The decurion subtly shifted his gaze to the two bodyguards riding immediately behind the Greek. They were equally plainly dressed and under their cloaks they carried short swords hanging from army-pattern baldrics. These were not the ex-gladiators that the most wealthy men of Rome preferred to employ as bodyguards. The swords and their bearing were a dead giveaway and the decurion recognised them for what they were: Praetorian Guardsmen, attempting - and failing - to go undercover. And they were the final proof that the Greek was here on imperial business.

The palace official looked back once again.

‘Missing somebody?’ asked the decurion.

The Greek glanced round, then suppressed his anxious expression and forced a small smile on to his lips. ‘Yes. At least I hope so.’

‘Anybody I should be warned about?’

The Greek stared at him for a moment and then smiled again. ‘No.’

The decurion waited for the man to elaborate but the Greek cut him dead and faced forward. Taking another bite of his apple the decurion shrugged and let his gaze wander across the surrounding countryside. To the south the upper reaches of the river Tamesis looped through the undulating landscape. Ancient woodlands hugged the tops of hills, while around them were dotted the small settlements and farms of the Dobunnian tribe - one of the first to pay homage to Rome when the legions had landed over a year earlier.

This would be a nice place to settle down, the decurion mused. Once he had served his twenty-five years and was awarded citizenship and a small gratuity, he would buy a farm on the edge of a veterans’ colony and end his days in peace. He might even wed that native woman he had picked up in Camulodunum. Raise a few kids and drink himself silly.

The warm comfort of this reverie was interrupted as the Greek suddenly reined in and stared back down the track, brown eyes narrowed beneath his plucked brows. With a mouthed curse the decurion raised his arm to halt his men and then turned to his nervous charge.

‘What now?’

‘There!’ The Greek pointed.’Look there!’

The decurion wearily twisted on his saddle, the leather creaking under his riding breeches. For a moment he saw nothing; then as his gaze lifted to where the track disappeared over the hill he saw the dark silhouettes of horsemen flying from the shadows of the trees. Then they emerged into the sunlight, galloping straight towards the Greek and his escort.

‘Who the hell are they?’ the decurion muttered.

‘I’ve no idea,’ replied the Greek, ‘but I think I know who sent them.’

The decurion glanced at him irritably. ‘They’re hostile?’

‘Very.’