‘What’s new? Every job that bastard has given us stinks. We’re the sponge-sticks of the imperial service. Always in the shit.’

Cato looked at his friend with a disgusted expression and was about to reply when Macro suddenly craned his neck and hissed, ‘Look! They’re making their move.’

Just ahead was the lofty archway which marked the entrance to the great outer court of the temple.The light was dazzling and for an instant silhouetted the heads and shoulders of those in front of them, and it was a moment before Cato’s eyes fixed on the hooded men again. They had thrust their way over to one side of the street as they passed through the arch, and were now walking quickly towards the tables of the moneylenders and tax collectors in the centre of the court.

‘Let’s go.’ Macro kicked his heels into the side of his mule, causing it to bray.The people in front glanced back over their shoulders nervously and shuffled out of the animal’s path. ‘Come on.’

‘Wait!’ Cato grabbed his arm. ‘You’re jumping at shadows. We’ve hardly reached the city and you’re spoiling for a fight.’

‘I’m telling you, Cato, they’re up to no good.’

‘You don’t know that. You can’t just wade in and trample down anyone who gets in your way.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’ll cause a riot.’ Cato slipped out of his saddle and stood beside his mule. ‘If you want to follow them, then let’s go on foot.’

Macro took a quick glance towards the hooded men. ‘Fair enough. Optio!’

A tall, hard-faced Gaul strode up from the head of the column and saluted Macro. ‘Sir?’

‘Take the reins. Centurion Cato and myself are going to take a little stroll.’

‘A stroll, sir?’

‘You heard. Wait for us just inside the gate. But keep the men formed up, just in case.’

The optio frowned. ‘In case of what, sir?’

‘Trouble.’ Macro smiled. ‘What else? Come on, Cato. Before we lose them.’

With a sigh Cato followed his friend into the flow of bodies entering the great courtyard. The men they were following were already some distance away, still heading towards the stalls of the moneylenders and tax collectors. The two centurions threaded their way through the crowds, jostling some of the people as they passed and drawing angry glances and muttered curses.

‘Roman bastards . . .’ someone said in accented Greek.

Macro stopped and whirled round. ‘Who said that?’

The crowd shrank from his enraged expression, but stared back with hostile eyes. Macro’s gaze fixed on a tall, broad-shouldered youth whose lips had curled into a sneer.

‘Oh, so it was you, was it?’ Macro smiled, and beckoned to the man.’Come on then. If you think you’re man enough.’

Cato grabbed his arm and pulled Macro back. ‘Leave him be.’

‘Leave him?’ Macro frowned.’Why? He needs a lesson in hospitality.’