Hadrian’s face reddened. The fingers of one hand drummed on the tabletop for a while and he stared into Ferox’s eyes, even though experience told him that this achieved little. ‘Blunt and to the point as always,’ he said at last. ‘Well, that is why I pay you.’

‘Thought that came from the emperor, sir.’

‘Don’t be insolent – or obtuse. You know what I mean and for all your usefulness you cause plenty of problems. I can hold off investigation into the killing of Messalinus for a while longer. If necessary there is – or should I say there will be – a signed confession of his crimes which will justify your acts. However, it would be a good deal more useful if it went into detail about his confederates. Are you any closer to finding them?’

Ferox shook his head. ‘Too many possibilities – and they’ve gone quiet now that the emperor is on the spot and too many others are paying attention to details in every unit.’

‘Is it worth your while going back to see Domitius?’ There it was, as Ferox had expected.

‘Don’t know which way he will go. And someone might recognise me. And no sense in making the authorities nervous about Roman spies.’

‘No, indeed no. Occupying Nicopolis is the main thing and we must do nothing to imperil that end. Still, once we are in, it would be good if you could find Domitius and persuade him to talk.’

‘Sir.’

‘Do you think that those men got rid of him?’

‘Probably.’

‘Hmm. One cannot condone perverted religion, but the truth is that no one is bothered unless it becomes public. The timing seems too coincidental to be mere chance.’

‘Probably, my lord.’

The slave returned, carrying a small package. ‘Ah, here are your letters. Depart, Flavius Ferox – even take your things and go!’ Hadrian grinned at his own joke. Ferox simply thought that it would be very nice to be divorced and free from service to this man. ‘Read your letters and then go with your fellows back to Crispinus and plague him with your insolence. I will write soon, but tell him to make haste with his preparations.’

‘And to expect a siege, my lord?’

Hadrian sighed. ‘If you must. It is wisest to plan for the worst as long as such pessimism does not become too embedded in your soul.’

*

Hadrian always felt weary after a meeting with Ferox in a way his other agents and servants, let alone his officers, never made him feel. The man’s face was so rigid. Noble Romans prized self-control, maintaining the dignitas and gravitas appropriate to high office and good family. Yet a man was a not a statue, and it was unnatural to show no sign of emotion at all. Smiles and frowns, even tears and laughter, were appropriate in their place.

Ferox just stood or sat there, utterly impassive, back rigidly straight, and narrow eyes taking in everything. It was more than the impassive expression of a soldier on parade, for although you never actually caught him looking at anything in particular, you could sense the scrutiny. Years had passed since they had first met, yet Hadrian found it hard to shake off the feeling that Ferox was pondering just where he would stab you. By the sound of it, this was what it had been like fighting the Silures, before they were beaten down. That was the point. You were stronger, much stronger than they were, and your power meant that they had to do what you wanted in the end. Still somehow they remained cold, impassive, and the only thing you could be sure they were feeling was an immense sense of superiority. Hadrian had briefly considered proposing the recruitment of a cohort or ala from the Silures, before deciding that that was one nightmare too many to release on the army and the empire.