He stayed at Flora’s for an hour, for the sake of form and to help the story the brothel owner had told. One of her girls was a good barber and she shaved him, and it was strange that having a pretty and flimsily clad young woman fussing over him brought only mild arousal. He had not felt like this for many years, and even though any love was hopeless, even dangerous, it was still as if life was breathed into him, and all his suspicion and doubt could not quite hold it back. There was happiness in the world, even for him and even here near the edge of the world. It might be fleeting, already past, and was probably taking him down a dangerous road, but he had the memory to cherish and warm him. Better yet a vague hope of contentment was welling up within him, and when he glanced at the copper mirrors covering all of one wall he saw that he was smiling.

Flora provided him with clean tunic, trousers and socks, so that he was more presentable when he went to the fort, heading for the principia. He forced his face into its usual impassive mask, but suspected that he walked with a jauntiness reflecting his mood. The sight of pale-faced and nauseous Batavians standing guard at the main gate added to his high spirits. He could guess how they felt, but sympathy struggled with amusement and lost. Others responded in the same way. A party of Tungrians marched out of the fort to go on patrol and the soldiers stamped louder than was necessary, while their commander yelled with all his might when he asked permission to leave the base.

‘You’re up then?’ Vindex appeared as he approached the big archway leading into the principia. He looked the centurion up and down and burst out laughing.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ The Brigantian fell silent apart from the occasional snigger, but then stopped and clapped his hands on the centurion’s shoulders. ‘It is good to see you again.’

‘Huh.’ It was not a question. Ferox did not want to talk, but the scout ignored his mood and began to tell him what had happened. Three slaves and a freedman found dead in the praetorium, along with a sentry at the western gate. Another soldier wounded, along with Longinus, who was coming along well.

‘Tough old bugger, that one,’ Vindex said, and then explained that everyone else was safe. ‘The prefect’s got a bruise the size of an apple on his cheek from when he fell. Longinus’ men carried him to a barrack room and watched him all night.’

‘Attacked?’

‘No, beer.’

‘A couple of slave girls are missing, but that lad Privatus reckons they’ll have been out with soldiers during the night, so they’re probably just drunk or bow-legged by now.’