Verica slowly finished the small pastry he had in his hand and then brushed the crumbs on to the floor. He coughed to clear his throat.

‘I summoned you to discuss this afternoon’s events, Legate.’

‘I imagined that was the reason, sir.’

‘You must stop these enemy raids into Atrebatan lands. They can’t be allowed to continue a moment longer. It’s not just your convoys that are being attacked; my people have been driven from their farms.’

‘I understand that, sir.’

‘Empathy does not fill stomachs, Legate. Why can’t we have some of the reserves in your depot? You have plenty there, yet your Centurion Veranius refused to release any supplies to us.’

‘He was acting on my orders. My legion may require everything that’s in the depot.’

‘Everything? There must be far more there than you could ever need. My people are starving now.’

‘I’ve no doubt it’ll be a long campaign, sir,’ Vespasian countered. ‘And I’ve no doubt we will lose yet more supplies to the Durotrigans before the season is over. Then, of course, I’ll need to stockpile food at an advance base for next winter.’

‘And what of my people?’ Verica’s hand moved over towards a dish of honeyed dates. ‘They can’t be allowed to go hungry.’

‘Once we’ve defeated the Durotrigans your people can return to their farms. But we can’t beat the enemy while my troops have no food in their stomachs.’

It was an impasse, and both men knew it. Tincommius eventually broke the silence.

‘Legate, have you considered what might happen if you don’t feed our people. What if the Atrebatans rose up against Verica?’

Vespasian had indeed considered the prospect, and the consequences of such a rising were deeply disturbing. If the Atrebatans deposed Verica and threw in their lot with the other tribes fighting for Caratacus then General Plautius and his legions would be cut off from the supply base at Rutupiae. With enemies before, behind and between the Roman columns, Plautius would have to retreat to the safety of Camulodunum. And if the Trinovantans there, cowed as they were, took heart from the revolt of the Atrebatans, then only a miracle could save Plautius and his legions from succumbing to a fate similar to that of General Varus and his three legions in the depths of Germania nearly forty years ago.

Vespasian controlled his anxiety and fixed Tincommius with a steady look. ‘Do you think it is likely that your people will rise up against the king?’

‘Not the king. Rome,’ replied Tincommius. Then he smiled. ‘They’re only grumbling right now. But who knows what men might do if they’re hungry enough?’