‘There you are at last! You’d better have a good explanation for the legate.’

‘I’ll apologise as soon as there’s a quiet moment,’ Cato promised. ‘Is there any way I can get to my place unobtrusively?’

‘Hardly, young man. Follow me.’

The majordomo shut the door and led Cato through a heavy curtain into a large hall. Though minute by imperial palace standards, Cato mused, the room had been made as comfortable as it could possibly be this close to the ends of the Empire. The hall was brightly lit from scores of oil lamps suspended from the joists. Two long benches ran down each side of the hall, covered with cushions for the diners who ate off the low tables in front of them. Cato was surprised to see that all the tribunes and nearly every centurion was present, together with a number of wives. In the open space between the tables a pair of wrestlers were grunting and straining in a tight embrace as they groped for a decisive hand-hold. At one end of the hall a small group of pipe players strove to be heard above the din of the guests. Cato hurriedly looked for a gap on the nearest bench to quietly slip into, but the majordomo beckoned to him and slowly proceeded down the side of the hall to the head table where Vespasian and his most honoured guests reclined. With horror Cato saw a conspicuous gap between Macro and Vespasian. The legate frowned as they approached, but only for a moment before he forced a smile on to his lips and waved a greeting.

‘Optio! I wondered where you had got to.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Cato replied as he slipped forward on to the couch beside Macro. ‘I had some duties I was ordered to complete first.’

‘What duties?’

‘I’d rather not say over dinner, sir.’

‘Not much of that left, I’m afraid. Rufulus! See what you can find for the optio, must be some choice titbits left.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The majordomo bowed, darting a sharp glare at Cato.

‘While you’re waiting you might try some of the stuffed dormice.’ Vespasian proffered a gold serving dish around which lay an arrangement of tiny baked mice. ‘They’re filled with some of the local herbs and cheese. Not quite what you’re used to at the palace, I suspect, but it’s a pleasant enough gastronomic reminder of home. Take one.’

Cato did as he was told. While the mice had been slightly overbaked, they made a pleasant change from standard legionary fare. As Cato happily crunched on the tasty morsels, the legate ordered a slave to bring the late arrival a selection of delicacies.

‘Have some wine.’ Vespasian pointed out a row of Samian decanters. ‘There’s a decent Caecuban and a tolerable Massic. I’m saving the last of my Falernian for a toast.’

Cato’s eyes glittered at the prospect. ‘Your cook has done his Apicius proud. Thank you for inviting me.’

‘My pleasure, son. You did well in that little business with the locals. Now I’ll leave you to your meal before it goes completely cold. I want to introduce you to a few people later on. Some you will already know.’ Vespasian smiled. ‘My wife says she is particularly keen to catch up on some of the palace gossip. That is, if I can tear her away from Tribune Vitellius.’ He nodded towards the end of the head table where Cato could see the tribune over the shoulder of a slim woman. The pair seemed to be deep in conversation. Suddenly the legate’s wife shook with laughter and Vespasian frowned momentarily. He switched his attention back to the waiting optio. ‘As I said, that can wait for later. But for now I’m afraid I have to talk shop with the camp prefect. Please excuse me and enjoy the meal.’