Claudius slowly opened his cold blue eyes and turned to Caracalla. For a moment, he did not salute, but the young Caesar’s eyes dared him not to, and so he stretched his arm out slowly.
“Augustus,” Claudius said.
“Well?” Caracalla relaxed a little, but his eyes continued to bore into the man. “It must be something important for you to interrupt me at this hour.”
“It is,” Claudius answered, throwing back his black cloak to reveal his muddy cuirass and greaves. He had obviously been riding for some time. “I received word from some of my scouts north of the wall.”
“Yes?”
“They found the bodies.”
“Really?” Caracalla stepped back, his shoulders caving in a little, as if a wave of relief washed over his spirit. “They’re dead?”
“Not who you think, sire. The Metelli live. It was the bodies
