Regina gasped at this language, shocked and delighted, and Carta colored.

“But we fought back. While the Emperor Claudius was still in Britain, one of his generals, Vespasian, had to fight his way west, taking hill fort after hill fort, supported by the fleet tracking him along the coast. It was a mighty feat of generalship—and later Vespasian himself would become Emperor—but, by my eyes, we made him earn that throne. And that is why the men of the Durotriges became such good soldiers for the Empire.”

“Like you, Grandfather.”

He said gruffly, “You’d have to count my lumps. But, yes, I’ve been a soldier all my adult life. As was my father, and his before him. But things have changed. There have always been barbarians—”

“In the north, and beyond the sea.”

“Yes. They aren’t soldiers but professional savage fools, farmers, bound to the land. They could not even mount a genuine campaign. They were no match for the Empire—not until the barbarica conspiratio.”

It had come more than forty years earlier, a great barbarian conspiracy, a coordinated attack on Britain by the Picts across the Wall from the north, the Franks and Saxons from across the North Sea, and the Scotti from Ireland. Defenses designed to hold against an attack from any one of these enemies had been overwhelmed. There was much muttering of espionage, for the British military commanders on the northern frontier and the coasts were ambushed and killed.

“It was a terrible time,” Aetius muttered. “I was not fifteen years old—no older than you, Cartumandua. For a time the countryside was full of roaming bands of barbarians—and, I have to say, of deserters from the army itself. Even Londinium was sacked. It took the Emperor two years to restore order. My own view is we’re still trying to recover from that great shock.”

Carta spoke up again. “Sir, she is only a child.”

Aetius said grimly, “She needs to hear it even so, Cartumandua, and to hear it again until it sinks in. Let me say this. Six years ago I was on the Rhine—Gaul’s great river frontier. In the middle of winter it froze over, and into Gaul swarmed the Vandals and the Alans and the Suebi and Jove knows who else. They just walked across the damn river, as cool as you please. We couldn’t hold them—we fell back and fell back. And they are still there now, crawling around the prefecture, far inside the frontier. I was glad to get a posting back to Britain and away from all that, I can tell you . . . I suspect this poor child will spend much of her life seeking a place of safety.”

Regina sniffed. “This poor child understands every word you say, you know.”