‘Centurion wants you right away.’

Cato propped himself up on his elbows and, looking out of the tent-flap, saw that the sun had risen for some time. He shook his head and scrambled up.

‘How long since morning call?’

‘A while.’ Pyrax shrugged. ‘You missed breakfast and we’re about to strike the tents.’

‘Why didn’t someone wake me?’

‘You’re a grown-up now, lad, it’s up to you to look after yourself.’

‘Where’s the centurion?’

‘In his tent. I’d get over there smartish if I were you. Macro doesn’t look too chuffed with his lot—’ Pyrax glanced down at Cato. ‘What happened to your hand?’

Following his gaze, Cato saw that the thumb and forefinger of his hand were smeared with dried blood.

‘Oh that! I, er, managed to get a cut of meat from a beast some of the muleteers slaughtered last night. Roasted it on their fire.’

‘Nice of them,’ Pyrax said grudgingly. ‘But you might have cleaned yourself up afterwards.’

‘Sorry,’ Cato mumbled. ‘I have to go.’

He punched through the half-open flaps and washed his hand with some water from a skin hanging on the tent frame. The blood from the intruder had caked on and had to be scratched off with his nails and wiped clear. With a shock he realised that his dagger must be bloody as well and drew it to find the blade heavily soiled by dried blood. That took somewhat longer to clean and by the time Cato pushed his way into Macro’s tent the centurion was steaming. Piso stood at the back of the tent, eyebrows raised in warning.

‘What took you so bloody long? I sent for you ages ago.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘Well?’

‘Sir?’

‘Why were you late? Explain yourself.’

‘I was in the latrines, sir, something I ate last night.’

‘Well, take more care over what you eat in future,’ Macro said impatiently. ‘Now then, we’ve got work to do. The legate’s detached our century from the Legion to perform escort duties. I was given the orders at the morning briefing. We’re to advance ahead of the Legion to Durocortorum and meet up with some staff bigwig. Then we’re to escort him to General Plautius’s headquarters at Gesoriacum. That’s all, and since we have to get moving ahead of the column we’re going to have to rush. I’ve already given the orders for the wagon to be loaded and hitched up. I want you to requisition some wine and treats for our guest. The quartermaster’s been notified. Piso, you go and get the men moving; I want tents struck and loaded and packs ready before the next watch call. Now get out of here, both of you.’

Outside Cato looked at Piso enquiringly.

‘Bad morning,’ Piso whispered. ‘Some dodgy business up at headquarters last night.’

‘Dodgy business?’

‘Some thief tried to rob the legate. Managed to knife a guard and get away. Now Vespasian’s blowing his stack at the officers for not having their men keep a good enough watch.’