‘I’m on sentry duty.’

‘Well then, I’ll relieve you till you get back. Get going.’

Bastard! Macro swore silently. Bestia had no idea of the letter’s significance, or whether it was even genuine. But he dare not take the risk. Communications to legates took strange routes these days, even from the highest sources. Better to let someone else take the blame if the letter proved to be worthless.

‘Yes, sir,’ Macro replied bitterly as he accepted the scroll.

‘Don’t be too long, Macro. I’ve got a warm bed waiting for me.’

Bestia strode off to the gatehouse and climbed the stairs to the shelter of the sentry room. Macro glared after him. Then turned to have a good look at the new recruit who was causing him to make a long trek to the headquarters building through the driving rain. He had to look up to examine the lad who was nearly a foot taller man himself. Under the brim of the travelling cloak, a mop of black hair had been flattened into straggling trails by the rain. Below a flat brow, a pair of piercing brown eyes in deep sockets glinted either side of a long thin nose. The boy’s mouth was clamped shut, but the bottom lip trembled slightly. Although the clothes were soaked and splattered with mud from the long journey from the depot at Aventicum, they were of a surprisingly good quality. As for the writing set, the books and this letter for the legate… Well, this recruit was something else. Clearly no stranger to money but, if so, then why the hell join the army?

‘Cato, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m also called sir.’ Macro smiled.

Cato stiffened into an approximation of the attention position and Macro laughed. ‘At ease, boy. At ease. You’re not on parade until tomorrow morning. Now let’s get this letter delivered.’

Macro gave the boy a gentle push away from the gate in the direction of the centre of the base, where the headquarters block loomed in the distance. As they walked, he looked at the letter in detail for the first time and let out a low whistle.

‘Know what this seal is?’

‘Yes — sir. The imperial seal.’

‘And why would the imperial service use a recruit as a courier?’

‘I’ve no idea, sir,’ Cato replied.

‘Who is it from?’

‘The Emperor.’

Macro choked back an exclamation. The boy really had his attention now. What the hell was the Emperor doing sending an imperial despatch via a bloody legionary recruit? Unless there was more to this boy than met the eye. Macro decided an uncommonly tactful approach was required if he was to discover more.

‘Forgive my asking, but what are you doing here?’

‘Doing here, sir? Joining the army, sir.’

‘But why?’ Macro persisted.

‘It’s to do with my father, sir. He was in the imperial service before his death.’

‘What did he do?’

When the boy didn’t answer, Macro turned and saw that his head was bowed low and his expression troubled. ‘Well?’