Grumbling silently to himself, Cato forgot to pay attention to where he was putting his feet. The guy rope caught his shin and he tumbled head first with a sharp cry. Macro whipped round.

‘Quiet! You want to wake up everyone in the fucking camp?’

‘Sorry, sir,’ Cato whispered as he struggled back to his feet, the heavy bundle in both arms.

‘Don’t tell me, you’ve gone and twisted your ankle.’

‘No, sir! Of course not!’

Someone stirred inside the tent. ‘Who’s there?’

‘No one,’ snapped Macro. ‘Get back to sleep… Come on, lad, and watch your step.’

Beside the horse pen, a dim light glimmered inside the large tent where the riding tack and cavalry weapons were stored. Cato followed Macro through the flap into the dull glow of a hanging oil lamp. Prasutagus, Boudica and Vespasian stood waiting.

‘Best change right now,’ said Vespasian. ‘Your horses and pack animals are ready.’

They dropped their bundles and stripped down to their loincloths. Under the curious gaze of Boudica, Cato hurriedly covered himself with a fresh tunic and pulled his mail shirt over the top. He slipped into his harness, attached the sword and dagger scabbards and reached for his military cloak.

‘No!’ Vespasian interrupted the gesture. ‘Not that. Wear those.’ He indicated a pair of grimy brown cloaks, well-worn and spattered with mud. ‘Best not look too much like a pair of squaddies when you reach Durotrigan territory. And wear these thongs round your heads.’

He handed them two lengths of leather, broad at the front and tapering at the ends. ‘The Greeks wear them to hold their hair back. Your military cut is an instant giveaway, so keep these on, and your hoods up, and you might just pass muster as a couple of Greeks — from a distance. Just don’t try and engage anyone in conversation.’

‘All right, sir.’ Macro grimaced at the thong, then tied it round his head. Prasutagus watched Macro while Boudica grinned at Cato.

‘Somehow you look more convincing as a Greek slave than you’ve ever done as a legionary.’

‘Thank you. Much appreciated.’

‘Save it for later,’ ordered Vespasian. ‘Come with me.’

He beckoned to Prasutagus and led them outside. Over at the tethering posts stood four horses with plain blankets spread across their backs, covering the legion’s brand. Saddlepacks hung over each flank, and to one side stood two ponies carrying more provisions.

‘Right then, you’d best be off. The watch officer on the gate is expecting you, so you can slip out without some idiot shouting a challenge.’ The legate looked them over one last time and then quickly slapped Macro on the shoulder. ‘Good luck!’

‘Thank you, sir.’