Cato soon came to master the idiosyncrasies of his horse and could give some attention to his comrades. There had been a brief round of introductions at the governor’s headquarters before setting out but Cato had forgotten most of their names. He was familiar with the types, though. Aside from Ostorius, there were ten picked legionaries who acted as his personal bodyguard. Tough veterans with good records who could be trusted to give their lives to protect the governor. Then there were the tribunes. Six junior officers who would go on to a succession of appointments in civil administration and who might one day be rewarded with promotion to the Senate. From there, the select few would be awarded the post of governor of one of Rome’s provinces. Ostorius Scapula was such a man. He had devoted his life to the twin ideals of Rome and to adding lustre to his family name. No doubt he had hoped to tame Britannia as a fitting end to his long career, Cato reflected. Too bad the native tribes had different ideas about being tamed.

The last member of the party was a native translator, though with his neatly cut brown hair, red tunic and cape he could easily be taken for a Roman. It was only the gleam of the ornately patterned torc round his neck that indicated his true heritage. Marcommius, the latinised version of his native name, was in his thirties, slender and well-groomed. It was clear that he had abandoned the ways of his people.

Cato rode behind the tribunes while Macro had slipped back to join the bodyguards and engage them in conversation. Their cheerful chatter mingled with the rumbling clop of hoofs as the small column followed the track across the green downs of the lands of the Atrebates. There was heavy cultivation and small farms, and a handful of villas with their more regular pattern of fields lay scattered amongst the remaining woodlands of ancient oaks and smaller trees. Now and then they passed some of the natives working their land; Ostorius smiled a greeting, and his officers followed his example, Cato noted approvingly. He could never understand the haughty, high-handed attitude of many Romans to the peoples they had conquered. The swiftest way to Romanise a population was to encourage good relations. The quickest way to antagonise them was to beat them down and treat them as inferiors, a policy that only caused bitter resentment where it did not result in outright revolt.

Five miles or so down the road Ostorius gently tugged on his reins and fell into step alongside Cato. The road had dipped down into a shallow vale filled with mist which closed in around the riders and made vague shapes of the trees and bushes on either side. They exchanged a nod before the governor began speaking.

‘I briefed my tribunes and the bodyguard before we left, but just wanted to ensure that you, and Centurion Macro, were put in the picture. As you can appreciate this is very much a make or break occasion. Our last chance to secure peace with Caratacus and his followers. Of course, there’s no guarantee that he will put in an appearance. But there will be some there who share his views and will doubtless report back to him. The vast majority are already firm allies. Some, admittedly, are more grudging. Even so there will be more voices raised for peace than war and, if nothing else, this meeting will serve to emphasise the isolation of those who still resist. That said, I am taking nothing for granted. You, and your subordinate, will at all times treat the native delegates with courtesy and respect. Is that clear?’