‘The one who sold out to us even before the first boot was planted on British soil?’

‘That’s the one.’

Macro saw the looks of contempt on the faces of many of the other natives. ‘I can’t help wishing he wasn’t speaking up for our side.’

The man in the centre of the ring spoke with a clear, deep voice as his words were translated. ‘First I would like to offer my sincere gratitude to the governor for offering us this chance to make a lasting peace . . . You all know me. I am King Cogidubnus. I wish to speak plainly, to speak the truth. I too was raised as a warrior, and have led my men into battle. I have no need to prove my worth to back up my words. I come here to support the arguments of Governor Ostorius Scapula. Rome has indeed proved a mighty friend and ally to me and my people. I can swear to the fact that we have profited from the coming of Rome and what is true for the Regni can be true for any tribe that accepts the hand of friendship extended by the governor.’

‘Traitor!’ a voice called out in Latin, and then repeated the cry in the native dialect.

Cogidubnus frowned as he, and everyone else, turned towards the source of the accusation. There was movement in the native ranks and then a large warrior thrust his way to the front. He wore a hooded cloak and drew it back to reveal his long fair hair. At once there was a chorus of excited muttering. Marcommius shook his head in surprise.

‘Caratacus . . .’

CHAPTER TEN

The old enemy of Rome strode forward and stopped a sword’s length from Cogidubnus. He scrutinised the King of the Regni with contempt, his fists resting on his hips. Then he spoke, his voice carrying clearly to the fringes of the crowd as Marcommius translated for the Romans.

‘You have profited all right. All of us know about the fine palace the Romans are building for you. A luxury kennel for the Emperor’s favourite lapdog. That’s what you are. A mongrel, half Briton and half Roman, begging for fancy tidbits from the table of your master. You have sold your honour for fripperies, Cogidubnus, to your eternal shame.’

Cogidubnus opened his mouth to protest, but the other man took a menacing step towards him and he wilted, backing away towards his contingent. Caratacus glared at him for a moment, before making a sweeping gesture with his hand, as if swatting away an irritating insect before he addressed the crowd.

‘You all know me. You all know that I have fought against the Romans from the first. I have never given in to the enemy, our enemy. It is for our freedom that I have fought so long. While the eagle standards of the legions fly over our lands we can only be slaves. That is the way of it. The Roman governor says that we must change. We must forget who we are and become part of the Roman empire. Is it so easy to give up all that we are?’ He pressed his hand against his chest. ‘I am Caratacus, King of the Catuvellauni. Even though my kingdom no longer exists, I carry it here in my heart. My people, our history, all the honour that we have won in battle, all here in my heart, and I live for the day when the Romans are thrown back into the sea, as they were before when their great general, Julius Caesar, first attempted to steal our land. That day will come, I believe it as surely as I believe in our gods.’ He thrust his finger at Ostorius. ‘The Roman governor tells us we must give up the old ways, or die in battle. He offers us a simple choice between saving our honour or submitting to slavery, like dogs. I have chosen honour and freedom!’