Their escorts did not seem to speak Latin, so Ferox spoke to them in their own tongue.

‘Thieves who stole from the high king,’ he told the tribune. ‘And I dare say this is a demonstration for our benefit – like everything else.’ The blade fell for a second time, another head dropped and the dead man slumped forward. Tincommius was parading his involvement with the ambush of Sulpicia Lepidina, no doubt to remind them that he could be a dangerous enemy, so that it was better for the Romans to persuade the king to become their friend.

‘Better to be corrected than to continue in ignorance,’ Crispinus said. ‘What message is he trying to send? That he is a barbarian of great power and ruthlessness?’

‘That he’s strong and clever, more like. He wants us off balance.’

‘Sounds like a strategem. Uncle Frontinus is obsessed with them. He’s even writing a book about them. But all the ones he goes on about had a purpose. What do you think that is?’

‘Isn’t that the answer we have come to find?’

They were taken to an area of the fort away from other buildings. There was a corral for the horses, and the animals were already being fed and groomed. One large hut was provided for the troopers, scouts and slaves, and two smaller ones for the officers. Ferox was happy to share with Masclus and let the tribune rest on his own – at least he would be spared the constant talk. There were servants waiting in each house, and he heard the decurion swearing that he would castrate any man who mistreated them. ‘We’re a long way from home, boys, and if you want to see home you won’t do anything daft.’

With a lot of units Ferox would have worried that some of the men would see the chance to desert, now that they were so far from the nearest garrison, but he doubted that there was much risk with these Batavians, who were a clannish bunch and stuck close to their comrades.

It was dark by the time they were summoned, and men came with torches to lead them to the great feast. Masclus was included in the invitation, but they had decided that a tactful fatigue and illness was prudent in his case, so the three of them, Crispinus, Ferox and Vindex, went on their own. The tribune had abandoned uniform and was resplendent in white tunic and toga, a garment Ferox had never truly mastered, for he tended to wave his arms around when he talked and that spelt ruin to its drape.

The tribune walked with elegance, but seemed perplexed.

‘Do you feel well?’ Ferox asked.