‘I think you seriously underestimate the gravity of your situation, Macro. Our lands lie right across the general’s supply lines. In a matter of days we’ll be able to hamstring your legions. I reckon you’ll be lucky to escape from Britain with your lives. What do you think, Cato?’

Cato did not reply. He could see the strategic situation unfolding in his mind’s eye and knew that the Atrebatan prince was right. Here in Calleva, feeling had been steadily turning against Verica, and the Romans he so closely associated himself with. There was a good chance that Tincommius would win enough support amongst his people to lead them in a rising against Rome. And Tincommius was right about the wider effects of such a revolt. The success or failure of the Roman bid to add these lands to the Empire rested on the edge of a blade.

A further terrible thought struck him.

‘Verica . . . You attacked him?’

‘Of course I did,’ Tincommius replied quietly enough so that only the two centurions could hear him. ‘He had to be got out of the way. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. After all, he is my kinsman.’

‘Spare us the self-pity.’

‘Very well. He had to die for the sake of all the tribes of these lands. What is the blood of one old man, against the freedom of an entire race?’

‘So it wasn’t that difficult, then?’ Cato asked quietly, a growing sense of horror swelling up inside him as he realised how totally he had misjudged Artax. ‘And you might have killed him . . . if it wasn’t for Artax.’

‘Yes. Poor old Artax - and let’s not forget poor Bedriacus . . . More principles than brains - a common failing in my people. I did try to make Artax see where his true interests lay, but he wouldn’t have any of it. He came across me just as I was about to finish the old man off. Knocked me down. I didn’t have a chance. He got the king away safely, and then you came on the scene.’ Tincommius smiled. ‘I could hardly believe my fortune when you went after Artax. Of course I had to make sure that he was killed before he could say anything that might incriminate me.’ The Atrebatan prince laughed softly at Macro. ‘If it wasn’t for your unfortunate appearance, I might have killed the king and Cato here as well.’

‘Why, you little bastard . . .’ Macro’s hand grasped his sword handle, but Cato clamped his hand on his friend’s arm before Macro could draw the weapon.

‘That’s enough, Macro!’ Cato said harshly, glaring into the other centurion’s eyes. ‘Hold still! We need to hear him out; hear his terms.’

‘That’s right, Centurion.’ A smile flickered across Tincommius’ face as he looked at Macro. ‘Better rein in that temper of yours, if you want to live. You, and your men.’