Titus Flavius Vespasian sits across a small camp table from me in his command tent, his hands wrapped around a silver goblet of Gaulish wine. The walk to the camp was brief, his headquarters even nearer to the island than I had suspected. I have no idea how long I waited to see him. It is now very late . . . (Chapter Eighteen)
Vespasian's II Augusta Legion had landed nearly two years before, carrying out a steady and methodical march to the soutwest through the plains of what is now Wiltshire into the Summer Country, eyes set on the twin prizes of Mendip lead and Cornish tin.
The Roman legion is the all too historical backdrop to the tale, distrusted and feared by the Lady and the Tinner alike, but for very different reasons. And it is the hard reality of Rome that forces the final choosing . . . |
