We reached Caerleon four days later to find the place completely changed. Ambrosius intended to use it as one of his three main stations along with London and York, and Tremorinus himself had been working here. The walls had been rebuilt, the bridge repaired, the river dredged and its banks strengthened, and the whole of the east barrack block rebuilt. In earlier times the military settlement at Caerleon, circled by low hills and guarded by a curve of the river, had been a vast place; there was no need for even half of it now, so Tremorinus had pulled down what remained of the western barrack blocks and used the material on the spot to build the new quarters, the baths, and some brand new kitchens. The old ones had been in even worse condition than the bath-house at Maridunum, and now, “You’ll have every man in Britain asking to be posted here,” I told Tremorinus, and he looked pleased.

“We’ll not be ready a moment too soon,” he said. “The rumour’s going round of fresh trouble coming. Have you heard anything?”

“Nothing. But if it’s recent news I wouldn’t have had it. We’ve been on the move for nearly a week. What kind of trouble? Not Octa again, surely?”

“No, Pascentius.” This was Vortimer’s brother who had fought with him in the rebellion, and fled north after Vortimer’s death. “You knew he took ship to Germany? They say he’ll come back.”

“Give him time,” I said, “you may be sure he will. Well, you’ll send me any news that comes?”

“Send you? You’re not staying here?”

“No. I’m going on to Maridunum. It’s my home, you know.”

“I had forgotten. Well, perhaps we’ll see something of you; I’ll be here myself a bit longer—we’ve started work on the church now.” He grinned. “The bishop’s been at me like a gadfly: it seems I should have been thinking of that before I spent so much time on the things of this earth. And there’s talk, too, of putting up some kind of monument to the King’s victories. A triumphal arch, some say, the old Roman style of thing. Of course they’re saying here in Caerleon that we should build the church for that—the glory of God with Ambrosius thrown in. Though myself I think if any bishop should get the credit of God’s glory and the King’s combined it should be Gloucester—old Eldad laid about him with the best of them. Did you see him?”

“I heard him.”

He laughed. “Well, in any case you’ll stay tonight, I hope? Have supper with me.”

“Thanks. I’d like to.”