‘And do we expect trouble from Decebalus?’

‘Not my field,’ Turbo said. ‘The frumentarii carry reports of that nature, but do not read them – not if they want to keep their jobs. However, judging from the shipments we oversee, we aren’t expecting anything big this year.’ Hercules’ balls, he thought, realising that he may have been indiscreet. ‘Still early days though,’ he added, hoping to muddy the matter.

Hadrian gave a pleasant smile, not in the least triumphant. Turbo realised that he was drumming his fingers on the table and stopped.

‘Are all the detachments beyond the Danube composed of veterani?’

‘My lord?’ Turbo’s fingers twitched again, but he just managed to restrain himself from tapping the wood. He considered for a moment. ‘No idea, if I am honest. We do not get that sort of information. Could be, I suppose – well, some anyway. They’re excused fatigues of course, but still liable for garrison duty.’

‘Not to worry, it was just a thought. How many men from Minervia do you have here at the moment?’ Hadrian asked.

‘Just three. A couple set off for the Rhine a few days ago and a few may arrive by the end of the month. Journeys take longer at this time of year.’ Turbo wondered whether he saw brief annoyance at his banal explanation.

‘Quite so.’

‘One is waiting outside, in case you wanted to have a word. Name is Celer. He’s served thirteen stipendia, and this is his second as a frumentarius. Shall I call for him?’

Hadrian nodded, so Turbo rang the little bell standing on his desk. Almost immediately a slim soldier marched into the room, wearing tunic, weapons’ belt and boots and slammed to attention.

‘At ease, Celer,’ Turbo told the soldier. ‘This noble gentleman is soon to take command of the legion and wishes to talk to you.’

‘Sir!’ Celer slackened his shoulders ever so slightly, while continuing to stare over the heads of the seated men, avoiding making eye contact.

‘My apologies,’ Hadrian said affably. ‘I regret interrupting your duties or even worse taking you away from well-earned rest. I know you frumentarii have to travel hard and fast – and then be willing at a moment’s notice to set out again.’

‘Sir.’ An experienced soldier sheltered behind that short word as he did his shield.

‘And you do not need to speak in praise of I Minervia. I know their reputation from my time as tribune and from when I served in Lord Trajan’s campaigns in Dacia. … I also appreciate that your duties take you away from your comrades and the legion, but am sure that you have friends with whom you keep in touch? Or relatives?’

Celer gave what might have been a shrug. ‘A brother, sir.’

‘Older?’

If he was surprised then Celer concealed it. Turbo was wary enough of his visitor to do the same, but could still not work out what was behind this interest.

‘Yes, sir,’ Celer said. ‘Eleven years older. He’s one of the originals.’