Except when a self-aggrandising general like Rutilius Gallicus felt obliged to embark on a crazy adventure, to add lustre to his piss-poor status at home…

Disapproval was flavouring my saliva. Not only was Rutilius an idiot, Claudius Laeta was a fool for the glint of respect he was showing the man. Put policy in the hands of such dimwits, and you could hear the gods guffawing.

'We still have in place our old decision not to advance territorially beyond the river.' Laeta was so complacent I wanted to pour ink from his silver stationery set all over his pristine white tunic. 'Nonetheless, there is a tricky area opposite Moguntiacum -' That was a large base we had, halfway down the Rhenus. 'The Emperor was content for Gallicus to consolidate the area for safety. When he goes back -' 'Goes back?' I shot in. Laeta looked shifty. 'We never publicise movements of governors when they are outside their provinces -' 'Oh, he's stolen a mid-term break.' They all did it. They had to check up on their wives at home. Laeta carried on doggedly: 'That's the problem, you see, Falco. The problem with Veleda.'

I sat up. 'He brought her back to Rome?' Laeta merely closed his eyes longer than usual and did not answer me. I for one had known for weeks that Veleda was here; I had sailed back from Greece early, just to head off any trouble with Justinus. 'Oh, I see! Rutilius brought her back to Rome – but you are not admitting it?' 'Security is not a game, Falco.' 'I hope you'd play better, if it was.' 'The governor, very sensibly, preferred not to leave such a high ranking, sensitive captive behind. The risks were too great. A woman prisoner in an army camp is always a focus for unrest, even pranks that could get out of hand. Without Gallicus to impose an iron grip, her tribe could have tried to mount a rescue. Rival tribes might have tried to assassinate her; they are always at each other's throats. Veleda might even have escaped independently.'