‘And I’ll tell you this. It’s a special war we’re here to fight, when the Hatti come, thick as a swarm of locusts. A war like none other in history. Because this is a war that will end history. It’s not about glory or the ambitions of kings or booty or even about our gods. It’s about who lives and who dies – as simple as that.

‘The world is ending, you know that, you’ve seen the winter close its fist on the land. And whoever loses this war will end with it. But whoever wins will build a new world, when the sun returns once more. That’s what I want you to remember when the Hatti come, as you whet your blades and polish your armour. You are the last warriors, fighting the last war in the world. And you will fight to win!’

Again the men cheered at these terrifying, inspiring words.

Still Nelo stood before this formidable man, trying not to tremble.

The general said more softly, ‘A Northlander, eh? You folk dismay the likes of us – oh, dismiss your men, Sergeant. Not you, Northlander. Do you know why you dismay us?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Because of your cursed history. Such a weight of it, as massive as your Wall, or so I’m told as I’ve never seen it, which hangs around the neck of the world like a slave’s shackle. And makes the likes of us, Latin and Carthaginian, look like children at your feet. Well, that’s all to be scrubbed away by the ice, isn’t it? Leaving the world bare, and ready for a new race to build a new world, fit for the gaze of the gods.’ An impulse seemed to strike him. ‘This is the same Northlander who’s the artist, is he, Gisco?’

‘He is, sir.’

‘Oh, don’t look shocked, boy; a good sergeant knows all his men’s secrets, and their hiding places. I think Gisco is proud of you, in his way. I was taken by the scribbles he showed me, I must say.

‘Listen to me, Northlander. I think I have an interesting assignment for you. I want you to join my staff. You can be my official artist. You’ll find me an unusual sort of soldier. Like my good friend Suniatus over there I fancy myself as something of a historian. I want future generations to witness what’s to be done, here on the plain before Carthage. And it’s through your eyes, perhaps, that they will do that witnessing. Hmm. I don’t suppose you have any epic poets hiding in your ranks, do you, Sergeant? Never mind, never mind.’ He walked on, turning to his aides. ‘What’s next?’

When they had gone Nelo just stood there, staring after the Roman.