‘See what you can do,’ Ferox told them. It was late, and although the arrows still thudded into the ramparts, there was no sign of an attack, and thankfully no sign of the fog that might cover one. ‘I reckon they’ll throw up some works tonight and prepare their engines, then attack tomorrow or the next day.’ He ordered most of the men to rest, but everyone knew the alarm calls and where to take their place. After going through everything one more time to make sure that all was clear, he made a final tour of the ramparts and then headed for the principia. The children were asleep, Sulpicia Lepidina visiting the hospital once again, and no sign of Claudia Enica, so Ferox asked Philo for some cold food and told the man then to get to bed. For once, Philo obeyed without prolonged resistance, leaving him to eat in silence.

‘On your own again,’ Claudia had changed from her tunic, boots and armour into one of her silken dresses.

‘I was hoping that I would not be, my queen.’

The alarm bell rang, faint, but unmistakable.

Ferox bounded to his feet, taking a bite of meat as he ran for the door.

‘I was going to be gentle,’ Claudia Enica said as he passed, and then yelped because he slapped her on the behind. ‘Pig!’ she called and then followed, hitching up her dress.

By the time Ferox was out in the street the bell had stopped, but he could see torches and activity at the east gate, not far away to his right. There was no sound, no roar of attackers, but a soldier was running towards him.

‘Wait,’ he said to the queen as she came outside.

‘Sir!’ The soldier saw him. It was one of the veterans of I Minervia, his arms pumping and legs pounding yet still moving at a slow, almost stately pace. ‘There’s a peasant turned up at the gate. Says he’s a freedman of the legatus and has news.’

‘Sosius?’ Claudia asked.

‘That’s right, lady. What he says he’s called anyroad. Says he was here before as well. Sneaked up to the gate and then called out bold as brass. Weren’t going to let him in, but he knew your name, sir, and by that time there were arrows flying, but no one too close, so we let him in.’

Sosius was filthy, unshaven and had a wild glint in his eyes. His left leg was bound up and he limped as he walked. Wine steadied him, and some food restored him, although it was still a while before he was willing to talk. Ferox sensed the veils coming back down across the man’s soul.

‘The Legatus Longinus is dead,’ he told them at last, as they sat in the principia. ‘He drank poison rather than let himself be used as a hostage.’ Ferox did not ask the obvious question of how a prisoner had obtained the means of killing himself, or voice his suspicion that there was more to it than simple suicide. ‘I got the draught for him,’ Sosius went on. ‘That was one more reason for slipping away, but Decebalus also had me carry a letter for Trajan in which he sets out peace terms, so I was able to ride out openly. That is until the legatus was dead and the king got angry.’