‘No one threatens me on the deck of my own ship, least of all a pair of squaddies. If he’s not here by the next watch bell, we’re leaving.’

‘No we’re not,’ Macro said firmly.’I doubt the legate would be very amused.’

‘Legate?’ The captain’s eyebrows rose.

‘Titus Flavius Vespasian. Late of the Second Legion Augusta. Oh, and we’re not squaddies, mate. We’re centurions.’

‘Centurions?’ The captain eyed Cato curiously. ‘Both of you?’

‘Oh, yes. So don’t give us any trouble, friend.’

The captain did not reply. He just glared at them, and turned away quickly, shouting a string of orders to his crew.

‘What a prick,’ Macro muttered.

‘Wonder what’s keeping the legate.’ Cato stared along the wharf. ‘He’s only supposed to be paying his respects to the garrison commander.’

Macro shrugged. ‘You know what his class are like. Very clubbable. Probably swapping their addresses back in Rome right now.’

Cato suddenly craned his neck. ‘There he is!’

‘So much for that theory,’ Macro grumbled.’At least we can set sail before that bloody captain has a stroke.’

The legate, like his centurions, was travelling light. All his baggage would follow on later and eventually catch up with him in Rome. His travelling chest had already been carried aboard and he wore a silk tunic with a gold weave in the hems - a simple design, but one that clearly indicated his social status - and people cleared the way ahead of him as he strolled along the wharf, looking for the Ajax. Cato waved his arm and caught the legate’s attention, and a moment later his iron-studded boots thudded down on the deck. Cato and Macro automatically stood to attention.

‘At ease.’ Vespasian looked troubled. ‘I’ve just heard some news that may be of interest to you. An army dispatch rider arrived this morning.’

Macro scratched his chin. ‘What’s that then, sir?’

‘Caratacus has escaped.’

‘Escaped?’ Macro shook his head in disbelief. ‘How?’

‘It seems there was a riot over the prisoners’ food rations. Some men were sent in to quieten them down. Turns out the riot was staged, and the prisoners rushed the stockade gate the moment it was opened. Apparently they just threw themselves at the guards bare-handed. Hundreds of them were killed, but they made sure Caratacus got away. How’s that for loyalty?’ Vespasian turned to Cato.’You know him. What do you think he’ll do now?’

Cato shrugged. ‘I don’t know, sir. I only talked with him a few times.’

‘Will he try to continue the fight?’

Cato nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I believe he’s the kind of man who will never give in. He’d rather die, if he had to.’

‘So, it’s not over, then.’ Vespasian shook his head sadly.’After everything that’s happened, I’d hoped . . .’