The legion in Illyricum, the 10th, Aulus had brought back to fighting capacity by good training and personal example, till a rebellion that had festered for years seemed to peter out. No sooner had Illyricum been made peaceful, than yet another revolt started to the south, in the neighbouring Roman province of Epirus, one which the 10th Legion, the nearest large military force, was obliged to suppress. At the head of an advanced guard and seeking to contain what he thought was a local uprising, Aulus Cornelius had discovered the truth of what he faced, an enemy army large enough to give full battle. He sent back for reinforcements but Vegetius Flaminus had declined to throw them forward, leaving Aulus isolated with his reconnaissance cohort at a narrow gorge called the Pass of Thralaxas, forced to fight and take casualties before he was truly ready.

Had he and his men been supported, as they should have been, their situation would not have been grave, but by his actions the titular governor had condemned to death those who could not flee. Even when it was clear that no help was coming Aulus could have left the danger with a clear conscience — it was no part of a Roman general’s duties to be cut off from his command — but, typically, he would not abandon the men he had led into this death-trap to save his own skin.

‘The rest of the commission…’

Claudia interrupted Titus. ‘Lily-livered apologists for Vegetius Flaminus, or nonentities who would dearly love to bask in the reflected glory of his forthcoming triumph. Your father was the only upright man on the commission he led. The rest are wolves like Vegetius, or sheep too frightened to bleat the truth.’

As they talked the steady hum of the crowd, gathering in the pre-dawn darkness outside the house, had grown, with the odd shout from an impatient mourner penetrating the walls.