Germanus leaned out of his bedroom window, impatient for the sun to set. Despite the season, it seemed to take an age until there was darkness. Even then, lights flickered across the city, coalescing into a glow that shimmered up towards the Vortigern’s palace. Four flags – one on each corner of the central tower – blew strongly in the wind; so strongly that the Vortigern’s emblem was fully unfurled. A Roman cavalry dragon: it had been many years since Germanus had seen that symbol. Thirty? Thirty-five? Was it so long since he had last been in Britannia? And what of Sevira? He should never have let her escape. She had been on the wrong side and she should have been punished – like all the other rebels. Germanus had thought nothing of slitting their throats – in the case of the...

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