“Do.” “The saying that No man minds being proved honest—it is very good. I never heard it amongst the Catuvellauni.” Not even tempted to offer the obvious insult to the Catuvellauni, Tilla said, “Nor I amongst the Brigantes. But when you are foreign you can tell people whatever nonsense you want about your homeland, and they will believe you.” She peered past an old man on a donkey at a tall brick-fronted building farther down the street. “I think that must be it. Give me Mara now.” Narina offered to help her tie the shawl, but Tilla told her to carry it. “I want them to be able to see her face,” she explained, pausing as they approached the open gates. There was an engraved plaque on the wall outside, but after working her way through the lines of pompous blather about emperors and consuls and being none the wiser, she gave up and did what any sensible person at home would do: ask. The girl who was leading a brown spotted goat along the street said that, yes, this was indeed the home of the second cohort of the night watch.
