‘Who the hell’s that?’ muttered Macro. He turned to a group of bowmen crouching nearby on the walkway, and mimed stringing an arrow. ‘Get ready!’

The voice called out again, closer this time.

‘I don’t like this,’ said Macro. ‘It’s bound to be some kind of a trick. Well, we’ll be ready for the bastards!’

Cato peered into the night, straining his eyes towards the direction of the voice. Then, it came again, closer and clearer - and now he was certain.

‘It’s Tincommius.’

‘Tincommius?’ Macro shook his head. ‘Bollocks! It’s a trick.’

‘It’s Tincommius, I tell you . . . Look there!’

In the red wavering light from the dying flames of the last faggot to be hurled over the wall, a figure emerged from the darkness. He paused a moment, indistinct and shimmering beyond the heated night air.

‘Cato! Macro!’ he called again.

‘Step into the light where we can see you,’ Macro bellowed. ‘Slowly now! Any tricks and you’ll be dead before you can even turn round!’

‘All right! No tricks!’ the man called back. ‘I’m coming closer.’

He picked his way round the faggot and slowly approached the gate, one arm raised to show that he carried no weapon. In the other hand he carried an auxiliary shield, one of those issued to the Wolves and the Boars. He stopped thirty paces from the gate.

‘Macro . . . It’s me, Tincommius.’

‘Fuck me!’ whispered Macro. ‘So it is!’

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Twenty-Eight

General Plautius was growing tired of the game being played by Caratacus. For some weeks now the legions had steadily advanced along the north bank of the Tamesis, trying to close with the Britons. But as soon as the Roman army moved forward, Caratacus simply withdrew, abandoning one defensive position after another and leaving the Romans nothing but the warm ashes of his campfires. And all the time the gap between Plautius’ army and the smaller force commanded by Vespasian grew dangerously wider, almost inviting a sudden thrust by the enemy should he ever guess at the truth. Plautius had tried to force Caratacus to give battle by ordering his troops to burn every farm and settlement they came across. Every farm animal was to be likewise destroyed. Only a handful of the people would be spared so that their lamentations would ring in the ears of their chiefs, who in turn must beg Caratacus to put an end to Roman despoiling of their lands by turning round and falling upon the legions.

Finally it seemed to have worked.