21 The Sword BargainThe prefect of the Second Legion at Glevum sat in his office, at the marble table, biting his finger-nails until they bled.
Why wasn’t life straight and easy, he thought? Why did things always get out of hand? For three days his stomach had been tormenting him till he had almost suspected the Celtic cooks of trying out some new poison on him. He had been laid up nearly ten years ago by a mixture of foxglove and hawk’s droppings, and this felt almost the same sort of pain—on the right side, just below the ribs, coming and going in spasms. He had examined his motions but had found no blood in them, as he had done ten years before. All the same, perhaps the cooks had discovered a new poison now, that left no traces. One could never trust these Celts, even when one paid th
