The Nicopolitans fled whenever they had the chance, through the little doors in the curtain wall, and the great gates once these were open and the remaining Romans had come in. Some were caught as they tried to get out, and more than a few women accepted a legionary or auxiliary as protector rather than be at the mercy of all. Others did not get the chance. On the plains around the city the picket line was thin because many men had abandoned their posts. Those with bad luck ran into soldiers, who stripped them of their valuables or did far worse. The truly unlucky met with bandits or slavers during the days that followed.

Domitius carried John on his back, leading Sara. Ferox had been true to his word and taken him to the family’s house, only to find it already on fire, and Simon and several servants lying dead. Someone had robbed them and killed them, and old John had arrived afterwards. They found him sobbing, but were able to save him and a few valuables the old man had hidden. It was not much, but Ferox sent Bran and Vindex to escort them, while he went out to fetch men and horses. He never asked whether they had had to fight, but the group had escaped, and he had met them at the agreed spot with a few of his men, given them food, three donkeys and his best wishes.

‘He is gone then,’ Cerialis said as the funeral pyre began to burn down. ‘This deserter who helped us.’

‘Yes. Carried the old man out on his back, like Aeneas and Anchises.’

The prefect smiled at the reference. ‘Only this time it was the Trojans not the Greeks storming a city… Was the woman pretty?’

‘Domitius thought so. I guess most men would. Said that they might go to Egypt. It’s quiet there and she has relatives.’

‘A happy outcome, then,’ Cerialis said bitterly. He had turned and was staring at the thick black smoke hanging over the city, a hand shading his eyes. ‘Well, they told us to take it and that is what we have done.’

‘That’s what soldiers always have to do, sir.’ Ferox did not add that he did not want to do it anymore, least of all for another of Hadrian’s schemes. Saying it out loud would not make something come true, and he was not sure how much the prefect understood about the campaign and the ambition behind it all. Still, Cerialis would write the despatch to Hadrian to tell of his success, and it would probably arrive before the acting governor’s successor put in an appearance. What Trajan would think was anyone’s guess.

Flavius Cerialis stared at him, as if sensing his thoughts, until at long last he beckoned to his cornicularius, who brought over a writing tablet. The prefect sighed. ‘The noble Crispinus’ freedman tells me that he was left with orders for you. From the acting governor, the even more noble Hadrian, no less.’ Cerialis shook his head. ‘I say orders because apparently there were two sets. One to be opened in the case of failure and retreat and the other – no doubt always expected to be true – if we captured Nicopolis.’