Agrippina asked sceptically, 'Would strangers of the west fight for a failed prince of the east?'

'It's possible,' Nectovelin snapped. 'At least Caratacus stood up to the Romans. At least he didn't just give up. People admire that, I think.'

Cunedda asked, 'And his brother-'

'As far as we know Togodumnus is dead,' Nectovelin said. 'Although the battle was so confused it's hard to say for sure. There is a rumour the Romans displayed his head.' He shook his head. 'He shouldn't have turned his back on the gods of the river.'

Braint came bustling into the house, laden with two limp chickens, their heads dangling from broken necks. She dumped the chickens near the hearth and slapped her hands to clean them of blood and feathers. 'Still playing soldiers? Look at these men, Agrippina, picking over a dead Roman's armour, while we get on with the business of staying alive. Maybe it will take a woman to really give the legionaries a fight-eh? And as for Togodumnus, if he was alive we'd know about it by now, for we'd have heard his cowardly scuttling as he ran away after his brother. The priests have scarpered too-funny, that!'

Cunedda was enough of a warrior now to be irritated by this. 'I won't have that, Braint. The priests may be able to help Caratacus put together a coalition among the nations in the west. They would be no use here-indeed they would only be meat for the Romans' swords, for the Romans hate druidh. And as for Caratacus and his brother, the princes showed courage on the field. More than those Romans, who just stood there and let us come at them.'

Nectovelin shook his head. 'And you still lack wisdom. Can you not see it takes more courage to hold your position when under attack, until the right moment to strike?'

Cunedda bristled. 'Nectovelin, I know you saved my life. And you may think you're special, armed with your famous Prophecy, which nobody has ever seen. But for all your prowess you're just a man, just like the rest of us.'

Nectovelin stared at him, like a wolf considering whether to teach a whelp a lesson. But the moment passed, and Nectovelin turned away.

The mention of the Prophecy reminded Agrippina of Nectovelin's cloak, and the leather document wallet still sticking out from under it. Curiosity stirred in her, an unfamiliar feeling for her in these dead times.

She heard noise outside, and then the thin peal of a trumpet.

Cunedda asked, 'What's going on out there?'

'More Romans in town,' Braint said. 'Walking around the place as if they own it-which, of course, they almost do.'

'Let's go see what they're up to,' Cunedda said.

Nectovelin said, 'Not me. I've seen enough Romans for one summer.'

Braint stood straight. 'If you're staying here, you miserable old man, you can do something useful for once and pluck these birds.' And she kicked the chickens on the floor over to Nectovelin's feet.

Nectovelin rumbled, 'All right, all right.' He bent to pick up the chickens. He was several paces away from his clothes, with his back turned.

The opportunity wasn't to be resisted. As she walked towards Cunedda she brushed past Nectovelin's clothes, and tucked the wallet into a fold of her tunic.

Cunedda called, "Pina?'

'Coming.'

Vespasian and Narcissus walked into the heart of Camulodunum-if you could call it a heart, for unlike the meanest Roman town there seemed to be no real centre to this barbarian heaping of midden-like roundhouses. Everything was mixed up, houses with cesspits and grain stores and animal pens, shrines with cemeteries, pottery and metal-working shops with houses and granaries. It was more like walking through a cluttered farmyard. And yet there was industry here. Peering curiously into the doorways of the houses Narcissus saw a potter at his wheel, a woman working an upright loom with weights and spindles of bone and clay.

Vespasian, decked out in his dress armour with its gold inlays, walked with a boldness suitable for a conquering Roman general. But Narcissus's only armour was his second-best toga, and while Vespasian may have been as fearless as he looked, Narcissus was anything but, despite a palisade of a dozen burly legionaries. After all, for all its rudeness they were walking into the capital of a barbarian people who could scarcely be called subdued.

Vespasian sensed his nervousness. 'Of course there is a slight risk, secretary. But the symbolism is all. The two of us walking here, unimpeded, going as we wish, with only a few men at our side-that will be as crushing for these wretched Britons as another lost battle. And speaking of wretched Britons-' He tapped Marcus Allius's shoulder. 'Decurion, assign a couple of men to rounding up some recruits for the Emperor's showpiece battle.'

Allius nodded and spoke to his men; three of them peeled off and walked through the town, peering at resentful, wary natives.

'Symbolism, yes,' Narcissus said dryly. 'Which brings us to the matter of the Emperor. He is now resting with Aulus Plautius by the Tamesis. Two more days and he will be here.'

'Then we must be ready,' Vespasian murmured. 'I hope Plautius doesn't wear him out.'

'Oh, I doubt that. But if I know the Emperor he will be astute enough to understand the wider significance of his location. The Tamesis drains the south-eastern corner of the island, and so is sure to be a key artery for trade and communications in the future. But the locals have made little of it.'

'In fact there is a small settlement by the river,' Vespasian pointed out. 'It's said to be where Caesar crossed the Tamesis, and so Plautius planted his camp there. It's actually quite charming. Fisherfolk go out onto the river in little round wicker boats. The place is dedicated to the local river god Lud.'

Narcissus smiled. 'Lud! Sounds like some riverine brute hawking up a fish bone. So in the future will these fisherfolk name their island's greatest city after this soggy deity?…'

Narcissus had come into Camulodunum to prepare for Claudius's glory. The invasion might have been Plautius's, but the victory had to be Claudius's own. So Plautius had loyally stalled his advance to wait for the Emperor.

The imperial party had been preparing to travel even before the first landing. The logistics of the journey had been largely Narcissus's responsibility, and he liked to complain to Vespasian that it was like mounting another invasion. Unlike his two predecessors this emperor was engagingly free of affectation, gluttony, debauchery and sloth; luxury for him was to be left alone with his library. But an emperor could not be seen to travel without a certain standard of magnificence. Then there were the huge (and hugely expensive) exotic beasts from Africa which Claudius had insisted be brought with him on his conquest of Britain. All this Narcissus had organised: special ships chartered, overnight accommodation set up, a small army of servants and artisans arranged. Much of this was paid for by hapless provincials en route.

At last Claudius had handed over control of Rome to his fellow consul Lucius Vitellius and had set off. He travelled with a section of the Praetorian Guard, and with a number of Romans of high rank, some of them friends and advisers who the Emperor liked to keep close-and, more significantly, enemies whom he needed to keep closer still. He had sailed down the Tiber to Rome's great port of Ostia, then by ship along the coast to Massilia, and through Gaul, partly overland and partly by boat along the rivers. Thanks to military despatches Narcissus had been kept aware of this caravan's progress, including alarming reports of a near shipwreck even before they reached Massilia.

Meanwhile Plautius had not been idle. It was a wise commander who ensured that his emperor's personal victory would be just that. Away from Camulodunum the campaign had been pressing deeper into the island. Vespasian himself had pushed to the west, supported by the fleet tracking his progress along the coast, though the legate had been recalled to take part in the imperial celebrations.