Cato winced at the violent silencing of the man and saw Caratacus’s expression darken. He cleared his throat and spoke loudly to the enemy commander. ‘I want you to know that if you launch another assault on my fort, I will execute ten of my prisoners, out here, in full view of your army, and mount their heads on the gatehouse to remind you of your folly. If that fails to deter you, the next time it will be your brother. Only in his case I will be sure to make his death long and painful. He’ll be crucified on top of the wall. I’ve heard that it can take a man three days to die on the cross. Maridius, as you know, is a fine warrior. Strong and tough. He’ll be sure to go the distance before he’s done.’ Cato spoke in a cold, calculating tone, determined to conceal any hint of his disgust for the image he was painting.

‘So, this is Roman civilisation,’ Caratacus sneered. ‘Your ways amount to little more than the enactment of cruel spectacles. Just as I had been taught.’

Cato shook his head. ‘This is not civilisation. This is war. You threaten to slaughter me and my men. It is my duty to do whatever is necessary to prevent that. You leave me no choice.’

‘I see.’ Caratacus’s eyes narrowed shrewdly and he stared at Cato for a moment. ‘I sense that your heart does not stand behind your words, Roman. Would you really be prepared to carry out your threat?’

‘If you attack us again, you’ll discover that I act on my promises. This I swear. I will kill your people the instant the first Silurian reaches the ditch in front of my fort. They will die by my own hand.’ Cato stared fixedly into his enemy’s eyes, daring him to believe otherwise. Caratacus stared back and then glanced over Cato’s shoulder towards his brother and the others on the wall.

‘I doubt you have the heart for it.’

‘That is your mistake.’