‘Soon be ashore now, sir,’ the helmsman told them, and pointed at the jetty.

Hadrian turned around because he wanted to take a last long look at the great bridge. He doubted that there would ever be anything else like it built in his lifetime, and part of him hoped that it never would. Like all works of genius, Apollodorus’ creation was dangerous as well as miraculous.

‘Big, isn’t it?’ Piso said.

‘You do not see it, do you?’ Hadrian said. ‘None of them do.’

Piso stared at the line of great arches. How could he not see it – the thing was vast! His commander was a strange fellow, but after the telling off, there was no harm in trying to win favour. ‘I see a wonder of engineering.’

Hadrian glanced back, saw the frowning forehead again, so turned his eyes to the bridge. ‘Have you noticed that it points both ways?’

‘Shouldn’t it?’ Piso’s confusion was obvious.

‘I mean that it can be crossed from either side.’

‘It’s a bridge.’ There was a hint of contempt in the voice.

‘Of course it is, silly me,’ Hadrian said. ‘Well, now that is sorted out, I rather think I ought to go forward and have a word with our charming guests. You stay and supervise the landing.’

Piso shook his head as the legatus of his legion and cousin of the emperor made his way carefully along the narrow strip of deck between the rowers.

XI

Near the road, twenty miles south west of Piroboridava

The day before the Ides of April

THE HORSEMAN WAS silhouetted on the top of the hill, watching them. He had his arms folded, a common gesture among his kin, and the horse, its mane and tail braided with colourful ribbons, simply stood there, now and again leaning down to crop the grass. The man wore loose trousers, a long sleeved, long hemmed tunic and boots, all of them a deep grey, and had an orange-brown cloak.

Ferox had halted the column. ‘Where there’s one, there’s always more,’ he said. They had caught up with the scouts he sent ahead, pleased that they had obeyed his orders and waited after bumping into anything strange. Not that this was all that unexpected, for the spring was properly here now and this was a good place for grazing and hunting. Seeing the warrior brought back a lot of memories.

‘He’s a Sarmatian,’ Sabinus said.

‘A Red Alan,’ corrected the decurion in charge of the twenty auxiliary horsemen who had joined the fifty Carvetii and Brigantes on this ride.

Ferox gave a slight nod. He was one of the Roxolani, of the Stag clan, unless he was mistaken, although in truth it was hard to be sure when warriors often moved their tents from one band to the next. Unless the sun had stopped rising and setting, they were a tough bunch, good friends and really bad enemies, and you never quite knew which way they would go.