No more stones came from the wall as the morning drew to an end. They could see faces peering down at them from the ramparts and the high towers, and sometimes there were more riders watching from the north and sometimes fewer. The camp’s defences took shape quickly, which was a relief.

‘At least it isn’t too hard to dig over here,’ Crispinus commented to Cerialis when he came back to report. In the main camp, they had struck a stony level after going down no more than three feet, and had eventually given up on making the ditch any deeper, which meant adding more obstacles outside to secure the defences. Here it was far easier, and soon they had a V-shaped ditch where a tall man could only just see out, and a good rampart behind it. There were not enough stones to hand to build low walls and make huts rather than tents, so the soldiers in both camps would have to make do with sleeping under leather, at least for the moment.

‘I’ll want reports from you every hour, night and day,’ the legatus told Cerialis, who was to command the eastern camp. ‘We cannot see each other, and until we have the small camps we cannot rely on a relay of signals.’ Three legionary cohorts, one and a half of auxiliaries and his own ala were to be stationed here. ‘And I’m giving you Ferox and his rogues.’

‘Put all your Britons in one place, eh? Best way to keep an eye on them.’

‘Yes, you cannot be too careful. I’ll want them tomorrow and probably again, but they’re hillfolk, so could come in handy when you go up those cliffs.’ Crispinus glanced at Ferox. ‘Look at him, not saying a thing. Bet he’s itching to say that I’m talking nonsense or that no one could ride a horse up those rocks.’

‘I leave such wisdom to Vindex, my lord.’

Crispinus sighed. ‘You really do not change, do you? As if I did not have enough burdens to carry as it is. That’s why I’m leaving him to mope around your camp instead of mine, dear Cerialis.’

‘I have children, my lord, after that a sullen centurion is no great thing! And I’m fond of this one – like an old hound past his best, but still a little life in him.’

‘There had better be!’ Crispinus snapped. ‘The primus pilus, who for some unaccountable reason, does not care much for you, Ferox’—the legatus ignored Cerialis’ “why think of that”—‘knows what he is talking about when it comes to sieges. We need to outwit the people in there.’ He jerked a thumb up at the walls. ‘You, Ferox, are of the Silures, and they say the Silures are most devious of all the Britons, and everyone knows you cannot trust a Briton, so I need that warped mind and soul of yours, and I need you to speak up with every twisted thought that comes into your mind.’