Cato knew he was in the wrong. The sour note of his reply had been impulsive and now he regretted the offence it had caused.

‘Sir. I’m not ungrateful for the offer. I just don’t feel like it right now. I can’t help it.’

‘Can’t help it?’ snorted Macro. ‘Suit yourself then.’

He quickly rose to his feet and stormed off, with one final black look at Cato before entering his tent.

While he waited for his watch to begin, Cato sank into a mood of despair. Perhaps the centurion was right? What kind of romance could he carry on with a girl he could never see? She was, moreover, a dangerous girl to know, given that she could testify that he’d been in the legate’s tent that night. If for any reason she was indiscreet, then both of them would be up in front of Vespasian. And the truth, about the other man, was hardly likely to be believed. The best move would be to forget her, forget about love and get on with life. Perhaps he would join Macro and the others after all.

===OO=OOO=OO===

Shortly after the change of the second watch, when all but a few diehards were sound asleep, the sentry on the main gate saw two figures walking down the road towards the camp. He called out for the password and, when he received no immediate reply, he lowered his javelin point and challenged them again.’

‘Relax soldier!’ a voice called out. ‘We’re friends.’

‘Password!’

‘We’re friends, I tell you! From the other camp.’

‘Keep your fucking distance!’ the sentry shouted, slightly relieved that the strangers spoke Latin.

‘We want to speak with your commander. We have a pass signed by General Plautius himself. Let us in.’

‘No! Stay where you are.’ The thickset sentry took a pace back and pointed his javelin at the two figures scarcely ten feet away. Now, by the dim light of the stars, he could see that one man was tall and thin, wearing a dark, hooded cloak. The other was a giant of a man who wore a sword in a scabbard at his side. ‘Optio! Optio of the watch! Come down here quick!’

The side-passage gate opened and the optio marched over, munching on a hunk of bread soaked in wine.

‘What is it? Better not be another false alarm, I’m still bloody eating.’

‘This man wants to speak to the legate.’

‘Has he given you the password?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then tell him to fuck off — you should bloody well know the regulations by now.’

‘If I might interrupt?’ The taller figure took two paces nearer.

‘Stay exactly where you are, pal,’ the optio growled.

‘I have business with the legate,’ the man insisted, then he brought out a small slate from his cloak. ‘See here, I’ve a pass authorised by Aulus Plautius.’

The optio approached cautiously and quickly took the slate held out to him, before retiring towards the open side-gate, which provided just enough light to read the message. The pass was in order and the ring seal pressed into the wax surface bore the eagle of a commanding general. Still, the optio considered, it might just be a fake. Given the strictness with which camp regulations and restrictions of movement to and from the gates were being enforced, the legate and his senior officers were clearly jumpy about something.