Flavius Cerialis was in armour this morning, even though he sat on a stool behind a desk, reviewing a succession of wax writing tablets presented to him by his personal clerk, the cornicularius of the prefect. They listed the current strength of the cohort, recent acquisitions and losses, and detailed every individual and group away from the base. Ferox wondered whether at this very moment the legate of II Augusta – or whichever senior officer was present – was glancing down a list without paying much attention to the entry stating that one centurion was absent serving as regionarius. The legion had its main depot at Isca Silurum, there on the riverbank in his homeland. He wondered whether he would ever see the legion or his own people again. It was doubtful either would welcome him with open arms.

Hobnailed boots stamped on wooden floorboards as the optio of the day marched across the room, halting with a final shattering crash in front of the prefect and saluting.

‘Good morning, sir!’ The greeting was more like a battle cry and echoed around the high hall. An optio was second-in-command to a centurion, responsible for much day-to-day administration of the century and commanding in the officer’s absence. This one was short by Batavian standards, but immaculately turned out. He had the accent of his people, as well as the typical yellow moustache and beard glimpsed between the broad bronze cheek pieces of his helmet. On either side of the fur-covered top of the helmet was a tall feather dyed yellow and standing straight up to mark his rank. His scale armour shone, as did the fittings on his belt and scabbard, and the ornate top of the staff of office in his left hand.

‘Good morning, Arcuttius,’ Cerialis replied, his voice clear and quiet. The prefect’s iron helmet with its high plume and enamel decoration was on the desk beside him. The other officers, four centurions and five decurions present at the base, stood in a row, in armour, carrying their helmets in the crook of their left arms. That was the tradition for the Batavians, and Ferox had got Philo to find out so that he was properly attired. The Alexandrian enjoyed such details, and revelled in preparing his master for yet another formal occasion. He was also very happy, filled to the brim with gossip picked up from the other slaves and servants at the prefect’s house.