‘Twenty years, sir. Come summer.’

‘And how long has the Thracian cavalry been serving with the Fourteenth?’

‘That lot? Seem to be something of a fixture, sir. As long as I’ve been with the legion.’

Cato smiled. ‘I’ve seen plenty of auxiliary units in my time. Some good, some bad. Never served with Thracian cavalry, though. So what are they like?’

The decurion sniffed. ‘They don’t stink, like some of them. Germans is worst. But at least with your Germans you know where you are. Them Thracians is different. Got a cruel streak in ’em, they have. Bloody good horsemen, though. Glad they’re on our side, is all.’

‘I see.’ Cato reached for the jar and topped up the decurion’s cup. ‘And what about Centurion Quertus?’

The decurion answered warily. ‘Can’t really say. The Thracians tend to keep to themselves. I’ve come across him on the parade field when we’ve been on training manoeuvres. He’s a big man. Built like a brick shithouse and has the guts to match.’

‘You have to be so careful what you eat,’ Macro chipped in.

Cato shot a frown at him before he spoke to the decurion again. ‘What else?’

‘Like I said. He’s brave and the men would follow him anywhere.’

‘Inspiring, then?’

‘You could say that, sir. Depends what kind of inspiring you mean. He’s a born fighter, the kind who would die rather than give an inch of ground. Trouble is, he wants the same from those who he leads. I saw him beat a man senseless on the parade field once because he wouldn’t leap his horse over a ditch. Let’s just say he takes discipline seriously. And loyalty. I’ve heard he’s supposed to be some kind of prince in his homeland.’ Decimus looked round and leaned closer. ‘That, and some kind of priest. The kind who knows magic. The kind of magic that needs blood sacrifices.’

‘Magic?’ Cato repeated slowly. ‘I’ve yet to see any genuine magic in my lifetime.’

Macro tilted his head to the side. ‘Don’t be so quick to pass judgement. After all, someone’s put a curse on this bloody wine, that’s for certain.’

The decurion scowled briefly, then drained his cup and pushed it away with a nod of thanks. ‘Better see to the horses, sir. They’ll need feeding before the second watch.’

He rose from the bench and left the mess. Macro stared after him and muttered wryly, ‘Was it something I said?’

‘Best not to make fun of someone’s beliefs, sir,’ Decimus suggested mildly.

‘Oh, come on!’ Macro chuckled. ‘Magic? Priests? Sacrifices? That’s a load of old bollocks. Anyone with half a brain knows that the only gods with any clout are Roman gods. That’s why Rome rules the world.’

‘I thought Rome ruled the world because our soldiers were better than everyone else,’ said Cato. ‘In any case, we clearly don’t rule half the tribes on this island.’

Decimus made to reply to Macro but then closed his mouth and looked down into his cup. He was silent for a moment before he said quietly, ‘Some gods are false. Perhaps most of them. But there’s one who is powerful. One who comes from the east. And he promises a life in paradise to all those who choose to follow him.’