‘He says the meeting of the tribes can begin.’

The governor nodded and stood ready as the Druid continued to address the crowd and Marcommius interpreted.

‘He says that you have asked them here to discuss terms for a lasting peace between Rome and the tribal kingdoms of Britannia. Some tribes have already pledged their allegiance to Rome, while a handful still offer resistance. Even without Rome, there are grievances between a number of tribes that had been the cause of long feuds and conflicts. He reminds those who have gathered here that this is the consecrated ground of the Druids and only they have the right to shed blood within the ring. Furthermore, Rome has pledged to give free passage to all who gather here, ally and enemy alike, and there are to be no fights or honour challenges for the duration of the meeting. Any who break these terms do great dishonour to themselves and their people and will surely reap the wrath of the gods as a result. If any of those present refuse to accept these conditions, they are free to go . . .’

The Druid fell silent and waited for a response, but none came, and no one moved.

‘Very well. Then I welcome the governor of that part of our lands presently called the province of Britannia to address the tribes.’

The Druid bowed his head to Ostorius and backed away to the side of the altar. The governor gestured to his interpreter to attend him and walked steadily into the centre of the ring. There was no sound as he reached his position and stopped, and stared round at the faces watching him. There were no cries of support or jeers or shouts of anger. Just silence. Ostorius cleared his throat and began to speak, and his interpreter broke into the rhythmic delivery of the Celtic tongue to convey his meaning to the gathering.

‘I am Ostorius Scapula, praetor of Rome, governor of Britannia and commander of all land and naval forces currently based on the island. I bid you welcome. All of you. Even those who represent the Silures and the Ordovices, sworn enemies of Rome and all that Rome stands for.’ The governor paused for a moment. ‘It has been nearly eight years since the legions landed on these shores. Within the first months we had defeated the most formidable army that the tribes could concentrate against us under the command of Caratacus. Not just once, but three times. Since then nothing has stood before the might of Rome. Not your armies, brave as your warriors are. Nor your hill forts, formidable as they must once have seemed to your eyes. You cannot beat us in battle, no matter how courageous you are. Our soldiers are better trained and better equipped. They have triumphed over the finest warriors of Carthage, Greece and Gaul. We have fought across the tallest mountains, penetrated the darkest forests of Germania and no river has been so fast flowing or wide that we have not thrown a bridge across it in a matter of days. Nothing stands in our way, however long it may take. Once our emperors have given the order, there can only be one outcome: victory. That is the way it is. Rome is good at war. The cost of defying us is to have your towns, villages and farms burned to the ground. Your warriors slaughtered, your women and children led off in chains to become slaves . . . Yet, as we are good at war, so we are good at peace. Rome brings order and wealth for those who embrace us as allies and accept our protections. Yes, there are taxes. But that is the price of living in peace. Accept our laws, our ways, and in time you will come to understand that the Roman way is your future and in your best interests.’