As Vespasian passed a row of desks where a team of five clerks were bent over their work, writing by the flickering light of oil lamps, he glanced down at the papers strewn before them.

‘What’s this?’

‘Sir?’ The senior clerk quickly rose to his feet.

‘What’s this stuff you’re working on?’

‘Copies of a letter we’re writing for Lady Flavia, sir. They’re for slave agents in Rome requesting details of any infant tutors they might have in their catalogues.’

‘I see.’

‘She said it was on your orders, sir.’

The resentment in the tone was unmistakable and Vespasian felt a twinge of guilt that these men were labouring into the night while their comrades were free to indulge themselves to excess.

‘Well, I doubt that a night’s delay will ruin her plans. You and your men can finish the letters another time. Off you go then.’

‘Thank you, sir. You heard the legate, lads.’

The papers were eagerly shuffled into order, ink pots stopped up and pens wiped clean before the clerks rose to leave the room.

‘Wait!’ Vespasian called out and they turned towards him anxiously. He fumbled in the purse hanging from his belt and tossed a gold piece to the senior clerk. ‘For you and your men — have a few drinks on me. You’ve done a good job these last few days.’

The clerks mumbled their thanks and hurried away, voices loud with excitement, leaving Vespasian gazing wistfully after them. It seemed a lifetime ago that he had enjoyed a night out with the lads as a newly appointed tribune. Dusty memories of wild nights and hideously painful hangovers amidst the fleshpots of Syria filtered into his mind and Vespasian felt a pang for the sweetness of youth that seemed over almost before it had begun. Now he was forever separated from these men by age and, more fundamentally, by rank.

Vespasian slowly made his way towards the gate of the headquarters building, pausing only to nod as he passed by the door to Vitellius’s office where the tribune was still toiling over some paperwork by lamplight. Vitellius had been spending a great deal of time in headquarters of late — more than was required by his duties and more than enough to make Vespasian curious. But he could not ask him outright the reason for his new-found diligence; tribunes were supposed to be diligent and any questioning of the man might look like paranoia, or worse. If Vitellius was indeed up to something, any undue attention would alert him to the legate’s suspicion. More curious still was the fact that the tribune had taken on a bodyguard. It was a right due to his rank, but one rarely claimed these days. But there he was — shadowing his master about the base — a stocky thick-set man with the manner of professional killer. It would be sensible to keep a closer eye on Tribune Vitellius from now on.

===OO=OOO=OO===

Since Lavinia had been taken into Vespasian’s household, Cato had had no chance even to speak to her and was only able to catch fleeting glances from time to time as he loitered outside the legate’s house after he had finished with his duties for the day. He contrived to visit Flavia a few times in the hope that Lavinia might be present while they reminisced about life in the palace. But she remained out of sight and Cato was loath to reveal the true purpose of his visits, to the barely concealed amusement of the legate’s wife. Finally, one day, Flavia could not help laughing.