Macro turned back and saw Caratacus take out his sword and stand over Mancinus’s body. Then he rained down blows, hacking the flesh like a frenzied butcher. Macro tore his gaze away, steeling himself for what he must do. Taking a deep breath he hacked through Maridius’s neck. It took several blows before the final bit of gristle parted. Switching his sword to his left hand, he picked up the head by the hair and swung it at arm’s length before sending it sailing through the air. It bounced on the slope and then rolled before coming to rest a short distance from Caratacus.

Still with his bloodied blade in hand, Caratacus stared at the head, his body trembling, then he thrust his sword directly at Macro and screamed, ‘I will kill you! Kill you all! Kill every Roman! Every man, woman and child! I will tear down this cursed fort with my own hands! You will not live to see another day! None of you!’ He swept his sword across the wall of the fort, then turned away, clumsily sheathed his blade and began to stride down the slope towards the camp, his hands clasped to his face as his shoulders heaved with grief. One of his men stooped to pick up the head of Maridius and joined the others who kept their distance from their commander as they followed him.

‘Now we’re for it,’ Petillius said quietly.

Macro nodded. ‘They’ll be coming for us as soon as it’s dark. I want every man on the wall, fed and ready for the fight of their lives.’

He looked down at the headless body in its pool of spreading blood. ‘First, get rid of that.’

Macro took a last look at Mancinus, though there was nothing left to recognise of the young man. Now the same fate threatened him. Macro’s lips pressed together tightly and he shook his head. No. He would deny Caratacus his sport. When the end came, he would go down fighting, sword in hand, spitting curses at the enemy until the very last beat of his heart.

They came even before the final glimmer of the setting sun had faded in the western sky. As soon as Caratacus had returned to his camp the enemy had begun to assemble, and fresh bundles of faggots were hastily prepared and piled high on the parade ground. The tribesmen went about their work with a sullen quietness that was out of character and it was clear to Macro that they were determined to avenge the death of Maridius. In the failing light of dusk, Macro sent for his surviving officers. The small group of men faced him him behind the main gate.