Horns blew as the little column approached, and the gates swung open. That was one difference, because during the day camp gates were wide open unless there was an immediate threat of enemy attack. When they went under the tower into the fort the impression of an army base vanished altogether. There were no streets, no ordered rows of barracks and granaries, and instead dozens of round houses with conical thatched roofs stood in no sort of pattern, some clustered tightly together and others scattered. There were wide-open spaces, even a few young trees, and animals and people wandering around. As they came inside Crispinus wrinkled his nose at the sight and smell of a couple of men squatting down and relieving themselves out in the open. Roman cities and big bases stank, but this was different, and had the feel of a great farm.

The high king lived in one of two great houses in the far corner of the old fort. The buildings were fenced off from the rest and guarded by tall warriors in mail coats and bronze helmets, carrying long oval shields painted half red and half black and spear shafts well oiled so that they shone. Each one had a sword on his right hip, almost all of them army issue. Large dogs were chained to posts near the entrance, and loud barking came from a pen behind the house.

Crispinus, Ferox and a single Batavian carrying a wooden chest were ushered towards the higher of the two houses. Their guide had vanished, and instead they were led by a little man with a crooked leg, who leaned on a staff. He wore a thin circlet of gold around his neck, and had on a white tunic trimmed with green and trousers checked in blue, grey and green. The top of his head was bald, the skin mottled and creased, and the fringe of hair around it was rough and thick like horsehair and stuck up at odd angles. The pupil of one eye was a lifeless off-white, and the other peered at them as if struggling to focus. Two warriors stood beside him, not as tall as the other guards but as splendidly equipped. One had raven-black hair and a smooth-shaven face and the other was red-haired and had a long moustache.

‘This is the hall of Tincommius, High King of the Vacomagi and Venicones, Overlord of the Caledonians.’ The small man had a surprisingly deep voice and even more surprisingly spoke near perfect Latin. ‘He is the Red Branch and the Tall Tree, the Great Bull of Camulos, the Mountain that stands alone in the storm, the Bloody Sword and the Unpierced Shield, the Black Cloak.’

One of the guard dogs was looking at Ferox and snarling. He had never cared much for dogs, except as a meal for the desperate. Somehow the creatures always seemed to know how he felt and to return his dislike.