Mandracus smiled thinly. ‘Then I was right to warn Brixus about you. If only he had returned to the camp later, you would be dead and the secret of the camp still safe. But nothing can be done about it now. What do you and your Roman friends want to negotiate about?’

‘We’re here to discuss the terms of your surrender,’ Festus intervened.

‘That’s what I thought.’ Mandracus nodded. ‘All right, we’ll talk. But not to you. To him.’ He pointed at Marcus. ‘And him alone. You and the others stay here.’

‘No. I speak for Caesar. Not the boy.’

Mandracus shrugged. ‘It’s him or nobody. And if you attempt to attack, you will discover just how impregnable our camp is. If Caesar wants to talk, we’ll speak with the boy. Those are our terms.’

Neither Caesar nor Festus had anticipated this and now the bodyguard frowned as he rubbed his chin anxiously. He looked down at Marcus and spoke in an undertone. ‘Well? Are you prepared to do as he says?’

At that moment there was nothing Marcus dreaded more than being left in the clutches of Brixus and his followers. Yet unless he was prepared to risk his life, it would cost the lives of many more. He nodded quickly before he could change his mind.

‘All right. But if there’s any sign of danger then run for it. I’ll wait here and come for you the instant you raise the alarm.’

Marcus smiled faintly at him. ‘Thank you.’

‘Very well,’ Festus called out to Mandracus. ‘The boy will go with you. But I warn you, harm one hair on his head and I will kill you with my bare hands.’

Mandracus laughed at the threat. ‘You’re welcome to try any time, Roman. Come, boy.’

Marcus felt his heart beating wildly as he forced himself to step away from Festus and cross the snow towards Mandracus. Then the two of them continued towards the cliff. As they drew near, Marcus could see that the opening of the narrow gorge was filled with armed men waiting in silence. At their head stood Brixus, ready for battle in his polished greaves and breastplate, some ten paces in front of his fighters. His face was set like that of a statue.

‘I do not know what to say to you, Marcus,’ he began. ‘There are no words to describe the depths of your treachery. Why did you do it?’

‘I told you, back in your hut. This rebellion is doomed to fail. You don’t have enough trained men. This is not the right time. If they were better prepared and there were more of them, there might be a chance of success. As it is, you can only lead them to defeat and death.’