Vespasian gripped the arm of his chair tightly to prevent himself from leaping up and angrily denouncing such a slur. The general had gone too far. To order the Second Legion on a wild-goose chase was madness enough, but to counter his reasoned protests with accusations of incompetence and cowardice was a rank insult. Plautius’s eyes coldly mocked him for a moment, then the general frowned and looked down into his cup once again.

‘Forgive me, Vespasian,’ Plautius said quietly. ‘I’m sorry. I should not have said that. No one in this army would doubt your qualities as a legate. As I say, forgive me.’

Plautius looked up, and the apologetic expression that Vespasian sought was not there; the general’s regret was merely a form of words intended to steer them both back to consideration of his lunatic plans.

Vespasian could barely keep the icy derision out of his voice when he replied. ‘My forgiveness is meaningless compared to the forgiveness you would need from the five thousand men of this legion, and their families, should you insist on the Second Legion carrying out this ill-conceived plan of yours. Sir, it would be nothing short of a suicide mission.’

‘Don’t exaggerate.’ Plautius placed his cup on a side table and leaned closer to his legate. ‘Very well then, Vespasian. I will not order you to do this. I will ask you to do it. Have you not a family of your own? Do you not understand the demons that drive me to this? Please agree to do as I ask.’

‘No.’ Vespasian shook his head. ‘I cannot permit it. What afflicts you, Plautius, is a private tragedy. Do not make it a public tragedy. The empire can only afford so many Varian disasters. You are a general on active service. In the field your family is the army all around you. The men are as sons to you. They trust you to lead them wisely, and not expose them to needless risk.’

‘Please spare me the cheap rhetoric, Vespasian. I’m not some fickle pleb in the forum.’

‘No, you’re not… Let me try another argument. Consider your feelings for your wife and children. As you say, I have a family too, and even imagining what it would be like for them to be in the hands of the Druids is torment enough. But you have it as a reality, and against that my tortured imagination is only a pale imitation. Now, magnify that a thousandfold and more. That is the measure of the suffering you will inflict on the families and friends of the men you would send to their deaths if you order the Second Legion to march tomorrow, without adequate supplies or artillery support.’