‘You do not remember more?’

‘How can I? As I have said again and again, I never reached the fort. We tried to kill Ferox outside, but failed and I escaped with my servant.’

‘Ah yes, your servant.’ Brasus wondered whether that was true, as the men seemed very familiar with each other. The Britons said that this was from hard labour together in the mines and the custom of his folk. They had left the man behind at the tower and he would be killed if they did not all return. Ivonercus knew this and if he did not understand the words he must also have appreciated the sense of Brasus’ orders to the warriors with them. ‘Kill him if he does anything suspicious. Anything at all. A wrong look, a wrong gesture, and this Briton dies. He can be useful to us, but this is all too important to risk discovery. One day we will fight, perhaps here. That is not today. Today we are the eyes and ears of the king.’ He had regretted the phrase immediately. Yet this was his duty. Fate or calculation would guide Decebalus, and his part was simply to obey and live or die as one of the faithful should.

‘So tell me again about this Ferox.’ The Roman patrol was heading down towards the bridge and the fort. Brasus could see a cluster of houses and buildings outside the walls, and one big one almost beside the river. He had seen something similar at Sarmizegethusa where the Romans had a garrison outside the walls of the king’s fortress. That one was even bigger and fires were stoked all the time so that the Romans could pamper themselves with baths. Odd how a people who neglected their souls wished to scrub their bodies.

‘He is one of the Silures,’ Ivonercus said the name as if it should mean something. ‘The wolf people, the cruel people. One of their royal house, though they do not have kings. When his tribe was beaten by the Romans they took him and raised him in their ways. He has been Roman longer than he was a Silure, but the wolf still lurks in his soul.’ Ivonercus’ Latin was good, in spite of his thick accent, and they had found this the easiest way to speak. The Briton knew no more than a word or two of Greek.

‘Wolves hunt in packs,’ Brasus said. He was studying the fort as best he could from this distance. The ramparts were earth and timber, the towers quite high – with the highest over the main gates – but after the Roman fashion they were set back into the walls. Outside was a double line of ditches, and though he could not see them there were bound to be the usual traps and stakes. All in all it was like most Roman forts he had seen – not laid out with cunning, not impossible to take, but not easy either. He could see no spot obviously weaker than the rest. The fort was quite big, especially for six hundred men and that would stretch the defenders thin.