It was another hour or more – time was hard to judge because the cloud covered the stars and there was no moon – before he sensed and then saw figures ahead of him. By now he was some five or six hundred paces away from the outlying pickets, having swung around the camp in a big arc, helped by a series of gullies deep enough to jog along if he kept low and was careful.

There were Britons out on the slope and the fools were talking. He expected that of Roman soldiers, men who had stood guard so many times than even on campaign it came to feel routine and safe. More than once he had heard chatter and laughter from the camp, the sound carrying clearly in the still air. Now there were two men whispering as they crouched behind some boulders some way in front of him. They were tribesmen, but the accents did not sound local and neither was easy to understand.

Ferox lay flat on the earth, watching them. He spotted another pair about a hundred paces to the men’s right, and searched until he found two more a little further away to the left and better hidden. After a while he crawled back into the gully and crept along it, stopping as always to wait and listen as he worked his way gradually up the slope.

He sensed the man before he saw or heard him, and could not have explained to anyone how he knew. The centurion lay on his chest, head raised to scan the darkness. At last he saw him, a monstrously tall man standing straight and still, looking down into the valley. He did not move or speak, and Ferox did not sense that he knew the centurion was there. He told himself that he was getting old and sloppy to go so close before spotting the man.

There were shouts from the Roman camp. Probably another false alarm because soon there was silence again. All the while the huge man stood like a statue. He looked to be seven or eight feet tall, but then the cloud parted for a moment and in the bright starlight Ferox saw that the man wore a stag’s head, antlers and all, as a headdress. He was tall enough, his bare chest lean and muscled, but he was no giant or being from the Otherworld, just a man who could be killed. The cloud closed and the centurion waited for his eyes to adapt again to the dark.

Ferox began to inch forward.

More shapes came out of the shadows towards the man wearing antlers.

‘Are you ready?’ The voice was a strong one, used to command, and Ferox guessed that it was from the tall man. Two others appeared beside him.

‘Soon. The lot took longer than I thought, but the ones are chosen and have taken their draughts.’