‘Well, don’t you think it’s odd?’ Macro glanced at his companion. Cato was a bright enough lad, Macro thought, but sometimes he would miss a danger or a crucial detail that was right under his nose. Macro, being somewhat older, put it down to lack of experience. He had served in the legions for nearly eighteen years - long enough to develop a profound appreciation of his surroundings. Life depended on it, as he had discovered on rather too many occasions. Indeed, he bore scars on his body for not being aware of a threat until it was too late. That he still lived was proof of his toughness and sheer brutality in a fight. Like every centurion in Emperor Claudius’ legions, he was a man to be reckoned with. Well, perhaps not every centurion, Macro reflected as he glanced back at Cato. His friend was something of an exception. Cato had won his promotion at a distastefully early stage of his army career by virtue of his brains, guts, luck and a little bit of favouritism. The last factor might have irked a man like Macro who had clawed his way up from the ranks, but he was honest enough to recognise that Cato had fully justified his promotion. In the four years since Cato had joined the Second Legion, years in which he had served with Macro in Germany, Britain and Illyricum, he had matured from a fresh-faced recruit to a tough, sinewy veteran. But Cato could still lose his head in the clouds.

Macro sighed impatiently. ‘Hoods. In this heat. Odd, wouldn’t you say?’

Cato looked at the men again and shrugged. ‘Now you mention it, I suppose so. Maybe they’re part of some religious sect. Jupiter knows how many of them there are in this place.’ He scowled. ‘Who would have thought one religion could have so many? And from what I’ve heard, the locals are about as pious as you can get.You don’t get much more religious than the Judaeans.’

‘Maybe,’ Macro said thoughtfully. ‘But that lot up there don’t look very religious to me.’

‘You can tell?’

‘I can tell.’ Macro tapped his nose. ‘Trust me. They’re up to something.’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Not yet. But keep watching them. See what you think.’

‘Think?’ Cato frowned irritably. ‘I was already thinking when you interrupted me.’

‘Oh?’ Macro replied, keeping his attention on the men ahead of them. ‘I suppose you were contemplating something of earth-shaking importance. Must have been from that vacant look on your face.’

‘Nice. As it happens, I was thinking about Narcissus.’

‘Narcissus?’ Macro’s expression darkened at the name of the Imperial Secretary, on whose orders they had been sent to the east. ‘That bastard? Why waste any time on him?’

‘It’s just that he’s stitched us up nicely this time. I doubt we’re going to see this mission through. It stinks.’