‘We must use our strengths,’ Nectovelin insisted. Nobody knew how many troops the Romans planned to field, he said. Reports claimed that many thousands had already landed, and there were more of their terrifying ships on the horizon. But all those Romans needed to be fed, every day. ‘We know the land, they don’t. A corn field becomes a weapon if burning it leaves a hundred legionaries hungry. We draw them in, as far as they will come. And we wear them down, bit by bit.’

‘Then you are suggesting raids,’ said Togodumnus. ‘Ambushes.’

Braint nodded. ‘Cassivellaunus did that. And he used delaying tactics too. He had his allies send embassies to negotiate for peace. All of it used up Caesar’s energy and patience.’

The druidh got to his feet. ‘Sneak attacks? Delays? Perhaps you should go back to your own country, Nectovelin, for I hear the Brigantians make a living off stealing each other’s cattle.’

Nectovelin glowered.

But Caratacus was immediately on his feet. ‘The priest is right. We must fight with devastating force. We must gather an army of our allies and meet the Romans in the field. It will be glorious - and we will push the Romans back into the Ocean!’

That won him a few cheers, but Agrippina saw that the support was only half-hearted.

Nectovelin remained standing. Despite his obvious anger at the priest’s insult he spoke carefully. ‘But that, prince, is the mistake Cassivellaunus made in the end. When he fought limited skirmishes on grounds of his choosing, he won. When he met Caesar in a pitched battle in the field, he lost. Look around you, man! You have only a few warriors. It will be farmers who would take the field. And this will not be a war against the Trinovantes or the Atrebates, who are like you. Now you will face Roman legionaries, who are trained from boyhood for one thing only, and that is for battle. Even if you were to win a victory or two, what then? Your farmers will come home for the harvest, or to plant the winter wheat. The legionaries have no harvest to gather. They will come on and on, until they crush you.

‘You know me, Caratacus. I have fought at your side. I would never flinch from a fight. But I’m urging you to pick a fight you can win.’

But Caratacus would have none of it. He yelled, ‘I say the priest is right, you think like a Brigantian cattle thief!’

Nectovelin rested his hand lightly on the hilt of a dagger. The tension in the house was extraordinary.