The man sitting on a stool and clasping a cup of wine as if his life depended on it did not look up when he entered. His shoulders were hunched, and not from the weight of his mail shirt with its shoulder doubling, for it was clear that the burden was as natural to him as his own skin after many years with the legions. His head was bare, a well-polished iron helmet covered in dust on the table beside him. His face was grey with dust as well, save where the lines of sweat had run down it. There was stubble on his chin, several days’ worth with plenty of grey amid the black, but he was one of those dark-headed men who went grey early. Ferox recognised something about the way he sat and held his head, before the memories flooded back and he knew the man.

‘Here is the commander,’ Sabinus said, his tone gentle. ‘Tell him your news.’

The soldier raised his head, frowned and then drained the rest of the cup. ‘Oh shit,’ he said, ‘it would have to be you.’

Ferox went to the table and offered him some more wine. ‘How are you Tiberius?’

‘Alive, sir.’

‘Well that’s something. Are you still with the Seventh?’

‘Aye, vexillarius in the legion’s cavalry.’ He drained a second cup. ‘That’s good,’ he said and held the cup out again.

‘This is Tiberius Claudius Maximus, who claims to be a Macedonian and is one of the toughest legionaries in VII Claudia pia fidelis. He served with me as explorator when he was a young tiro – what would it be, eighteen years ago?’

‘About that, sir. Sometimes feels like a hundred years.’

‘So what has happened?’

Maximus had come from Sarmizegethusa. ‘Three of us when we started, but the others did not make it. It was all so sudden, and the legate, sir, well he was caught by surprise, begging your pardon.’ Longinus had returned to Decebalus’ stronghold to see the king, but all he found was thousands of warriors surrounding the little Roman fort. The men up there were getting no more food, no more water, and the enemy were all around, watching, but not attacking. The Dacians kept Longinus as a hostage.

‘They asked to talk, and there was not much choice really, was there? Some young broad stripe tribune…’

‘Calpurnius Piso and a lot of other names.’

‘That’s him. He was senior, so he went to see what they offered and came back with good news. They wanted us out, but were willing to let us march away, keeping the Legate Longinus as surety for our behaviour.

‘The tribune agreed. It was that or die of thirst up there unless we fancied attacking their whole army. We were humped and no two ways about it, so that was a way out. So the next day – the day after the Ides, it was, out we trooped, between lines of the king’s men and plenty of the other wild buggers as well. Ugly lot and they were jeering as we passed. Then there was trouble and a bit of fighting before some of the king’s chiefs rode up and yelled at them. The tribune and most of the officers were summoned to see the king – summoned if you please. I was riding escort, and heard them argue. One of the prefects – handsome lad from the Batavians.’