the sombre ambience was only briefly lifted as the road crested a low ridge before descending back into another valley and more mist. As the sun reached its zenith, the governor halted the column to rest the horses and allow his men a brief break from their saddles. Two of the legionaries trotted forward to hold the reins of the officers’ horses while they stretched their legs.

Ostorius smiled at Cato. ‘How does it feel to be back on British soil? There’s no place in the empire like it for making the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, eh?’

Cato recalled that the mists and fogs of Britannia could wreath the landscape for days at a time, playing havoc with the imagination of some of the men. Not something that plagued Macro, of course, but it left Cato feeling tense and anxious. He was about to respond to Ostorius when he heard it. The faint sound of hoofs pounding along the track.

At once Ostorius’s smile disappeared and he stepped off the road and looked back past his bodyguards standing silently by their mounts.

‘Centurion Macro, get those men off the road. And that servant of yours. Half on each flank, fifty feet out, and wait for my order before you move. The rest of you, mount up and form up across the track.’