Suddenly I'm visualizing something like a Monty Python sketch, where infected Roman soldiers turn into Scotsmen overnight, coming out of their tents as if in a trance, wearing kilts and sporting thick beards, then marching north with an outstretched fist leading the way, as the faint sound of bagpipes can be heard all around the terrified Roman encampment, as if emanating from the thick dawn mist itself, somehow distant yet intimate at the same time.