‘We’re winning,’ he said as the downpour grew heavier.

Some sense, some glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye warned him, and he threw himself down as something small whizzed through the air and banged into the wall behind him. He struggled to get up, exhaustion swamping him, so he pushed on his hands to force himself and just caught a glimpse of a figure running far down one of the alleys.

‘Centurion?’ It was Dionysius’ voice. ‘Can you get me more men?’

The rain was still driving down and if it kept on they should be safe as long as they could all keep working. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said and lurched into a run to find them. Turning a corner, Ferox tripped and fell headlong, landing with a grunt as the air was knocked from him. He pushed himself up and saw that he had tripped over a body.

‘Dionysius!’ he shouted, hoping that the auxiliary centurion was close enough to hear him over the noise. It was a man’s body, well dressed with fancy shoes, although the once-bright white tunic was smudged with ash and grime. He was not dead, for there was the faintest gasp when he pulled the man by the shoulders out of the shadows. Ferox stopped, worrying that he had done the poor fellow additional harm, so started to search for signs of injury. The rain was still falling, although the nearest roof gave a little shelter and there was more light from the fires here. The man was a stranger. Ferox tried lifting the head slightly and at once his hand was sticky with blood.

‘Sir?’ Dionysius appeared and then saw the body. ‘Holy Isis, it’s Piso.’

Near the road

The same night

BRASUS SAW THE clouds to the north east glowing a deep red and was glad. The gold had done its work, and the one who had taken it proved true to his word for himself and his men – at least so far. Rain was already falling steadily, and it was bound to reach Piroboridava before very long. That would help the Romans put out the fire and that was a shame. The forts these people built were so densely packed that a strong wind and a dry day could easily sweep flames through if the fire got a grip. No matter – the Romans would be hurt and would lose many of their stores. That would make them weaker, and unless this Ferox turned out to be a fool after all he would realise that he had traitors in his midst.

‘Tell me about the bridge?’ Brasus asked his companion as they walked their horses through the night.

The other rider shrugged. ‘It is very big.’

‘Is it finished?’

Another shrug. ‘There is a piece missing, but maybe they only put it in place when they want to cross.’ The Sarmatian did not hide his people’s contempt for the waste of effort when a boat sufficed for the journey.