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Varus wore the scarlet cloaks that signified their general’s rank. Those of Varus and Messalla were white and Valerius’s should have been the same.
    ‘I apologize, sir,’ he said. ‘If I’d realized I needed a cloak I would have had my servant steal one in time for the meeting.’
    Messalla and Fulvus laughed. Primus’s nostrils flared at the insubordination, but he waved Valerius to a chair at the far end of the table, picked up a pointer and turned to a map pinned to a frame beside him. ‘When we are ready, gentlemen. Vespasian’s spies report that the enemy legions have begun to gather, but they will take time to concentrate. At the moment only two legions and a few detachments occupy the Padus valley, which we are agreed must be the first step on our way to Rome. Two legions, and we can muster four at the moment and five within a few days.’ He noted the look of concern that crossed Messalla’s face. ‘I am aware our leader has urged caution, tribune, but the Emperor is not here and cannot judge our situation. This is an opportunity that may not occur again. If we attack now, take Aquileia,’ he pointed to a black dot at the head of the Mare Adriaticum, ‘and open up the road to Cremona, we will be in a position to strike a decisive blow in this campaign while the enemy is still preparing for it. We—’
    Valerius cleared his throat and every eye turned to him. Primus’s face, already red from the sun, turned a more dangerous shade. ‘You have something to add, tribune?’
    ‘A question, sir, if I may be permitted?’
    The legate threw his pointer on the table. ‘Very well, and then you will no doubt give us the benefit of your knowledge, and perhaps the Emperor’s too?’ He surveyed the occupants of the tent and two of the men at the table laughed dutifully, but the lack of response from Fulvus, Messalla and Lupus told Valerius that Primus’s command wasn’t entirely united. That gave him encouragement to continue. He got to his feet.
    ‘I only seek the identity of the two legions and the identity and size of the detachments.’ He saw Primus’s eyes narrow and sought to explain. ‘As you know, I have encountered several of Vitellius’s legions in the recent past. General Aquila,’ he bowed to the Thirteenth’s commander, who exchanged a puzzled look with Primus, ‘and I met them at Bedriacum and I am sure he would agree that, although they were victorious, they did not leave the battlefield undamaged. The Twenty-first suffered heavy casualties before Valens sent in his reserves …’
    ‘Aye,’ Aquila interrupted. ‘And we made the Fifth Alaudae bleed for every inch of ground in that bastard maze of jungle on the north of the road.’
    Valerius bowed again, acknowledging the general’s support. He turned back to Primus. ‘So the identity of the legions would give us a truer indication of the opposition facing us and help decide where and when to meet them.’
    The interior of the tent went threateningly still. ‘Do you question my right to make that decision?’ Primus demanded.
    ‘No, sir, but …’
    ‘Perhaps you wish to add mutiny to your recent accomplishments? How many death sentences does it take to kill a man? Would you care to find out?’
    Valerius bowed and resumed his seat, satisfied he had planted the seed and that whatever risk it had involved had been worthwhile. Aurelius Fulvus confirmed it.
    ‘Nevertheless, I for one would be glad of the information. Better to know whether you are facing a bloodied and understrength Fifth Alaudae,’ he bowed to Aquila, ‘or a First Germanica fresh from their Rhenus stamping grounds and eager to emulate the success of their comrades against Otho.’
    Primus gave a grunt of frustration. ‘Very well. Varus?’
    Varus, an intense young man with a long, doleful face and a horse soldier’s stocky build, licked his lips, patently in awe of the other men in the tent. ‘Our sources indicate the two legions at Cremona are indeed Fifth