Ferox knew that he did not believe it and wondered whether it was stubbornness or fear that stopped him from sending a man to raise the alarm. He could not pretend that the fear was not real. His was once a promising career, as the first young nobleman of the Silures to be given Roman citizenship, educated at Lugdunum in Gaul with the aristocratic children of the three provinces, commissioned as centurion in a legion, and decorated for valour by the Emperor Domitian himself. All of that had turned sour long ago and some of it was his fault. He had spent the last seven years here in the north of Britannia, without leave or promotion, serving away from his legion who never gave any suggestion that they wanted his presence. His political importance had long vanished now that the Silures were said to be peaceful, and he was posted to Syracuse because he did not matter and neither did the duties he carried out – at least not to any senior man in the province, let alone anyone at Rome. Ferox was regionarius of a district of little importance and if he wanted to rot there or drink himself into an early grave then no one much minded. Neither were they much inclined to trust his judgement, for his stubborn pursuit of the truth had made him few friends and plenty of enemies.

The truth mattered. ‘Lie to others,’ his grandfather used to say, ‘but don’t be fool enough to lie to yourself.’ Last summer, and then again at the start of this year, he had sent in reports of serious trouble brewing in the north. Everything he saw and heard had convinced him that it was only a matter of time before the tribes broke their alliance with Rome, but his superiors had scoffed at his fears, and nothing had happened so far, so he was now marked down as an alarmist, possibly unreliable. If he roused the garrisons with stories of great raiding bands of barbarians and it all proved to be nothing then he was finished. Crescens for one would happily testify to his drunkenness at the time of the alarm and there were bound to be others who would back up his story. After all, it was the truth. He would be broken, dishonourably discharged and lose the last faint traces of purpose and meaning in his life. Ferox could not face that, for he had nowhere else to go.

‘It is a bit early for a big raid,’ Ferox said, trying to delay the decision.

Vindex looked more than usually gaunt. ‘Depends who they are,’ he said. ‘And what they want.’