‘This will be the basilica,’ Karus said. ‘The great folk of the town will run their local government from here - they will collect the taxes for one thing, and bundle them all off down to Londinium for the procurator to count up.’ The construction of the building was proceeding only as the funds became available, so was taking a long time. ‘Still, this is the task of our generation. Our fathers set out the town. Now we must build it.’

Brigonius frowned. ‘I think I imagined the Emperor would pay for all this.’

Karus pursed his lips. ‘Not a bit of it. We enjoy the fruits of Roman civilisation but we must pay for it ourselves. Which we do, of course, gladly. You know, Brigonius, if you’re to become a rich man you’ll have to learn about how to handle your wealth. To begin with you must have wealth - the more the better. From wealth flows power and status; with wealth you are a source of patronage. Second, you mustn’t flaunt your wealth. Oh, spend it, yes; make sure people know you have it - but in a restrained way. And you must be sure you invest your wealth in projects for the public good, like this basilica. Paradoxical, isn’t it? But Romans are paradoxical folk, in many ways.’

The lawyer seemed to have opened up to Brigonius during this brief walk. ‘You know, Brigonius, I’m not much of one for reflection. Live for the day, I say, for yesterday is irrelevant, and tomorrow may never come! But one thing I’ve enjoyed about Severa’s correspondence is her sense of perspective - of history. Just think, a hundred years ago there was no city like this, no building remotely like this roofless basilica, not anywhere in Britain. They’ve all sprung up like mushrooms. My grandfather was a hunter. He wore moleskins on his feet, stuffed with bird feathers. Now look at me, his grandson! I’m a lawyer. I go to work in an office in a block several storeys high, with windows of glass. I buy my food from vendors, my coins operate locks on latrines - and stamped on every coin is an uplifting message from the Emperor himself. Somehow the Prophecy has enabled Severa to see all this, to see these great changes, as if she is standing outside history altogether.’

But Brigonius pulled on his beard, unconvinced. He thought of his northern home, where the people herded their cattle just as they had always done - as indeed the mass of people even in the south still scraped at the soil. This heaped-up wonder of stone and commerce was a fragile, light confection, he thought, built on the extraction of wealth from farmers to whose lives the Roman presence hardly made any difference at all.

‘And if it all should end, as fast as it has arisen - what then?’