The man nodded.

‘Then please be so good as to tell your king that Tribune Quintillus desires an audience. I have been sent by Aulus Plautius.’

The Briton’s eyes widened a little at the sound of the general’s name. ‘Wait, Roman.’

Then he was gone, and the gate was shut again. Quintillus glared at the shadowed timbers and slapped his hand against his thigh in frustration. The Romans waited in the bright sunshine, between the crude huts lining the rutted street. The stench from a nearby midden, heated to a sharp pungency, filled the still air and the tribune wrinkled his nose in disgust. Flies buzzed lazy looping paths around the tribune and his bodyguards, and a short distance away a dog barked endlessly. Quintillus affected an air of detachment and slowly paced up and down in front of the gate, hands loosely clasped behind his back. The entire town was crying out for demolition, the tribune decided. He began to visualise Calleva as the seat of government for this province: neat ranks of tiled houses arranged around a modest palace and basilica that would proclaim that Roman law and Roman order had triumphed once more.

At last there came a heavy rumble from behind the gates as the locking bar was removed. Moments later one of them slowly swung inwards. The Briton they had seen earlier beckoned them inside, and then the gate was swung back into place.

‘This way.’ The Briton waved a finger and turned towards the great hall. Quintillus bit back on his anger at the blunt lack of manners exhibited by the man and nodded at his bodyguards to follow him.

The enclosure was almost as quiet as the town beyond the gate. A handful of guards walked slowly along the palisade, keenly watching over the spread of thatched roofs. Other men sat, or slept, in patches of shade, and Quintillus was aware of several pairs of eyes watching him closely as he marched past. At the entrance to the great hall stood four warriors, squatting in the shadows. They rose to their feet as the small party approached. At the doorway the Briton turned towards Quintillus.

‘Your men will wait here.’

‘They’re my bodyguards.’

‘They wait here,’ the Briton said firmly. ‘You come with me.’