As they approached a shout went up and a man who had been kneeling in front of the king was dragged away by two men, followed by another who carried a stout club.

‘Oh, justice time,’ Longinus whispered to Hadrian.

The victim was made to kneel again, this time with his head resting on a flat stone. There was no signal, no last glance back to receive the order, for the clubman simply swung with all his force, producing an audible crack when it hit the man’s head, as his limbs jerked. The executioner raised it high and struck again, and this time the weapon came up bloody, but he hit four more times before wiping the tip of his club on the grass. There was little left of the victim’s head as the others dragged the corpse away.

‘Don’t notice it,’ Longinus said in a low voice. ‘They always lay an execution on for our arrival. Sometimes it’s the club and sometimes a beheading with a falx. Always wondered what would happen if the king did not have a criminal handy to execute.’

‘There’s always someone,’ Hadrian whispered.

‘True enough.’

Decebalus was smaller than Hadrian had expected, for without really thinking he had assumed that any barbarian king must be large – Polyphemus, but with two eyes. The king had two, both blue and both alive with intelligence. His beard and hair had plenty of grey, and he must have been in his forties at least and probably older, but he showed every sign of vigour. Longinus had told him that Decebalus spoke Greek well and more than a little Latin, but that he tended to speak via an interpreter most of the time.

‘Just do not say anything tactless,’ the governor commanded. ‘Leave that to me, if it is necessary.’

The prefect accompanying them had said little, although Hadrian had met him before back when Trajan had been adopted by Nerva. Petilius Cerialis was a Batavian from the Rhineland, an eques, and coming to the end of a long spell as commander of a cohort of his own people. He was handsome, clever and ambitious, although by now Hadrian suspected that he might be wondering just how far the emperor’s old promises of favour would translate into reality now that there was a whole empire to satisfy. Well, he was not alone in that.

The king asked politely about the health of Cerialis’ dog, which had been sick, and smiled at the news that the animal had quite recovered.

‘And are your family well?’ the interpreter asked on the king’s behalf.

‘I am pleased to say that I have recent news of them and all are flourishing,’ Cerialis answered. His delight at Hadrian’s news of Sulpicia Lepidina and the four children was still fresh after several days, during which he had no doubt read and re-read the letter he had brought many times.

‘I hope to meet them,’ Decebalus said, using Latin and not waiting for the interpreter. ‘A man should have children.’