‘Give or take, sir.’

‘Three armies routed, thousands of men massacred, and you come out smelling of roses.’

‘Is that what that smell is, sir?’ Ferox said before he could stop himself. He imagined how his old friend Vindex would have smirked, and suspected that he had spent far too long in the company of the northerner.

Crispinus slammed the cane down and this time the table broke. The legatus hit it a second time just to make sure, and there was a sharp crack as the wood split again. His cheek twitched again and again and it took a while for him to control it. His knuckles were white where he gripped the cane with both hands.

‘More destruction,’ he said sadly, and his voice was softer. ‘And here you are again. If my dear father had known the future he would have left you and your men to die.’

‘Sir.’ That had been many years ago, when the legatus’ father had command of a legion of his own on the Danube. He had marched to rescue Ferox after the Sarmatians slaughtered Legio XXI Rapax. The price was for Ferox to swear an oath to serve the father and his family, an obligation second only to his duty to the princeps.

‘So now you have murdered a tribune?’

‘Only a narrow stripe, sir.’

Crispinus flushed red and raised the cane high before he stopped himself. His cheek twitched just once. Ferox was still surprised by how much the man had changed in the last dozen or so years. When they first met, Crispinus had been a young aristocrat doing his initial spell with the army. Barely twenty, his hair had already gone grey and these days it was pure white, and the creases around his eyes and mouth made him appear much older than his thirty-seven years.

Crispinus shook his head. ‘Only a narrow stripe – although from what I hear this was a large and plump example, so that ought to count for something, don’t you think?’ Here was a flash of the younger Crispinus, always so eager to appear poised and unshockable, no matter what the subject. ‘I take it you had good reason and it was not mere high spirits?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Under orders?’

Ferox said nothing.

‘Hmm. You have not changed. Just as infuriating as ever and just as closed. I really would be doing the army a favour by killing you, I really would. … Well, fortunately for you the second letter arrived, from a man with whom we are both acquainted and whose suggestion carries the weight of an instruction. So – for the moment – I shall defer your well-merited execution. For a while at least, and then we shall see. Might I presume that you are being useful to the noble gentleman in question?’

‘Sir.’ If the nature of his service was not in the letter, then Ferox was not about to volunteer any information, especially as he had been set more than one task.