‘We spoke of one queen,’ Crispinus said, ‘but I suspect that we both have an interest in one much closer to hand.’

‘Sir?’ Ferox could guess, but was not about to volunteer anything.

‘Or perhaps princess is better than queen. I speak of Azátē, daughter of King Abgarus of Osrhoene. How much do you know of her? And of Nicopolis and the other western cities?’

‘Sir? I do not know this country or its kings. Most of my time has been spent near the coast.’

Crispinus stretched his arms up to yawn, almost touching the tent strung up as a roof over the dry stone walls of the room. It was a style Ferox had never seen anywhere else in the empire, but offered a good compromise between pitching tents and the effort to build more permanent huts. The legatus had rugs on his floor and camp furniture, so that four folding chairs were around the broken table. In a very studied way, he pulled one over to him and then sat down. For a while he examined his cane as if seeing it for the first time.

Ferox remained at attention. Trumpets sounded for the change of watch and he could hear someone bellowing orders outside as the guards outside the legatus’ tent were relieved. Crispinus said nothing as the little ceremony was completed.

‘Where would the army be without shouting and stamping?’ the legatus said at long last. ‘They do so love it.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘And you, Flavius Ferox, dearly love your mulish obstinacy. When I was young I would have coaxed and cajoled you into talking, prising each gem of knowledge from that thick skull of yours… and still you would keep your secrets and play your little games. Are we not both too old for that?’

‘Sir.’

The legatus flushed again. ‘Well, since I am not going to kill you, I shall choose the easier path for once. Go to the table. My apologies, what was once a table, and next to it you will see a papyrus letter on the floor. Pick it up and examine the remnants of the seal and then go to the final two columns. After that we can talk properly as I do not believe that you will disobey the instructions there.’

Ferox did as he was told. Even though he had known what was coming, his heart sank when he saw the little figure of Hercules on the broken seal, for that sign had haunted his life for the last decade.

‘You see, I think,’ Crispinus said as the centurion read the last part of the letter. ‘Perhaps I should have begun with this, instead of hoping that a reunion of old friends would loosen your tongue. Some hope of that. So I wield the mark of Aelius Hadrian as a weapon to beat down your resistance. Yes, I speak his name, and need not warn you to do so only with great caution. He had more than a little to do with my appointment, and it appears that he has work for us both.’