That was the camp of the enemy, under their commander, Caratacus. For days now the two armies had sat several miles apart, their scouts sparring every so often across the ground that separated the two forces. Plautius knew that if he attempted to move in on the enemy the shrewd Caratacus would simply retreat and draw the legions after him again. So it would go on, and all the time Caratacus would be falling back on his supply lines, just as Plautius was stretching his even further. Accordingly Plautius had halted his advance for the moment and was busy consolidating the chain of forts protecting his flanks and rear. When that was done he would push his legions forward and force the Britons to give more ground. Eventually they must run out of land and would have to turn and fight. Then the Romans would crush them utterly.

That had been the plan, at least, Plautius smiled bitterly. But the plan was always the first casualty in any military operation. A few days ago he had received a worrying report from Vespasian about the presence of another British army forming up to the south of the Tamesis. It was possible that Caratacus intended to join the two armies, in which case he might attempt to steal a march on Plautius and rush south and destroy Vespasian. Alternatively, the Briton might feel strong enough to take on the main Roman force. That, Plautius chided himself, was purely wishful thinking, and he must pay more respect to Caratacus, particularly in the light of the document he had thrown down on his chief clerk’s desk: another report, this time from that centurion Vespasian had left in command of the tiny garrison at Calleva.

Centurion Macro detailed a recent skirmish he had won with one of the enemy raiding columns. That was fine, and the general had read through the account with some relish. Then he had reached the section where the centurion reported on the situation in Calleva. Despite Macro’s attempt to sound reassuring, by the time Plautius had finished the report his anxiety was fully aroused.

‘Sir!’

General Plautius turned round as the chief clerk entered through the entrance at the back of the tent.

‘Well?’

‘Five days ago, sir.’

‘Five days?’ Plautius said quietly. Behind him lightning flickered over the deserted farmland. Moments later the thunder cracked and the clerk flinched.

‘Quintus, would you mind explaining why this took five days to come to my attention?’

‘It seemed like a low-priority report, sir.’

‘Did you read it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘All of it?’

The clerk was silent for a moment. ‘I can’t remember, sir.’

‘I see. This isn’t very satisfactory, is it, Quintus?’

‘No, sir.’

The general stared at him a moment, until the clerk could no longer meet his eyes and looked down, shamed.

‘Make sure that every report is read in its entirety from now on. I will not tolerate this kind of cock-up again.’