‘I’ll be so glad when we finish building our one at Vindolanda,’ Cerialis said as they went into the raging heat of the caldarium. There was plenty of building going at his garrison, but Ferox could tell that the greatest enthusiasm and effort was being lavished on the long stone bath-house outside the rampart and down the slope.

‘It is less convenient having to take our turn,’ Aelius Brocchus replied. ‘I wish the pool in our house were as fine as yours.’

This was the full experience, throwing leather balls to each other and exercising in the high, echoing hall, before going from warm to raging hot, then to a plunge into the cold pool, and repeating the circuit several times. It was invigorating, although for Ferox could not compete with the ease and comfort of a long soak in decently hot water.

They set out along the Eastern Road an hour before dawn on the next day. There were twenty-four Batavian horsemen under the command of a decurion named Masclus, a quiet, steady man. Each rider had a heavy cloak and a blanket rolled up and tied behind his saddle, and a pair of sacks filled with barley grain slung over the horse’s back. Two galearii rode mules and each led a string of four more with provisions and tents. Vindex had brought four of his best men, including the stolid and reliable Brennus, and the scouts watched the heavily laden troopers with curiosity and a hint of disdain.

‘What do they want all that lot for?’ the gaunt Brigantian asked Ferox. ‘Thought we were just going to talk to the man?’

‘An ambassador of Rome needs to look the part. And these Batavians are handy lads, so we’ll be glad of them if it comes to a fight.’

‘If it comes to a fight we’re humped, and they won’t make any difference.’ They were speaking in the language of the tribes, waiting as the escort checked their harness and equipment. Cerialis and another forty horsemen watched. He was not coming any further and would return to Vindolanda later today.

‘So we’re going to talk to this Tincommius, which means that you’re doing the talking. Why is the dandy coming along?’ He smiled at Crispinus who gave an affable nod in return.

Ferox did not know the answer. Regionarii like him usually dealt with negotiations of this sort, even with the kings of major tribes, and it was odd for a young aristocrat to be sent. It seemed a needless risk, and he was not sure whether Crispinus had lobbied to go or been picked for the task. He would make a valuable hostage – perhaps a great sacrifice – and the thought that there might well be senior men trying to engineer disaster on the frontier made him afraid that they were walking into a trap.

‘Reckon he fancied an adventure,’ he said.