‘Cato?’ The centurion had quickly grown tired of spelling tests.

‘Sir?’

‘This man we’re going to meet.’

‘Narcissus?’

‘Keep it down,’ Macro hissed. ‘That lot back there aren’t supposed to know’

‘Sorry, sir. What about him?’

‘Did you ever run into him at the palace?’

‘Yes, sir. He was a close friend of my father, or at least he was until he struck it rich.’

‘What’s he like?’ Macro asked, then noticed the curious expression on his optio’s face. ‘I just need to know before we meet so we don’t start off on the wrong foot, that’s all. If we’re to guard him for the next few days then I don’t want to risk pissing him off, given that he’s one of the Emperor’s inner circle. Not that I’m afraid of him or anything, after all the man’s only a bloody freedman. Just want to make sure he’s happy while in our care. Won’t harm our futures any if he gets to like us. So then, tell me about him.’

‘Well sir—’ Cato paused for thought. This wasn’t going to be easy. What he knew of Narcissus was far from flattering, and he had been wise enough to keep what he knew to himself. The cold shoulder Narcissus had turned to Cato’s father in the latter years of their friendship had left Cato in no doubt that he could expect few favours from the leading figure of Claudius’s inner council. After Narcissus, only Messalina — the Emperor’s carelessly ambitious wife — wielded more power under the Emperor.

‘Well?’

‘He’s a good man — I mean a brilliant man — sir. Might seem a bit cold and distant at first, but that’s probably because he has a lot on his shoulders. They used to say in the palace that he had more brains and worked harder than any other man in the Empire. We all respected him,’ concluded Cato tactfully.

‘Well, that’s all very nice, but what I want to know is what he’s like as a man. What should I do to get on with him?’

‘Get on with him?’ Cato raised his eyebrows.

‘Yes. I mean, is he a man’s man? That kind of thing. Does he like a good joke? There’s plenty I could tell him.’

‘No, sir. Please don’t try to be funny,’ Cato begged, visions swimming before his eyes of a cosmopolitan sophisticate being regaled with the boorish humour of the ranks. ‘Just be yourself, sir. Be professional and keep out of his way as much as possible. And be careful what you say.’

Under The Eagle

Chapter Twenty-five

Just after dawn, Flavia was sitting at her portable writing desk going through some papers. From the next tent she could hear Titus squealing with laughter as his nurse struggled to feed him his morning meal. Flavia intended to catch up on some correspondence she had been meaning to write since the Legion had set out from the Rhine. She had already despatched a letter to a distant relative commanding a cavalry unit that was joining the invasion force, hoping to meet up with him when the Second Legion arrived in Gesoriacum. Then there were people in Rome she needed to inform of her return. And there were instructions to be issued to the majordomo of the house on the Quirinal, as well as to the steward of Vespasian’s villa in Campania. Both establishments needed plenty of warning to ensure that they would be ready to receive Flavia and her retinue.