Cato blanched at the uncharacteristic outburst, and glanced anxiously at the senior officers. The outraged expression on Vespasian’s face was far less frightening than the dark gleam blazing in the eyes of the general.

‘I volunteer to go, sir!’ Cato blurted out.

The other three looked at him in surprise, instantly diverted from the tense confrontation that could only have ended in disaster for Macro. Cato quickly licked his lips and nodded to emphasise his words.

‘You?’ The general’s eyebrows rose.

‘Yes, sir. Let me go. I’ll do the best I can.’

‘Optio,’ Vespasian said. ‘I don’t doubt your courage, and your intelligence. And you have a certain amount of resourcefulness. All that I can’t deny. But I think it’s too much to ask of one man.’

‘Barely a man at that,’ added the general. ‘I won’t send a boy to do a man’s job.’

‘I’m no boy,’ Cato replied coldly. ‘I’ve been a soldier for over a year now. I’ve been decorated once already, and I’ve proved my reliability. Sir, if you really think this mission has almost no chance of success, then surely the loss of one man is better than the loss of two or more?’

‘You don’t have to do this,’ Macro muttered.

‘Sir, my mind’s made up. I’ll go.’

Macro glared at Cato. The boy was mad, quite mad; he was bound to come a cropper at the first obstacle. The thought of Cato, undeniably bright and courageous but still a little naive and rough around the edges, in the hands of some devious Briton and his woman filled Macro with dismay. Damn the boy! Damn him! There was no way he could leave the lad to his own devices.

‘All right then!’ Macro turned back to the general. ‘I’ll go. If we’re going to do it, might as well do it properly.’

‘Thank you, Centurion,’ the general said quietly. ‘You will not find me ungrateful.’

‘If we return.’

Plautius merely shrugged.

Before the situation could degenerate again, Vespasian stood up and shouted an order for more wine to be fetched. Then he stepped between his general and the two rankers and motioned towards some seats to one side of the tent.

‘You must be tired. Sit down and we’ll have something to drink while I pass the word for our British scouts. Now that you’ve agreed to go, it’s best that you meet them. Time’s short; there are only twenty-two days before the Druids’ deadline. You’ll leave tomorrow, at dawn.’

Macro and Cato walked over to the seats and eased their tired bodies down onto the comfortable cushions.

‘What the fuck was that all about?’ Macro whispered angrily.

‘Sir?’

‘What have I told you about volunteering? Don’t you listen to a bloody word I say?’

‘What about the pay chest, sir? You volunteered us for that.’