Most of those attending the meeting had already entered the ring and only the tail end of the earlier procession remained in the avenue of stone and fire. The Druid walked quickly but Ostorius led his men at a more sedate pace, refusing to hand the initiative to the Druid. As he looked back, the Druid saw that a gap had opened up and his teeth bared in anger. He stopped and waited, and then led at the pace set by the Romans. Cato was aware of figures on either side of them, barely visible as they watched from the fringe of the loom cast by the fires. The silence, and the spectacle of the setting, filled him with a sense of foreboding.

‘I don’t like this,’ Macro muttered, his hand moving towards the handle of his sword before he was aware of it. He forced it back to his side. ‘If there’s trouble we’ll be a long way from the horses, even if we did manage to fight our way out.’

‘If there’s trouble we won’t even make it out of the ring,’ said Cato.

‘Thanks. You’re going to be a real inspiration to the men of your cohort.’

‘A bitter truth is better than the sweetest lie, my friend.’

‘Pffftt!’ Macro spat scornfully and then marched on in silence, keeping a wary watch on each side. At length they approached the gates to the ring and Cato saw that it was studded with what looked like large pearls. It was only as they got closer he realised that they were skulls hanging face down from nails.

‘Oh, sweet Jupiter . . .’ Decianus muttered. ‘What is this place? A temple or a slaughterhouse?’

‘A bit of both actually,’ Marcommius answered him in an undertone. ‘Our gods demand blood sacrifices from time to time.’

Decianus looked at the interpreter with a disgusted expression. ‘Barbarians.’

‘No one asked you to come here, Roman.’

‘Then it’s as well we did. Time to put an end to these atrocities.’

Ostorius looked back angrily. ‘Quiet there! Keep your tongues still.’

They passed between the gates, fifteen feet high and made of oak. There must have been over a hundred skulls fixed to the timbers, Cato estimated, and he could almost sense the spirits of the dead looking on, sinister and hostile to those who came to Britannia unasked. The ring opened out before them, a hundred paces in diameter. The tribesmen who had already arrived had taken their places round the perimeter. The Druid pointed across the ring, to the left of the altar, where there was open ground, and spoke briefly to the interpreter.

‘He says we are to stand there, sir. The Iceni are to stand by you.’

Ostorius nodded. ‘Very well.’

Every face turned towards the last arrivals and watched them as they crossed the beaten earth at the heart of the sacred site.

‘Are the mountain tribes here?’ Cato asked Marcommius. ‘The Ordovices and the Silures?’

The interpreter scanned the tribesmen lining the ring. Cato had noted the subtle differences in clothing and hair styling between the groups.