‘I see.’ Vespasian looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. He was uncomfortable about the idea of Aulus Plautius being concerned about a town within the Second Legion’s operational area. Immediately Vespasian wondered if there was something he had overlooked. As far as he could recall, Centurion Macro had made no mention of trouble brewing up amongst the Atrebatans. Yet here was this man, claiming to be a tribune, stating that the general had deemed it necessary to send a senior officer to report back on the situation. Something was amiss, and Vespasian realised he must tread lightly until the precise nature of the general’s anxiety became apparent. He smiled faintly at the tribune. ‘And the situation will meet with the general’s satisfaction, I trust.’

‘Hardly.’ Quintiullus looked drained. ‘When I left the town the Durotrigans were about to attack it. Sir, if we don’t act soon, Calleva must fall into enemy hands.’

Vespasian had been reaching for his wine, but now his hand froze halfway across the desk.

‘What did you say?’

‘Calleva’s under attack, sir. Or at least it probably is, given what happened yesterday.’

Vespasian withdrew his hand and leaned back into his campaign chair, forcing himself to remain composed. ‘And what exactly happened yesterday?’

Tribune Quintillus briefly described the destruction of the two native cohorts, the flight back to Calleva, and his hurried orders for the town’s defence. He went on, in as modest a tone as he could manage, to relate how he had volunteered himself to ride through enemy lines to find the Second Legion, and bring help to the remains of the garrison holding on back in Calleva. When he finished, Quintillus casually rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn on the back of his hand.

‘That’s quite a tale,’ Vespasian said evenly. ‘You must be exhausted. I’ll have some food brought for you. Then you can rest.’

‘Yes, sir. But the garrison . . . we must help them at once.’

‘Quite. Verica needs our support.’

‘Verica? Verica’s been wounded. Badly. Last time I saw him he looked pretty close to death.’

‘You let the king ride into this ambush?’ Vespasian said in an icy tone.

‘No, sir,’ Quintillus replied quickly. ‘He was attacked by one of his noblemen.’

Vespasian bit back on his growing anger. Every time the young tribune opened his mouth the situation got worse. ‘I hope there’s nothing else to tell me.’

The tribune shook his head and then pointed to a chair beside Vespasian’s table. ‘May I sit down, sir?’

‘What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course.’

While the tribune eased his saddle-sore body down into the campaign chair Vespasian’s mind was racing as he reacted to the news of the disaster facing not only the men at Calleva, but his own legion as well. The campaign in the west would be stalled.

‘How strong was the enemy force?’

‘A thousand, maybe two thousand,’ Quintillus guessed.