‘I’d be honoured if you joined us for the rest of the journey to Durocornovium.’

‘As would I, if you joined us.’

Ostorius was silent for an instant before he nodded. ‘Very well, I should be pleased to accept your invitation.’

The tension eased and Cato heard the tribune next to him let out a long, low breath as he relaxed in his saddle.

Shortly afterwards the enlarged party of riders emerged from the mist as the track climbed gently up towards a more heavily used track running along the top of the chain of low ridges stretching away to the west. The overcast began to break up and the sun shone intermittently from patches of blue sky, causing shadows to glide across the landscape. The governor rode beside Prasutagus, occasionally attempting conversation. The Iceni warriors followed behind. Then came Queen Boudica with Cato and Macro on either side, and then the rest of the Romans.

‘I had hoped we would catch you up,’ she admitted. ‘After last night’s touchy atmosphere I wanted a chance to clear the air.’

Unlike her husband she had been taught the Roman tongue from a young age, by a merchant hired by her father who had foreseen the need to be able to converse with the great power that had reached the coastline of Gaul and stood poised to invade Britannia for so many years before taking the plunge.

‘It’s been such a long time,’ she continued. ‘But you’ve not changed much, Macro. Still the same handsome rogue.’

The centurion gave a non-committal grunt. It was a hard thing to re-encounter someone he had once had a physical relationship with. There had been affection too, but mostly it had been about raw desire. The situation was made more difficult by the presence of Prasutagus to whom Boudica had become betrothed the last time Macro had seen her. Now she was his wife, and he was a king. It was a bloody awkward situation and Macro was not sure how he should deal with it. There was no question of a return to their old ways. Equally, it was hard to treat her formally as befitted her new rank. Boudica’s friendly approach now was not making the situation any easier.

‘But you, Cato, you look every inch the seasoned veteran now, and that scar is quite fetching. It gives you a rather savage look.’

‘That’s what my wife says.’

‘Married too! I shouldn’t be surprised. Who is the lucky girl?’

‘Her name is Julia.’

‘And where is she?’

‘In Rome.’

‘Oh dear. That can’t be easy for either of you. Why not bring her with you?’

Cato paused before he replied. He wanted to explain, to say that Julia was used to the comforts and luxuries provided by her father and that, in truth, he feared that she would resent being obliged to live in Britannia, with its inhospitable climate and even more inhospitable tribes. He cleared his throat. ‘I would prefer Julia to remain where she is most content.’