‘And it’s not just wine,’ continued Diomedes. ‘Cloth, pottery, cooking utensils and so on. They’ve taken to the empire’s exports in a big way. A few more years and the Atrebates will almost be on the first rung of civilisation.’ Diomedes sounded wistful.

‘Why so glum?’

‘Because then it’ll be time for me to move on.’

‘Move on? I thought you’d settled here.’

‘Only while there’s money to be made. Once this place becomes part of the empire it’ll be flooded with traders and my profit margins will disappear. I’ll have to move on. Maybe further north. I hear the Queen of the Brigantes has developed a taste for civilised living.’ The Greek’s eyes flashed with excitement at the prospect.

Macro regarded Diomedes with the special distaste he reserved for salesmen. Then something occurred to him.

‘How can they afford all of this stuff you import?’

“They can’t. That’s the beauty of it. There’s not much coinage about — only a handful of these tribes have started their own mints. So I let them barter instead. I get a much better deal that way. In exchange for my goods I take furs, hunting dogs and jewellery — anything that commands a high price back in the empire. You’d be astonished at the price Celtic jewellery commands in Rome right now.’ He looked at the torc round Macro’s neck. ‘Take that little trinket, for example. I could get a fortune for that.’

‘Not for sale,’ Macro said firmly, and automatically reached for the gold torc with one hand. The heavy ornament had once been worn round the neck of Togodumnus, a chief of the Catuvellauni and brother of Caratacus. Macro had killed him in single combat shortly after the Second Legion had landed in Britain.

‘I’d give you a fair price.’

Macro snorted. ‘I doubt it. You’d rip me off just as soon as you would one of these natives.’

‘You shame me!’ Diomedes protested. ‘I’d never dream of it. For you, Centurion, I would pay a good price.’

‘No. I’m not selling.’

Diomedes pressed his lips together and shrugged. ‘Not now. Maybe later. Sleep on it.’

Macro shook his head, and met the gaze of one of the other centurions who raised his eyes in sympathy. These Greek merchants had spread right across the empire, and well beyond its frontiers, yet they were all the same — chancers on the lookout for financial gain. They viewed everyone in terms of what they could make out of them. Macro suddenly felt repulsed.

‘I don’t need to sleep on it. I’m not selling it, particularly not to you.’

Diomedes frowned and his eyes narrowed for an instant. Then he nodded slowly and smiled his salesman’s smile again. ‘You Roman army types really think you’re better than the rest of us, don’t you?’