‘Sir.’

‘You see to the cavalry. And I want all the horses and other animals in the garrison fit again. Get as many out exercising as you can, every day you can. We only stop for the worst storms. Nothing else.

‘And finally, we are all going to stretch our legs as much as we can. Patrols. Every day from now on. On foot and on horseback. Up and down the valley. We’ll start short and make them longer, each of us leading one in turn. For the moment each will return to the fort by nightfall. In the future, we’ll see. … We can see who is about and what is happening in the world. There’s never any harm in that. At the very least, Sabinus here can get a chance to converse with his trees.’

Sabinus chuckled and the rest laughed. He must have told Cunicius at some point since he had arrived.

‘Drive them hard, and don’t let up.’

‘Sir?’ Sabinus spoke with obvious reluctance. ‘What about the Britons, sir? Are they going to run?’ He turned to Cunicius, spreading his hands in apology. ‘Sorry, but it sounds as if many of them are even less happy.’

Cunicius seemed about to speak, but then said nothing and just shrugged.

‘Some are bound to try,’ Ferox told them. ‘Fatigue will help, and now that they are in the fort it is harder to slip away.’

‘What about the pickets – and these patrols?’ Dionysius seemed the sharpest of the group, and Ferox was already glad to have him. ‘Perhaps we should make sure that there are always reliable soldiers to watch them?’

Ferox shook his head. ‘We need to show trust if we are to earn it.’ Festus sniffed, Sabinus and Cunicius both showed concern, while Dionysius’ smooth features were impassive. Ferox liked him all the more. ‘However, we can work up to things. For the moment, we jig the duty roster so that only the men and groups we trust get faced with temptation.’ Dionysius gave the slightest of nods. ‘Have many men run from the garrison since it was established? We all know the promises offered by Decebalus and so do the men.’

‘None of Minervia.’ Festus’ chin thrust out even more, and his little eyes were belligerent.

Sabinus coughed. ‘A couple of men vanished last autumn.’

‘We don’t know they ran,’ Festus maintained. ‘Bandits had been seen, and the Red Alans were on the prowl.’

Ferox kept his face rigid. ‘These are dangerous lands.’ He remembered the Roxolani, the Red Alans, from his years on the Danube. They were Sarmatians, horse folk, always on the move until the snows made it impossible, not just brave warriors, but clever ones – and thieves and marauders. He had liked them, apart from when they had been trying to kill him. In some odd way – odd because their lifestyle was very different – they had reminded him of his own tribe, the Silures of western Britannia.

There was another awkward silence. ‘Before the vexillation from I Minervia arrived, there were some desertions,’ Dionysius explained, for he had been at the fort the longest. ‘The vexillation was chosen for its reliability, as were many of the other troops sent here. We have a lot of experienced men, a good few of them only a few stipendia short of retirement.’