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footwear, what would you do?” the shipmaster asked.
    “You’d not risk his wrath. You’d take the damn things back.”  “But the sandals wouldn’t be yours anymore,” protested Carausius. “You’ve dedicated them to the god.”  “Ah, that’s the best bit,” said Cenhud, grinning. “You can borrow them until you meet him in person.” 

 
     
    VI . Rat
     
    The news spread like wildfire after the Sarmatians arrived. A squadron of troopships docked at Hadrian’s Market and offloaded hundreds of the auxiliaries who had been conscripted for service in the Rhine garrisons, and within minutes of the first stepping ashore, the news they brought set the town buzzing. Major revolts had broken out in Gaul and in Spain, the troops at the Danube were hard-pressed, legions were marching throughout the empire and levies were being raised wherever the tribunes could find men.
    A recruiting sergeant called Publio stopped Carausius as he walked across the city square.  “You’re a fine fellow,” he said, “why aren’t you enjoying the life of a soldier?” The centurion outlined the benefits: at 17, Carausius was old enough to enlist. He did not need to be a Roman citizen to become a legionary. If he enlisted for the usual 20-year term, he’d not only get regular pay, food and clothing, but his old age would be provided for.
    Many old soldiers, the sergeant said truthfully, were given large land grants to farm. He didn’t say that they were usually along the frontiers of the empire, where the settler-soldiers were a useful resource and could be called back to the eagles in time of civil disturbance.  The sergeant eyed Carausius’ physique and mentally matched it to the muster officer’s written specifications: a lithe youth with quick eye, broad chest, erect neck, muscular arms and shoulders, hardened feet and strong legs. Height wasn’t too important, but bravery was. 
    “You’d be a proper Roman soldier, not a mere auxiliary in some funny local costume,” the centurion flattered Carausius. “One day, you might be a centurion commanding 80 men. You’d draw twice the pay of an ordinary soldier. And, you’d share booty like the money from the sale of captives. You’d be a fine soldier, and think of the women who find the uniform irresistible!” The boy blushed, eager to be convinced.
    As he trotted home, a white rat scampered out of a drain and ran across the paving stones in front of him. The youth frowned. He’d seen such a thing before, but where? He shrugged and turned for his house.  For no reason he could understand, an image flashed across his mind, of a tall man with long, dark hair, who’d arrived by sea to visit his parents at their home in Britain. The man was called Myrddin, he remembered, a sorcerer who ‘walked with kings in high places.’ The phrase struck him, his mother had used it when she spoke of the wizard, and the boy gulped in sudden misery at his loss.
    One day, he promised himself, he would go back to Britain, one day he would try to put right the things that had been done to his village, his family and even, he mused, his country.  He felt the tug of his homeland, and was angry at the murder of his father and the injustice that had dragged him and his family away from their land.  It would be a fine thing if he could somehow correct at least some of that wrong, and he made a mental vow that one day.....
    That evening, the memory of the rat sighting was obscurely nagging at him and he mentioned it to Cait. “That’s good fortune,” she said. “The Romans regard a white rat as a bringer of good luck, so it’s auspicious to see one. Good fortune comes with such a sighting.” Carausius nodded. He was superstitious, and an augury was a message directly from the gods. He would not ignore it, in fact, he was cheered that the gods had even noticed him. Maybe they smiled on his vague plan to return to Britain. Maybe, he let the half-formed thought surface, maybe one day he