‘Well, obviously that. I mean, they all do, don’t they? Just afraid they’re taking more than most and enough to drive the poor devils paying it into penury. No sense in making the locals more desperate than they already are, is there?’ Attius Secundus could tell them little more about the tribes to the north and the high king. ‘Patrols don’t go so far these days, not without good reason,’ he explained. ‘We don’t have enough men, so keep our distance unless someone asks for our help. If you ask me that’s half the reason why the other tribes and clans are turning to this Tincommius. Heard rumours about your druids more than once, but nothing definite. We certainly have not seen any of these bloodthirsty tattooed fiends you were telling me about. No, I’m afraid that it’s you who will have to tell me what is going on and not the other way around.’

A guide was waiting for them at Trimontium, as had been arranged. ‘Looks a rogue to me, but I can’t offer anyone better,’ Secundus said as he bade them farewell. ‘Good luck. Hope to see you back before the end of the month – and of course to avoid the inconvenience of having to avenge your horrible deaths!’ He grinned happily.

They left an hour before dawn, without trumpets or ceremony. ‘Be on your guard, lads,’ Masclus said to his men as they left the fort behind them.

Their guide was a thin man with leathery skin who looked ancient in years, but still appeared to be vigorous and untiring. He was simply dressed, in shoes, long-sleeved tunic, trousers and a heavy cloak fastened with a simple brooch. He rode a shaggy little pony, his legs trailing down and brushing the long grass, for he did not ride on the fading remains of the Roman road, but kept to the far side of the ditch beside it. The man gave them no name, and spoke only when he could not avoid it, but Vindex knew who he was.