He did not wait for an answer. Without his helmet he was not much taller than Crispinus. His face was young, but there were faint creases around his eyes and they had the hardness born from experience that usually came with age or suffering. ‘Welcome, Tribune Marcus Atilius Crispinus, son of Marcus, former consul of Rome. Welcome Flavius Ferox, centurion, descended from the Lord of the Hills and prince of his people.’ A woman appeared beside him, carrying a wooden platter with a round loaf and a cup of red Samian ware. She was taller than the man, paler skinned, but with long hair almost as black as his, though it reached down to her waist. Her dress was of bleached white linen that clung to her full figure and was gathered at the waist by a belt of silver rings.

‘Come, eat from my table.’ The king broke off a piece of bread and passed it to Crispinus, and then did the same for Ferox. He raised the cup to his own lips, sipped and then passed it to each in turn, this time including the Batavian who had stood woodenly to attention throughout all this. ‘You are guests of the king and under his protection.’

The tribune gestured to the soldier, who opened the chest to show the silver platters and cup held within it. He bent down to lay it on the ground and then stepped back, resuming his stiff, parade-ground posture.

‘Thank you. I bring greetings and this token of friendship from the Legate—’ Crispinus began, but was cut short.

‘We shall talk together later, and discuss high matters tomorrow. First, you must be tired. They will show you to your bowers. Rest, eat and refresh yourselves. Tonight we shall feast, and tomorrow we shall talk. You must forgive me my little subterfuge – is that the right word? It is? Good. I try to do everything as well as I can and it is better to be corrected than to continue in ignorance, don’t you think? Farewell. We shall speak again.’

The high king tossed the cup away and put his arm around the waist of the woman. He pulled her towards him, making her drop the platter, and reached up to kiss her. She responded with enthusiasm. Ferox nudged the tribune with his foot and they left, ducking to get out of the low door. Men waited to escort them, but a few paces away another three men knelt on the ground, hands tied behind their backs. A big warrior with a long sword paced up and down in front of them. It took a moment for Ferox’s eyes to adjust back to full daylight before he recognised the man he had fought on the day of the ambush. If anything he looked even bigger.

The sword swung, the first head rolled and a fountain of blood only just missed the warrior’s legs.

‘Who are they?’ Crispinus asked.