At the end of the day they reached a large fort at Isca, garrisoned by a cohort of Gauls. After the mounts and baggage animals had been stabled for the night, Cato and his comrades joined the decurion leading the cavalry escort in the cohort’s mess. There was only one small room with two tables and a small counter where a skinny merchant sold bad wine for a premium to his captive market. This side of the Severnus was Silurian territory and none of the Roman army’s camp followers had been brave enough to settle into a vicus outside the walls of the fort.

Macro and Decimus had worked off their hangover during the day’s ride and Macro ordered some wine from the merchant with the begrudging attitude of a man who knows he is being exploited.

‘Five sestertii for this piss?’ Macro growled as his lips wrinkled away from the rim of the cup following his first sip. ‘Fucking outrage is what it is.’

‘It’s not so bad, sir.’ Decimus raised his cup and drank again.

Macro looked at him sourly. ‘Never is so bad when you haven’t had to pay for a drop of it. I ought to take deductions from your pay for the wine you consume.’

‘Then you’d only go and have to drink more of this piss, sir.’ Decimus pretended to look hurt. ‘Really, you should be thanking me for helping you out with it.’

‘Really?’ Macro narrowed his eyes a moment, then turned to Cato. ‘What do you think?’

‘Eh?’ Cato looked up vacantly. ‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘The wine. Taste it and tell me what you think.’

Cato looked down into the Samian-ware cup and sniffed it. It was not unlike vinegar, but somehow suffused with a very ancient blend of goat’s cheese and sewage. Still, for Macro’s sake, he took a sip and as the foul liquid flowed across his tongue he winced. He set the cup down with a sharp rap. ‘That’s wine?’

‘According to our friend behind the counter. The sewer brewer. I’ve a mind to have a word with him.’

‘What good would it do? This is as good as it gets this far beyond the frontier.’

Macro looked shocked. ‘By the gods, I hope not. What in Hades’ name must they be drinking up at Bruccium?’

The comment stirred Cato’s thoughts and he turned to the decurion who had been drinking quietly, clearly preoccupied. Cato cleared his throat.

‘It’s Trebellius, isn’t it?’

The decurion looked round and nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘You don’t seem to be enjoying your little trip up into the mountains very much. At least the wine will keep your mind off it. Drink up.’

Trebellius dutifully took a sip, without any change of expression.

‘Seems like someone has a taste for it,’ said Macro.