But somehow the news had leaked out. Almost as soon as he was out of sight of Rome Narcissus suspected that they were being watched and followed. The road behind them had never been quite deserted - always some solitary figure dimly visible far down the road behind them. Of course, such figures might have been quite innocent, and his suspicions groundless, but Narcissus was haunted by fear of his enemies. Haunted enough to take every precaution he could, and he had lasted longer than most men in the perilous world of the imperial household. A man who played for high stakes, as Narcissus did, had to have eyes in the back of his head and see everything that happened around him: every action, every deed, every quiet tilt of the head amongst aristocrats as they exchanged whispers at palace banquets.

It often reminded him of the god Janus, the two-faced guardian of Rome, who watched for danger in both directions. Being part of the imperial household required wearing two faces: the first an eager servant willing to please his political master and social superiors; the second a fixer of utter ruthlessness and determination. The expression of his true thoughts was only permitted when confronting men he had had condemned to execution, when there was great satisfaction to be had in releasing his scorn and contempt for them.

Now, it seemed, it might well be his turn for extermination. Much as he was terrified of death, Narcissus was consumed with the need to know who, amongst the legions of his bitter enemies, had planned this. There had already been two attempts, the first at an inn in Noricum, where a fight had started over a few spilled drinks and quickly escalated into a general brawl. Narcissus and his bodyguards had been watching from a cubicle when a knife had flown across the room straight at him. Marcellus saw it coming and shoved the Imperial Secretary’s head down into his bowl of stew, the blade thudding into the timber post behind Narcissus an instant later.

On the second occasion a party of horsemen had appeared on the road behind them as they headed towards the port of Gesoriacum. They had taken no chances and galloped ahead of the horsemen, arriving in the port on blown horses that had been pushed to the limits of their endurance. The quay was packed with shipping; supplies destined for Plautius’ legions were being loaded on vessels bound for Britain, while ships returning from the island were busy unloading prisoners of war destined for slave markets across the Empire. Narcissus took berths on the first ship to leave for Britain. As the freighter pulled away from the chaotically busy quay Marcellus had gently touched his arm and nodded to a group of eight men silently watching the ship depart. The same men, no doubt, who were pursuing them now.