The execution was to take place outside the camp at Banna. Everybody within half a day’s walk of the place was summoned to attend, as were the leaders of the civitas.

At the appointed hour Brigonius walked out of the camp. He joined a dismal gathering, a hundred people or so, men, women and children, gathered around the cross on the ground. The August day was unusually warm: it was a Roman heat, Karus said, a heavy heat that flattened your lust and puddled your thinking, the heat of the conquerors.

To Brigonius’s surprise, Severa joined him, with Karus. ‘I wasn’t expecting you two. I didn’t know you had a taste for such a spectacle.’

‘I certainly don’t,’ Karus said, his face grey. ‘I see it as duty, of a grim sort. It is sometimes my role to argue for the death penalty. I think I should remind myself from time to time what that entails.’

Severa was expressionless, wrapped in a white cloak. ‘As for me, I thought I should drain the dregs of a foolish disturbance which did so much damage to my ambitions. I thought that my daughter might be here, however. After all she worships a god who died in such a manner. You’d think she would see this as part of her theological education.’

‘You’re too hard on the girl,’ Karus murmured. ‘This isn’t the place for her, you know. You’re crushing her spirit.’

‘I know my own daughter, I think.’

Karus regarded her. ‘Once I admired you. I lusted after you - I’m sure you knew it. And your mind astonished me; your gaze pierced centuries. But perhaps your aloofness from history has leached you of your humanity, Severa. Perhaps you have something of the Weaver’s manipulative coldness in your heart ...’ But his words tailed away, and Severa’s glare held only contempt for this man who had been her closest ally.

As for Brigonius, he had nothing to say to Severa. Somehow the company of this vicious, thrusting woman felt appropriate on this awful day.

There was a disturbance. Brigonius turned to see a detail of soldiers dragging a prisoner out of the camp. They towered over him; he was only a boy. Brigonius and his companions had to step back to allow the party through. For a moment the boy’s glance met Brigonius’s. It was Similis, Tullio’s British slave. The boy seemed to recognise Brigonius, who had once thanked him for bringing him a drink. Then the moment was lost, the link between their souls broken.