‘No. I disagree.’

‘Why?’

Macro shrugged. ‘I don’t know exactly. Something doesn’t quite feel right about what happened with Artax.’

‘Artax?’ Cato sniffed. ‘Always thought he was plotting something, especially after I showed him up on the training ground. Wouldn’t trust Artax as far as I could spit him. And I was right.’

‘Yes . . .’

‘I don’t know what Verica could have been thinking when he named him for the succession. That was as good as signing his own death warrant.’

‘You’re wrong, Cato.’ Macro shook his head. ‘What Artax did doesn’t make much sense. Verica’s an old man. He couldn’t be expected to live much longer. Why didn’t Artax just wait?’

‘You know what they’re like.’ Cato nodded surreptitiously towards the natives clustered around the great hall. ‘Impatient and hot-headed. My betting is that Artax came across the king alone during the hunt and thought he’d take a short cut to the throne. Lucky for us that Tincommius was there.’

‘So you say.’

‘The last thing we need is someone like Artax running things here in Calleva. We’ve got enough to worry about with Caratacus still on the loose, without having to watch our backs in case the Atrebatans decide to have a change of heart. We’d be caught out nicely. Lucky escape for us . . . On the other hand . . .’

‘Yes?’

‘I can’t help feeling that something worse is about to happen. It’s not over yet.’

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ Macro cuffed Cato on the shoulder. ‘When will you stop seeing the worst in everything? Ever since I’ve known you, it’s always been the same. “Something worse is going to happen.” Get a grip on yourself, boy. Better still, get a grip on this cup. Here, I’ll pour. Nothing quite like the sight of the bottom of a cup to cheer a man up.’

For a moment Cato took umbrage at being referred to as a boy. That might have been all right some months before, when he was Macro’s optio, but not now he had been appointed centurion. Cato bit back on his resentment; it would serve no purpose for the two officers to be seen to be at odds in front of this crowd of anxious natives. So he forced himself to drain the cup that Macro had filled for him, gritting his teeth to sieve the sediment that clouded the local beer like mud. He held his cup out for a refill.

‘That’s more like it!’ Macro smiled. ‘Might as well make the most of this while we wait for the tribune.’