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Ragnall.
    “I understand. I was driven almost to suicide during my forced sojourn to Greece, although that says more about Greece than it does about Rome.” Cicero spoke loudly, so that passers-by might hear, and he smiled a “Haven’t I just said a clever thing?” smile. Ragnall wasn’t sure whether to laugh or nod, so he did both. “However, I’m surprised to find you enjoying Rome quite so much,” Cicero continued, in a less public voice. “But then again you are a contrarian, are you not, Ragnall?”
    Ragnall was both flattered and unnerved that such a famous character should not only remember him after only one meeting years before, but also deign to have an opinion about him. “I don’t think I’m a contrarian…?” he offered. He wasn’t sure what the great man meant.
    “You were a barbarian, now you’re a Roman. Your new master is the man who murdered your old one, the druid Drustan. I’d say there were few more contrary.”
    “Caesar did not murder Drustan. It was Felix. And besides,” Ragnall looked around. None of the pedestrians filing past seemed interested in their chat and the soldiers were long gone, “he wasn’t entirely wrong to suspect that we were spies.” It was more perhaps than he should have said, but he did not like Caesar to be called into question.
    Cicero smiled and swallowed, his Bel’s apple ascending and falling like a mouse in a sausage skin in his long, scrawny throat. “I see you are under Caesar’s spell,” he said. “No matter, most are. I don’t expect you to heed these words, Ragnall, but you should realise what’s happened to you. You and many young men like you have been whipped up in the new hero’s wake like autumn leaves behind a galloping chariot. Perhaps, before you fall back onto the hard road, you should fly away?”
    A few years before, maybe even the year before, Ragnall would have nodded obsequiously, but he wasn’t going to accept this nonsense, not even from a man of Cicero’s standing. Perhaps war had toughened him? Whatever it was, he shook his head and said: “Caesar is the greatest man in the world and I am proud to serve him, as you should be.”
    Cicero smiled warmly. “Well said, young man, well said! Why don’t you walk with me for a while and tell me what’s next on the campaign for you and the great leader?”
    Ragnall was confused by the elder statesman’s mercurial standpoint, but he didn’t want to miss an opportunity to boast about Caesar’s achievements, nor to be seen in the company of such an eminent figure.
    As they passed the blackened remains of a freshly burnt shanty swarming with destitute wretches picking about for anything valuable or edible, Ragnall began: “Gaul is all but conquered. Everybody said that it was last year, but it wasn’t. It would have been impossible to conquer it in a year. It should have been impossible to conquer it in two, but Caesar did it. The last tribe to hold out, the Armoricans, are beaten, and the tribes to the north of them – the Menapii – are more or less vanquished. We haven’t actually beaten them in the field, but most of them fled. They might still cause trouble, but it’s unlikely to be anything significant. If they do manage to muster a decent force, Caesar will triumph as he always has against much greater foes.”
    “That is what has happened already,” said Cicero, jinking to avoid a gaggle of senators wearing red leather sandals and togas with broad purple stripes, “but tell me, what will be the next conquest for the great general?”
    “Britain,” said Ragnall. “As soon as the ships are rebuilt, I mean built, the army will cross the eastern sea and bring the wonderful gifts of Roman life to Britain.”
    “And will you have a role in the new Britain?”
    Ragnall looked around, then back at Cicero. The man was almost as tall as him, which was unusual for an Italian. “I am going to be king.”
    The orator’s eyes widened. “King? That’s marvellous.