Cato picked it up and began to read. Symeon had been to see the royal chamberlain to explain the situation and request that the Romans be released.The trouble was that Bannus had beaten him to it, and had already informed the chamberlain that these were Roman spies sent to investigate Petra’s defences. Symeon had protested their innocence on this charge. Accordingly, the chamberlain had decided to see all parties first thing in the morning. Symeon had sent them a change of clothes and some of the local scented oil, and had paid the palace guards to bring them some water for washing so that they might present themselves in a decent state to the chamberlain. He concluded by saying that he was still trying to discover where Bannus was staying, that Yusef was safe and the casket was still in Bannus’ possession.

Cato lowered the tablet and glanced down at himself. His skin was still streaked with dark smudges of the ash he had blackened himself with for the attack on the enemy camp.The sweat he had shed over the course of two days’ riding under the glare of the sun had caused dust to stick to his skin and work its way into every pore and crease. Glancing up at Macro he could see that his friend looked equally dishevelled. Murad pointed towards a tub in the corner of the cell and mimed washing his face.

Cato nodded and bent down to untie his bootlaces. ‘What hour is it?’

‘No idea,’ Macro admitted. ‘I fell asleep a short time after you. Only woke up when they let Murad into the cell.’

Once his boots were off, Cato reached for the hem of his tunic. Murad muttered something and quickly backed away and knocked on the door. A moment later the bolt slid back and a guard pulled it open. Murad turned and waved to them both and was gone. The guard shut and bolted the door behind him.

Macro chuckled. ‘Seems that they’re not too keen on exposing bare flesh around here. I noticed that in the street. No idea how they can bear so much clothing in this heat.’

Cato continued to strip. When he was naked he reached into the tub and discovered that there was a brush resting in the bottom. After he had scrubbed his skin down and dabbed himself dry he examined the clothes that Murad had brought them. There was a light linen tunic for each of them, as well as a flowing robe of some fine material he had never encountered before, and two pairs of lightweight sandals.

‘Nice,’ he muttered and began to dress.

Macro took his turn at the tub, and then looked at the clothes suspiciously. ‘I’d rather wear my army tunic.’

‘It’s filthy, it’s torn and it stinks of horse-sweat.’

‘So?’