Nor did they. As darkness thickened and the king’s party fell to feasting, the tribune and his newfound Atrebatan friends got roaring drunk, singing and talking in loud slurred voices and splitting their sides at the slightest joke or mishap. Carved chunks of roast mutton were eagerly devoured and washed down with yet more drink as the night wore on. All the while the king sat quietly by, indulging the raucousness of his youthful companions. He ate little and drank nothing but a little watered wine. A brilliant moon rose, outshining all but the brightest stars and casting a thin blue mantle of light across the sleeping landscape. At last, drowsiness overcame most of the royal companions and one by one they crawled off to their sleeping lines and dropped into the warm skins their servants had made ready for them. Just as Cato and Macro drained the last of their beer, the king’s chief steward approached from the shadows and bent down over them.

‘The king desires you to join him by his fire.’ The steward spoke softly in his tongue and, without waiting for a reply, turned and made his way back to his master.

‘What was that?’ asked Macro sleepily.

‘Verica wants to speak with us.’

‘Now?’

‘Apparently.’

‘What about?’

‘The servant didn’t say.’

‘Shit! Just when I was ready to drop off. Hope the old boy doesn’t keep us long.’

‘I think he might,’ said Cato. ‘Has to be something important. Why else wait until almost everyone is asleep? Come on.’

Macro swore softly and then rose unsteadily to his feet and followed Cato past the snoring forms of sleeping men towards the dying fire, set slightly aside from the rest of the camp site. King Verica sat on an oak stool, flanked by the still forms of two of his bodyguards. A wan orange glow played over his wrinkled face and wispy beard, and his hand slowly turned a gold goblet resting on his lap. He looked up as the two centurions approached and a smile flickered across his face as he gestured them to take a place beside the glowing embers. A few others were already seated: Tincommius, Tribune Quintillus and Artax. Cato paused in mid-stride as he made out the last face, and then sat himself on the warm ground, on the opposite side of the fire to the tribune. Macro slumped heavily beside him. Cato suddenly felt very awake, and wary. Why had these three been summoned to sit with them before the king? What was it that Verica had to say, so late in the night, and so secret?

The king waved his steward over and handed him the empty goblet. The steward muttered something and Verica shook his head.

‘No. No more. See that we are not disturbed. No one is to come near enough to hear our words.’

‘Yes, my lord.’