‘Quite. Anyway, the Silures were happy to stage ambushes and harass the patrols, and then hide their weapons and slip back into their villages as if nothing had happened, and we had to go along with it. Except for Quertus. He refused. His unit had been fighting the Silures for years, and he argued that he knew their mind, and that the prefect’s approach was futile. Maybe he’s right. He should know. A few years earlier, before he was promoted to command the unit, he was captured, along with the survivors of a squadron he led. It seems the Silures held them for some months, and killed a handful off, before handing the rest over to the Druids to sacrifice. Quertus managed to escape, after he’d seen his companions burned alive. So I guess he has some grasp of the way the Silures live and think. In any case it convinced him that they could never be won over. More than that, he thinks that they can only be defeated if we turn their barbarism on them, and make the Silures as afraid of Romans as we are of the Druids.’

Macro puffed his cheeks. ‘So that’s his strategy?’

Severus lowered his voice as he continued. ‘It’s only half the story. Quertus knew that those who follow him need to be committed to his way of waging war. That’s why he’s encouraged his men to change their appearance and go back to the old ways of Thrace. He began to change their training, making them concentrate on killing, and absolute obedience to his will. One day he brought back some prisoners from a village at the far end of the valley. Twenty or so men, women, and a handful of kids. He had them tied to stakes on the training ground below the fort and then ordered his men to use them for spear practice. One of the men refused, and Quertus took his sword out and killed him on the spot. I didn’t see it happen, but I’m told he showed no emotion when he did it, and simply told his men that the same would happen to them if they ever refused an order.’

‘Shit . . . That’s taking things a bit too far.’

‘That’s what Prefect Albius thought.’

They were interrupted by the return of the orderly who set down a jar, two cups and a wooden platter on which he had arranged a few strips of dried mutton and a handful of barley-flour biscuits. He bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him. Severus waited until he heard the man’s footsteps receding before he continued.