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and the one in which Valerius had awakened before dawn. This one was bigger, that was all, and there were lamps at every available point in case the prefect should require to read something while standing in the farthest corner. In addition to those, it was favoured with the added advantage of a table and two chairs, one of them occupied by a man who stood as the door opened.
    “Corvus? Who was—Ah, we have a visitor. An auxiliary. Can I guess who this is?”
    “Probably, but I’ll introduce you anyway. Valerius, come in. Don’t stand in the doorway, you’ll let in the cold.”
    And so he had to enter, into the presence of the smiling youth with the perfectly black hair and the eyes of a doewho almost certainly did know exactly who Valerius was and what he had been and did not find his presence uncomfortable. Indeed, it seemed likely that this particular youth had never had reason to feel uncomfortable at any time since the day of his smooth, sedate birth into the splendour and riches of Rome.
    Longinus Sdapeze, a Thracian tribesman with only a passing veneer of civilization, had remarked on the beauty of the governor’s son. The Thracian had not remarked on the sheen of good breeding the young man carried and the quiet assurance that went with exceptional wealth and the certainty of a senatorial future. He had not mentioned, either, that the lad was twenty and that the vigour of youth shone from him as if from a newly backed racehorse so that, even if one loathed him on instinct, it was impossible to look elsewhere.
    In a fortress full of hardened legionaries, Valerius was not used to feeling old, or, given his own height, to feeling small. In the presence of the governor’s son, he felt both, and for that alone he would have left if propriety and his pride had allowed it. Neither did, and so he stood just inside the door and was formally introduced.
    “Tribune, this is Julius Valerius, duplicarius of the third troop under my command—the officer of whom we were speaking earlier. Valerius, this is Marcus Ostorius Scapula, tribune in the Second legion. His legate has sent him here with news of the worsening situation in the west.”
    …
of whom we were speaking earlier. The
hair prickled on Valerius’ neck. The voice of quiet irony that filled his mind in times of personal crisis noted that at least part of Longinus Sdapeze’s rumour was true; the tribune hadbeen sent to appeal to his father for aid. That did not make the rest of it false.
They say the legate has really sent him to keep him safe from the centurions who have been in post too long and are tiring of the other ranks.
One could wonder if the governor would consider a prefect a better match than a centurion for his son.
    Mazoias had reappeared, bringing a third chair and well-watered wine. He fussed around the corners lighting more lamps, as if the room had a sudden need to be brighter. The governor’s son was happy to stand under the glare of more lights; he was used to being stared at. Crossing his arms on his chest, he said, “We were discussing the most recent Siluran uprising and the likely impact on the client tribes around the fortress. The prefect tells me you may have a useful insight into their likely response should the governor choose to have them forcibly disarmed.”
    What?
    One does not gape at a governor’s son even if his father has just proposed an act of monstrous insanity before which a junior officer’s personal concerns are rendered so trivial as to be meaningless.
    Valerius found a wall behind him and leaned against it. With great care, he said, “The governor is very new to the province—he has been here less than one full day. He arrives at a time of great disquiet and it is certain that the Silures and their allies have timed their uprising to coincide with his predecessor’s departure so that—”
    “We know that. The war chief Caradoc plans his strategies as if Caesar himself were advising him. What we do not know is