‘Me! No, not to this lot.’ Vindex shook his head at such ignorance. He was polite to the tribune, but no more than he would be to a chieftain of his own people, and among the Brigantes blunt speech was admired. ‘Some of the Textoverdi marry among the southern Selgovae. Not many of my folk – the Carvetii – though. Leastways only if we took their women as captives, but that doesn’t count. That was in the old days, of course.’

‘You sound wistful.’

‘Not me. Long live Rome and long live the emperor! By the way, who is the emperor again?’

Crispinus laughed at the time. Later, when he had followed Ferox away from the others and was out of earshot, he showed more concern.

‘This is a dangerous time,’ he said. ‘Our Lord Trajan is not well known, can boast of no real victories and proved embarrassingly loyal to Domitian just a few short years ago. There are far too many people, like our friend, who have no idea what sort of man the emperor is and struggle even to remember his name.’

‘He is princeps,’ Ferox said, as if that settled the matter.

Crispinus waited for a while, before realising that the centurion had nothing more to say.

‘Our Lord Trajan is princeps, first citizen, first in the Senate, and many other titles. For the moment at least. It would be good for the state if he remains so.’ Once again, the tribune stopped and looked at the centurion.

‘I have no objections,’ Ferox said eventually.

‘He is a good ruler.’ Crispinus’ voice contained a hint of irritation. ‘But others do not consider such things and instead look only for personal power. I am sure that you heard the rumours about the army in Syria.’

Ferox nodded. A year ago the provincial legate commanding the main army in the east had tried to win over his men to back him in a bid for the throne. ‘It came to nothing, though.’

‘It was handled with delicacy,’ Crispinus told him. ‘Retirement to private life because of ill health, postings to distant frontiers, that sort of thing.’

‘Is that why you’re here, my lord?’ Ferox said before he could stop himself.

The tribune glared at him, anger in his eyes, until his aristocratic calm restored itself.

‘Why are you telling me this, my lord?’ Ferox asked.

‘Because this campaign matters, even though it is a small and local affair. Our Lord Trajan is new to power, comes from Spain of all places, and is not that well connected at Rome. There are plenty of senators who feel themselves more suited to the supreme office. They must be shown that they are wrong, that he is wise and under his rule the empire will flourish and the armies win victory after victory, so that the Pax Augusta will reign supreme. That being so, there can be no defeats – not even small ones on distant frontiers like this.’

‘Would anyone care?’