Beran watched him go with a frown. “Is he right?” he said.

The same question was in all their minds as Beran turned to them.

“Let the Catuvellauni meet them, with what men they can muster. I will have my scouts watching and if they say these Romans can be beaten, I will march.”

“The Bibroci will be with you,” their man said. The others added their voices and Beran smiled. He understood how the King of the Catuvellauni could want to gather the tribes under him. The men in the room could bring nearly eight thousand warriors to the field. What a sight that would be. Beran could hardly imagine so many men united together.

Julius came upon the hill forts of the Trinovantes twelve miles in from the coast. The sound and smell of the sea was far behind his marching columns, and those legionaries who looked to the future murmured appreciatively as they passed through fields of corn and even cultivated vines that they stripped of the acid white grapes as they passed. Wild apples grew there, and in the heat at the end of summer, Julius was pleased to see the land was worth taking. The coast had shown little of the promise of the fields beyond them, yet his eyes searched constantly for the dark scars of mines. Rome had been promised tin and gold from the Britons, and without it Julius knew the greed of the Senate would never be satisfied.

The legions stretched across miles of land, separated from each other by the heavy baggage trains. They had supplies for a month and tools and equipment to cross rivers and build bridges, even to construct a town. Julius had left nothing to chance in this second attempt at the white cliffs. He signaled the cornicens to blow the halt and watched as the vast columns responded, their formations shifting subtly at the edge of his vision as they moved from marching files to more defensive positions. Julius nodded to himself with satisfaction. This was how Rome should make war.

The hill forts stretched in a straggling line across the land, each one a solid construction of wood and stone that held the crest of sharply rising land. A river marked on his maps as the Sturr ran below them, and Julius sent out his water carriers to begin the lengthy process of refilling the legion supplies. They were not yet in need, but Gaul had taught him never to spurn an opportunity to collect water or food. His maps ended at the river, and for all he knew, it might be the last source of fresh water until they reached the Tamesis, the “dark river” sixty miles from the coast. If it even existed.

Julius summoned Brutus and Octavian and detached a cohort of his veteran Tenth to approach the forts. As he gave his orders, Julius saw the powerful figure of Ciro march through the ranks to him. Julius grinned at the big man’s worried expression and answered his question before it could be asked.

“Very well, Ciro. Join us,” he called.

Julius watched as relief flooded the features of the giant soldier. Ciro’s loyalty could still touch him. The armor of the Tenth gleamed painfully as Julius looked them over, and again he felt himself filled with a powerful excitement. At any moment, the armies of the Britons might appear to strike at them, but there was nothing out of place in the perfect ranks and files. The legions were ready and something of Julius’s own confidence showed in their faces.

In the pure, clean air, Julius heard birds call far above him as he rode slowly up the slope to the largest of the forts. He began listing the defenses and planning how to break them if the occupants would not surrender. The walls were well constructed and any attacking force would have to face a barrage of missiles from above as they stormed the gate. Julius imagined the dimensions of the battering ram that would be necessary to breach such heavy timbers, and the answer did not please him. He saw dark heads outlined on the high walls and sat straighter in the saddle, aware that he was being observed and judged.

Inside the fort, there were shouts and horn notes blaring. Julius stiffened as the main gates were heaved open. The lines of triarii ahead of him drew their swords without an order as each one of them expected a charge to come screaming out at them. It was what Julius would have done had he been on the hill, and he clenched his fists on the reins as the dark interior of the fort was revealed.

No warriors came surging out. Instead, a small group of men stood in its shadow and one of them raised an arm in greeting. Julius ordered the cohort to sheathe their swords to defuse some of the tension.

Octavian moved his horse a pace ahead of Julius and looked back at his general.

“Let me take a fifty inside first, sir. If it’s a trap, we’ll make them show themselves.”

Julius looked at his younger relative with affection, seeing no sign of fear or hesitation in the man’s calm eyes. If it was a trap, those who entered the fort first would be killed, and Julius was pleased that one of his blood should show such bravery in front of the men.

“Very well, Octavian. Enter and hold the gate for me,” he replied, smiling.

Octavian snapped out orders to the front five ranks, and they broke into a run up the last part of the hill. Julius watched the reactions of the Britons and was disappointed to see them stand their ground without a sign of fear.

Octavian kicked his mount into a canter to pass under the gate, and Julius could see his armor shining in the main yard as he wheeled and rode back. By the time Julius had brought the rest of the cohort up,

Octavian had dismounted, and a quick exchange of glances was enough for Julius to grin. It had been an unnecessary caution, but Julius had learned about risk in Gaul. There were times when there was nothing else to do but charge and hope, but those were rare. Julius had found that the more he thought and planned, the fewer were those occasions when he had to depend on the sheer strength and discipline of his men.

Julius dismounted in the shadow of the gate. The men who waited for him were mostly strangers, but he saw Commius there and embraced him. It was a purely formal gesture for the benefit of the warriors who watched in the fort. Perhaps both men knew that only the size of the Roman army forced the apparent friendship on them, but it did not matter.

“I’m glad to see you here, Commius,” Julius said. “My scouts thought this was still the land of the Trinovantes, but were not sure.” He spoke quickly and fluently, making Commius raise his eyebrows in surprise. Julius smiled as if it were nothing and continued.

“Who are these others?”

Commius introduced the leaders of the tribes and Julius greeted them all, memorizing their names and faces and thoroughly enjoying their discomfort.

“You are welcome in Trinovantes land,” Commius said at last. “If your men will wait, I will have food and drink brought. Will you step inside?”

Julius looked closely at the man and wondered if Octavian’s suspicions could yet become reality. He sensed he was being tested and finally threw off his caution.

“Octavian, Brutus… Ciro, with me. Show me the way, Commius, and leave the gates open, if you don’t mind. It is too hot a day to shut out the breeze.”

Commius looked coldly at him and Julius smiled. The centurion Regulus was there and Julius spoke to him last before following the Britons inside.

“Wait a single watch for me to return. You know what must be done if I am not seen by then.”

Regulus nodded grimly and Julius saw the words were not wasted on Commius as his expression hardened.

The fort seemed larger than it had on the track up the hill. With the other Britons, Commius led the four Romans through the yard, and Julius did not look up as he heard the shuffling feet of Trinovantes warriors craning to see them. He would not honor them by showing he heard, though Ciro bristled as he glanced at the upper levels.