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"Grandpa, why do you always look so sad when you look at that big gold ring with snakes on?" my little grandson Mark asked me today. I can't tell him now The story is sad. But I am old, my time is coming. When Mark is eleven, he will get the ring and this letter. Then he will understand.

I was born in Rome in AD 41 and, to me, it was the best place in the world. But when I was fifteen, my family moved to Britain - a dangerous island, full of wild Celts. We lived near Cambridge in a small house. Not far from our house there was a big wall. Roman territory ended there. The wall was very long. A Celtic tribe, the Iceni, lived behind it. They were not enemies, but they were not friends either.