‘Silence there!’ The voice was deep and the speaker had not shouted, but even so it carried to the back of the room. Lucius Neratius Marcellus, Legatus Augusti, vir clarissimus and former consul, was not a big man. He was thin-faced, thin-limbed and Ferox guessed that he was barely five feet tall, yet he dominated the room. Appointed to the post at the start of the year, the new governor had not set foot in Britannia until the autumn, but the impression this had created of lethargy vanished as the little man paced up and down, never still for a moment and always talking. He spoke first of the situation in the wider empire, of the hard work the princeps was doing to ensure peace and stability throughout the provinces. With the deified Nerva taken from us far too soon, his son would secure his legacy by his strength, justice and virtue. There would be no chaos, no civil war.

Then he turned to Britannia and most of all these lands in the north. Ferox was surprised to find great chunks of his own reports repeated, if admittedly in more rhetorical and elegant language. Some of this came from things he had written last year, a good deal from more recent reports, while some was astonishingly up to date.

‘Bet you thought no one was listening,’ Crispinus whispered.

Marcellus paused. He had reached the aftermath of the punitive expedition against the Selgovae, and begun to speak of the embassy to Tincommius. He beckoned to Crispinus, asking the tribune if he would be kind enough to tell them the outcome. With feigned reluctance the young aristocrat went to the front, and was soon recounting their journey north and the encounter with the high king, explaining the agreement they had reached.

‘Good,’ the provincial legate declared once he had finished. ‘That is eminently sensible and I approve your decisions. I am sure that the princeps will confirm that judgement as soon as the matter is brought to him. Flavius Ferox,’ he said. ‘Stand up, sir.’

He did so, feeling awkward and unkempt and aware that the rage was seething within him and could burst out at the slightest provocation. There was something about the manner of this new governor, the self-confidence exceptional even for a distinguished senator, that annoyed him.

‘Many of you know that the regionarius acted with the tribune on this mission. Do you have anything to add to his account?’

‘No, my lord.’ He wanted to shout out that a war had begun and that they should not be talking, but doing. Instead he said nothing.

Marcellus arched one eyebrow to show his surprise. ‘Very well, perhaps as we proceed. Continue, my dear Crispinus, and tell us what happened after you left the king’s stronghold.’