The sun came out as they were eating and drinking, and this seemed to make the mourners merry. Ferox stayed as long as courtesy and respect to the departed required, but let himself gradually drift away to the edge of the crowd. No one noticed as he strode away up the slope to the parade ground. He wanted open space and quiet, and the prospect to the west was a good one.

There were a few cavalrymen exercising horses at the far end, beyond the rostra from which the officer commanding could address a parade. Otherwise it was empty, and he went to the far side and looked to the west. The clouds had closed in again and he looked in vain for a break in the hope of glimpsing the setting sun. He was surprised at how moved he was by the centurion’s death, for he had not known the man at all well.

After a while he heard voices behind him, but the wind was strong, driving into him, and he could not pick out any words. He pulled his cloak tighter and did not turn, making it clear that he was not looking for company. There were steps in the grass and the sound of horses, but he ignored them.

‘I like this view.’ Sulpicia Lepidina stood beside him. ‘It seems to stretch on and on, the hills rolling into the distance.’

‘My lady.’ He took off his helmet as he faced her, and the wind ruffled his dark hair. ‘I am sorry, I did not know that it was you.’

There were a couple of male slaves with her, as well as her maid, the girl looking cold and miserable in spite of a heavy tartan cloak. There was also Longinus, the one-eyed veteran, and another soldier leading a couple of horses. On one sat a boy, his hair flame red and his face so like Cerialis’ that it was obviously his son. Ferox guessed that he was about six, but tall for his age. The boy sat awkwardly, hunched forward and legs dangling low, shifting back and forth. Then he remembered that the lad had been born with a crooked back, the deformity slight, but obvious as soon as he remembered.

‘His father insists that Flavius rides every day. I do wonder whether he is still a bit young, but the prefect insists that if he learns now he will sit more naturally.’

‘The Lord Cerialis is right,’ Ferox said. ‘I was younger than he is when my grandfather first sat me on a pony. I confess that I was terrified.’

She smiled, the warm smile that lit up her face, even when the wind blew hard and her skin was cold and pale. ‘I find it hard to imagine anything terrifying you, centurion. Your grandfather sounds quite a character. Tell me about him?’