Worse news, as far as Vespasian was concerned, followed: the Second Legion would not be included in the first wave of the invasion. Two other legions had been training for amphibious operations for several months and to them would fall the honour of fighting their way ashore and establishing a beachhead for the rest of the army. Vespasian knew that if the Britons decided to meet the invaders on the beaches then all the glory and political capital would go to the commanders and officers of the spearhead units. He gloomily foresaw a long period of mopping-up operations stretching ahead of him; a nasty process of attrition that would win no garlands and be a mere footnote to the epic tales of victory that would be told on the streets of Rome.

If the mutiny could be put down, he reflected.

As he had made his way through the main camp to report to Plautius, it had been heart-breaking for the legate to see the collapse of discipline in the other legions. Few of the soldiers he rode past bothered to salute and, although no-one had actually said anything to him, the look of defiance in their eyes — daring him to try and exercise his authority — enraged Vespasian. Only the army commander’s personal bodyguard and the officers remained in full uniform, carrying out their normal duties as far as they were able to.

Vespasian was shown into the wooden headquarters building dominating the centre of the huge army camp, where Narcissus was seated at a great map table with General Plautius. Vespasian had known Plautius socially before he had joined the army and he was shocked to see the weary, beaten expression on the general’s face.

‘Good to see you again,’ said Plautius with a smile. ‘It’s been a long time. I just wish it was under happier circumstances. Have you met Narcissus?’

‘No, sir, though his reputation precedes him.’

‘A good reputation, I trust?’ Narcissus asked.

Vespasian nodded, not willing to perjure his true opinion.

‘I must thank you for your unit’s protection, legate.’

‘I’ll pass word of your gratitude on to the men concerned, if you haven’t already thanked them.’

‘You are most kind.’

‘Now, your report please, Vespasian.’ Plautius waved him to a seat. ‘How is your legion?’

‘They are still responding to orders, if that’s what you mean, sir.’

‘For the moment maybe. In a few days they’ll be just like the others.’

‘Have you found the ringleaders of the mutiny yet?’ Vespasian asked.

‘Thanks to Narcissus we have the names. Tribune Aurelius, two centurions and twenty or so legionaries. All were transferred to the Ninth from the Dalmatian legions, complete with their previous loyalties, as you’d expect.’

‘Have they made any demands?’

‘Only that the invasion be abandoned. They’ve managed to persuade the others that demons and certain death are the only things waiting for them on the other side of the ocean.’

‘Not that it’s much of an ocean,’ Narcissus added. ‘But the word has a certain depressing effect on the imagination of military types. Present company excepted, of course.’ He smiled. ‘I’m afraid we are dealing with some quite well-thought-through treason, gentlemen. More sophisticated than anything that Tribune Aurelius and his little band of mutineers could come up with. You see, Vespasian, the general and I have already decided to eliminate this group. But first we must try and discover the identity of their masters back in Rome. Aurelius and his men were only exposed when my agents intercepted a message en route to his masters in Rome. Unfortunately, the courier expired before he could be induced to divulge the name of the intended recipient. Such is life — or not, in his case. Then there is the little matter of the ambush on the road from Durocortorum. Evidently the opposition got wind of my travel arrangements and the purpose of my journey. It appears that someone on “our side” is not quite what they seem.’