‘Quiet!’ Verica snapped. ‘The times I’ve heard young hotheads utter that rubbish!’

‘Rubbish? I call it an ideal.’

‘What are ideals?’ Verica asked mockingly. ‘They just blind men to the horrors they set in motion. How many thousands of our people are you willing to see die for your ideal, Tincommius?’

‘My ideal? Old man, do you not realise that they share my vision?’

‘They? Who, exactly?’

‘My people. You don’t believe me? Then ask them. I challenge you to let us both address them and see what they think.’

‘No.’ Verica made a thin smile. ‘You know that’s not possible. In any case . . . an old man . . . would lack the persuasiveness of an impassioned youth. People do not like the odour of mortality. They want to hear their dreams fashioned by unblemished lips. Your voice would sound strident and clear. You would make the world simple for them. Too simple. How could I compete with that, burdened as I am by my knowledge of the way the world really is? Tincommius, you would sell them a dangerous dream. I can only peddle painful truths . . .’

‘Coward! What is the point of all this? Why not just murder me now?’ Tincommius suddenly looked hopeful. ‘Unless . . .’

‘Tincommius, you will die,’ Verica said sadly. ‘I just needed you to understand why you were wrong . . . You were like a son to me. I wanted you to know . . . to know I would give anything not to have you executed.’

‘Then don’t execute me!’ Tincommius cried.

‘You leave me no choice.’ Verica turned his face away and mumbled, ‘I’m sorry . . . I’m sorry. Cadminius, let the Romans have him now.’

Tincommius glanced over at the legate and the tribune, then beyond to the hardened face of the centurion. He turned and threw himself on to the bed.

‘Uncle! Please!’

‘Get up!’ Cadminius shouted, grabbing the prince by his shoulders, and tearing him away from the old man. Tincommius writhed in his grip, pleading to his uncle, but the captain of the bodyguard pulled him back, got his head in an armlock and dragged him over to Vespasian.

‘The king says he’s your now. To dispose of as you please.’

Vespasian nodded sternly, and beckoned to Centurion Hortensius. ‘Take him into the redoubt, and soften him up a little,’ Vespasian said quietly, so that Tincommius would not hear his words. ‘Don’t hurt him too badly, Hortensius. He’ll need to talk.’

The centurion stepped forward and pinioned the struggling prince before lifting him off the ground and dragging him from the chamber.

‘Now then, sir, do be a nice quiet gent, or I’ll have to get rough with you straight away.’