'Why us? Why'd he pick us? Has to be someone else's turn by now.'

'You heard him,' Cato replied. 'We're the best men for the job.'

'And you believed him?' Macro sniffed. 'Remind me to sell you a used cart when we get back to Rome.'

'The legate might have meant it,' Cato replied stiffly. 'He's counted on us in the past and we haven't let him down.'

'Hang on.' Macro sat up.'Far as I recall, you've volunteered the both of us, or he's ordered us to go. So either we're plain mugs, or he thinks we're expendable. Either way, it's not the direction I want my career to take – whatever's left of it.'

Cato gave him a wan smile.'Come now, you're telling me that you're not enjoying this?'

'What? No sleep for two days, twenty miles of mountain hiking, I'm cold and hungry and maybe only a few miles away from the lair of hundreds of bloodthirsty pirates. What's not to enjoy?'

'That's my Macro!'

'Oh, piss off… You just enjoy making yourself a home of this damp little hole. Me? I'm going to have a bloody fire.'

While Macro gathered some wood from the scrub growing on the moutainside and prepared a fire, Cato got the goatskin map, a pen and a small pot of ink from his haversack and spread it out on the cave floor. By the fading light of the cave opening he began to add detail to the sketchy outline of the area that the clerk had copied on to the goatskin from one of the staff maps. Working carefully, Cato marked in the hill range they had travelled across that day, together with the paths they had followed, and then began to examine the vital section of the map they would complete the next day. After climbing to the summit of the mountain above them, he and Macro would examine the entrance to the bay and then descend the slope on the far side of the mountain and rejoin the fleet.

Behind him, at the back of the cave, Macro was striking a flint over his tinder box. Sparks flashed down on to the charred linen inside. After a few attempts the material took some of the sparks and began to glow. Macro blew over it softly and then transferred the tiny flame to the kindling and continued blowing until it caught light and a crackling sound filled the cave as Macro built the small fire up.

'There!' He leaned back with a smile. 'Soon be warm in here.'

'Nice job.' Cato made himself smile back. He felt guilty for the genuine friendship that Macro shared with him. By implicating Macro in Cato's supposed knowledge of the Sybilline scrolls he had placed his friend in danger. For the sake of Macro, and for the sake of their friendship he owed it to the older man to tell him the truth. He must be made aware of the content of the scrolls, and their significance.

'Macro…'

The other man looked up from his fire. 'Hmm?'

'There's something I have to tell you. About those scrolls Narcissus is after.'

'Oh.' Macro caught the awkward tone in his friend's voice. 'What about them?'

'I'm not sure where to start. I…'

'Just spit it out, man. You can worry about the details and niceties later.'

'All right…'

Macro shook his head.'For fuck's sake, Cato, get on with it. Anyone would think you were asking for my hand in marriage.'

Cato laughed. 'Well, I was wondering about that. Watching you bent over that fire made me realise what a good wife you'd make.'

Macro wagged a finger at him. 'Careful, lad. Never take a joke too far.'

'Right, sorry…'

Macro stared at him a moment, then sighed.'The scrolls?'

'Oh, yes, of course.' Cato shuffled into a comfortable position and hugged his knees, facing the fire. 'I found out what they are. You've heard of the three Sybilline scrolls?'

Macro rolled his eyes, and responded with forced patience. 'Yes. I think I've heard of them.'

'And the story behind them?'

Macro looked doubtful now. 'They were given to King Tarquin by the Oracle of Cumae. Weren't they? A long time ago.'

Cato nodded. 'About five hundred years back. But the Oracle didn't give them to him, she sold them to him. For a fortune. She only sold him three of the books.'

'There were more?'

'Oh, yes. Six in all. Six books that that were supposed to prophesy the entire future of Rome and her people. Quite a prize. So she came to Rome and offered them to Tarquin for a price that would have beggared him. Naturally he refused. So she went away and burned one of the books and came back the next day with five and demanded the same price. He refused again, so she burned another and returned to demand the same price. He refused one last time and she destroyed a third book. When she came before him again he was desperate and paid what she was asking. And that's what we have in the Temple of Jupiter today. Our priests go to consult them whenever there's a crisis of some kind and try to work out what will happen. Not easy when you only have half the information in front of you.'

'I see,' Macro looked into the wavering glow of his fire. 'So what have these scrolls we're after got to do with the Sybilline scrolls?'

Cato leaned forward slightly.'Don't you see? They are the Sybilline scrolls.'

'What, are you saying the ones in the temple of Jupiter are fakes?'

'No. No. Listen. Think about it. The Oracle knew these scrolls were priceless. So why on earth would she destroy them?'

'Like you said. To get some leverage on negotiations with King Tarquin.'

'Which she did,' Cato admitted. 'But wouldn't the smart move have been to put the scrolls somewhere safe and only say that she had burned them? Later on, along comes a new king, with a new fortune, and the Oracle, or her successor, reveals the existence of the remaining scrolls. By that time the people in Rome would have discovered that the first three books were almost useless on their own. They would be prepared to pay almost anything to possess the last three books to complete the prophecy.'

'So why didn't she try to sell the books at a later date?'

'I don't know. Maybe she felt the time wasn't right. Maybe she was waiting for Rome to be rich enough to afford the price she wanted. Perhaps she was too good at keeping a secret and died before she could tell her successor about the books and where they were hidden. I don't know. I'm only guessing. There are stories told of men who claimed to have seen them. I even heard that they fell into the hands of Mark Antony, just before the battle of Actium. He might have beaten Augustus, but for some reason Antony's nerve failed at the last moment and he abandoned his fleet to its destruction. The story goes that he read the Sybilline scrolls on the eve of the battle and that they foretold his defeat.'

Macro stared at him. 'Do you think it's true?'

Cato chuckled. 'How can anyone know? His fleet lost because he cut and ran. If he fled because of some prophecy then he's an even bigger fool than historians take him for. Our destiny is not written in the stars. We make it as we will. The rest is just a story.'

'It might have been true,' Macro persisted. 'There are more things in the heavens and the earth than can be found in all those books you read, Cato.'

'Maybe.' Cato shrugged. 'Or maybe Antony was as poor at commanding a fleet as he was at selecting a lover.'

Macro shrugged and stared sullenly into the fire, and Cato feared he had gone too far in undermining the superstitions that Macro held dear to his heart. He decided to change tack and cleared his throat. 'It's clear enough what's happened since then.'

'Oh?'

'Someone discovered the scrolls and recognised them for what they are. They struck a deal with the Emperor – or Narcissus, more likely. He sent out an agent with the gold to pay for the scrolls and the agent duly headed back to Rome bearing the scrolls that would complete the Sybilline prophecies. At last the rulers of Rome would know what the future holds for the Empire and could make their plans accordingly. Assuming there's any substance to the prophecies.'