‘Centurion, if you only knew the kinds of things the young blades get up to back in Rome . . . Still, in this instance, maybe there’s something more to it. Please continue, Centurion Cato. About this plot?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s all we got out of Bedriacus before he died.’

‘He didn’t happen to let you know who stabbed him?’

‘No, sir,’ Cato admitted.

‘Oh, come on! This is ridiculous. There must be more to it than that!’

‘Maybe, sir. Tincommius was joined by another man before he set off to find us.’

‘And who is this man? Let me guess - another one of Verica’s little friends?’

‘As it happens, yes, sir. But one who might have less cause to be fond of Rome than some of his comrades.’

‘Imagine that.’

Cato shrugged. ‘I find it difficult to believe that he just happened to be nearby when Tincommius found this man dying, right outside my quarters. Especially when Bedriacus had something vital he had to tell me. Too much of a coincidence, wouldn’t you agree, sir?’

‘It might be. Then again, it might just be coincidence that Artax was there. Have you any other proof?’

A puzzled expression passed fleetingly across Cato’s face, but he was interrupted by Macro before he could answer the tribune.

‘Artax is a fishy one, all right. Arrogant sod has been giving us the evil eye ever since we showed up in Calleva.’

‘And yet he still serves with your cohorts,’ Quintillus pointed out.

‘Well, yes . . . But what better way to keep an eye on us?’

The tribune shook his head. ‘No. I doubt he’s plotting anything. Plotters don’t tend to try to stand out, let alone act suspiciously.’

‘Speaking from experience, sir?’

‘Only from common sense, Centurion . . .’

Some people just couldn’t help being confrontational, Cato decided as he watched the two men. But this was not helping things. Artax was being held in a cell on the far side of the headquarters block, and Cato was sure the Briton knew something about the stabbing, if not the plot that Bedriacus had mentioned. He had to be questioned, and soon.

‘Sir, we must interrogate Artax. He’s keeping something from us. I’m sure of it.’

‘You’re sure of it?’ the tribune said scathingly. ‘On what grounds? Gut feeling?’

There was nothing Cato could say to that without looking foolish. It was true that there was no hard evidence on Artax, just Cato’s observations of the man over recent days, the weight of coincidence and, if he was honest with himself, gut instinct.

‘So, I’m right then?’ Quintillus gave a small smile of triumph. ‘Well, Centurion?’

Cato nodded.

‘So then, this Artax. Just how close is he to the king?’

‘Very. Blood relation, and part of his entourage before he joined the cohorts.’

‘Sounds like a model ally, and well enough placed for you to treat him with respect, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes, sir.’