Ferox was glad to leave the stench and the cawing of ecstatic crows behind. Vindex came with him, refusing to stay in spite of a nasty cut to the head.

‘If I leave you on your own you’ll only get into trouble,’ he insisted, and Ferox was pleased to have his company, for he chattered away and kept Crispinus occupied. There was also Flaccus and an escort of five legionary horsemen, the number agreed with Gannascus, who with ten of his warriors would accompany them.

‘A prophet cannot survive when his miracle fails,’ the Legate Marcellus assured them. ‘You should not have any trouble, but the sight of the king’s men will make you doubly safe.’

Ferox was much less certain, but was proved wrong for they met no parties of fanatics determined to kill any Roman they saw. The lands seemed unnaturally quiet, and for all the trails left by men going back to their homes they saw few people abroad, although since rain fell steadily from the very start it was rarely possible to see far.

Gannascus was in good spirits, seemed pleased to see him, and made jokes about how they were lucky his Germans had not led the attack on the Roman line. Ferox did not let himself be drawn, and was glad that the constant downpour dampened spirits so that most of the time they rode in silence. He did not want to speak, needing to think because he was not sure how to obey the legate’s last, secret order.

‘One of those tribunes is a traitor,’ the legate had said, once again with only his intimate friend Ovidius as witness. ‘Whoever it is, even if it is my nephew, I want you to make sure that he does not come back.’

Much of the time he rode ahead of the rest, claiming that he needed to search for tracks, and even Vindex left him alone. Ferox thought he knew the answer to all the riddles, was almost sure, but the battle had drained much of his hatred and anger, taking the hard edge off his desire for revenge. Instead he felt listless and empty. If he had been back at Syracuse he suspected that he would have got drunk, so maybe it was better that he had something to do, unpleasant though the task was.

‘We will be at the ferry soon, will we not?’ Crispinus had ridden up to join him.

‘Two hours, my lord, but I do not think we shall have to go that far. “Some leaves do not fall, some trees do not die.”’ He sang the words softly.

‘I am too cold and wet for mysteries, my friend.’ The tribune was pale and looked truly miserable.

‘Perhaps it would have been better if you had not come, my lord.’

Crispinus smiled. ‘I had to be here at the end.’

‘Not long now,’ Ferox said. Under his cloak he felt for the bone handgrip of his gladius.