On the evening of the third day of their escort duty Macro calculated that they would reach the coast the following evening, thanks to the extended length of the marching day that had been possible for the small formation. If they started just before dawn and really pushed the pace they should make the main body of the army by nightfall.

‘Very good, Centurion.’ Narcissus nodded approvingly. ‘And an arrival in the darkness will attract less attention. That would be better in the present circumstances.’

Cato and Macro exchanged a look; precisely what the present circumstances were was still a mystery. Narcissus had said nothing to enlighten them over the last three days and Macro was a good enough soldier not to question his orders. He was also human enough not to want to give the imperial secretary the satisfaction of turning down a direct request for information. A more subtle tactic was required, thought Macro.

‘More wine, sir?’ He held out the jug, with a forced smile.

This time it was Cato and Narcissus who exchanged a look, surprised at the transparency of the centurion’s approach. Narcissus laughed.

‘Yes please, Centurion. But I’m afraid it’ll take more wine than we have with us to loosen my tongue. You’ll just have to wait.’

Macro’s blush was visible even by the glow of the fire. The night air was still chilly and the fire and hot meal at the end of each day was greatly appreciated before the men turned in. The food that Piso had managed to wangle for the century had come from the staff officers’ stores, as Vespasian was anxious to create a good impression on the distinguished guest. A rich stew of venison and spring vegetables was being mopped from the silver plates that Narcissus’s bodyguard produced from one of the chests. Macro had eaten a double portion and smacked his lips before wiping them on the back of his hairy hand. He caught the disapproving gaze of the other two and shrugged as he knocked back the last of his wine before refilling the cup.

‘It’s good to see a man enjoy his food,’ Narcissus remarked with a sly smile. ‘Even if it is only such rude morsels as are provided for the common soldiery. I must say, I almost feel like one of you as we share the hardships of the march, iron rations and outdoor living in the wilds of untamed Gaul.’

‘Untamed Gaul?’ Macro’s eyebrows rose. ‘What’s so untamed about it?’

‘Did you notice any theatres as we passed through Durocortorum? Have we passed any great landscaped estates? The only things I’ve seen are a handful of struggling farms and a few shabby inns. That’s what I mean by untamed, Centurion.’

‘Nothing untamed about inns,’ Macro replied gruffly.

‘Not as such, no. But look at that foul beverage they sell as wine. I wouldn’t even use it as a salad dressing.’

‘You’re drinking it now,’ Macro pointed out.

‘Only under the strictest sufferance. And you did rather force it on me. Maybe I’ll reveal all to avoid inflicting any more on my poor stomach.’