‘He’s a proper bastard all right,’ Vindex conceded. ‘But he’s a warrior and we all must kill to live.’

‘There are stories. Most must have happened when I was a slave, if they happened.’

‘Knowing the centurion they probably happened.’

‘One day five warriors swore an oath to avenge the death of their cousin and kill Flavius or die in the attempt. This was far to the east, near the mouths of the great river.’

‘I’m guessing it didn’t work out for them.’

‘Flavius was alone, and they thought they caught him unaware, sitting by his fire at night. He killed two when they attacked. The third he killed the next morning and the fourth that night, and each time he cut off the man’s head. The head of the fifth man was found within bowshot of his people’s encampment on top of a stake driven into the ground.’

Vindex nodded. It was easy enough to believe. The Silures were skilled at using the night, and Ferox was good even by their standards. The moustached warrior asked Ardaros what they were talking about, and as he explained the fair-haired one joined in the discussion and a couple of others rode over to join them.

‘He says that there were six of them – and another man says that he heard that there were eight,’ Ardaros said after a while. ‘Many tell the tale and much changes in the telling.’

‘Except that they all died.’

‘Yes.’

‘So,’ Vindex said, ‘your folk don’t have much cause to love him, do they?’

‘We used to know him. Some hate, some trust and all fear him. That is how it is and how it should be. Tomorrow morning any with a grudge may challenge him to fight and kill him if they are able. That is our way. If they do not challenge, then none may attack him for one moon after he leaves as our guest. The same applies to him. Flavius must challenge anyone or leave us in peace for the same time.’

‘What about me?’

‘What about you?’ For the first time there was impatience in Ardaros’ voice. ‘You are his sworn brother. You must fight if he refuses, do what is necessary if he dies, and then decide whether or not to avenge him.’

‘Just me?’

‘That is the duty of a friend.’

Vindex did not have more to say and nor did the others. They chased some deer, shooting several down, and soon after noon stopped to eat. The older chieftain drew his sword, shouting something as he spun around, arms wide, and then drove the blade into the earth. All of the warriors went in turn to the sword and bowed.

‘It is the symbol of their god of war, the greatest of their gods,’ Ferox said, appearing at Vindex’s side. ‘They revere the wind which blows wherever it wills as the breath of life in all living things. The air gives life and the iron sword rips it away, so they offer to both for good fortune.’