‘I know everyone, don’t I – at least by one thing.’ She leaned her head so that she was peering at him. ‘You’d better not be up to any mischief. Yes, I know him. He’s a friend, and has been for years – much longer than you. We’ve been through a lot together, and sometimes we like to sit and talk about the old days and how glad we are that we’re not living them any more.’

‘Do you trust him?’

‘With my life. Yours too, not that that counts for much! Now clear off and let me get on, you idle soldier – before you start enjoying yourself and shock us all.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Just go!’

XV

ON THE NONES of October Ferox returned to Vindolanda. The weather was better than it had been for weeks, but there was something in the air that hinted at the coming of colder and shorter days. Leaves were turning brown and beginning to fall, and for days the sentries on duty in the tower at Syracuse had watched as swallows flocked and wheeled across the valley in front of the burgus. They would leave soon, before the frost began to bite and the trees were stripped bare.

All this was what happened each year, a sign that the world moved on, whatever anyone felt about it. When Ferox rode out he found people nervous and secretive, and the mood was even darker than it had been at the end of summer. Fewer than usual came to him with requests, and there was less theft and raiding than in the past at this time of year. It might have been because the Roman expedition had reminded everyone of the empire’s willingness to punish, but he doubted that. Vindex was even more scornful.

‘Don’t think that scared anyone. They’re frightened of what’s on its way, not what’s happened already.’

Ferox did not blame them. There had not been much news of the Stallion and his tattooed followers, although it was whispered that many were going to join them, journeying from distant lands to pledge their lives to the cause of flame and purging. It made it hard not to look with suspicion at any travellers. Philo had deciphered more of the curse they had found wrapped around the effigy. Most of it was meaningless incantation, but there were lines that made sense, and he showed them to Crispinus and Cerialis when he met them at the fort.

‘“Three times nine years and three, and the house of Jupiter will burn and with it all of Rome. The wolf cubs will bite each other unto death; all will die and all will burn. Fire will cleanse the world, and leave behind a better land for those worthy to inherit.”’

‘All cheerful stuff,’ Crispinus said when he had read the boy’s translation. ‘If I remember rightly the Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus on the Capitol was struck by lightning and caught fire, back at the time of the Civil War, thirty years ago.’