Cato looked down into his cup for a moment before responding. As usual Macro was seeing things in the most simplistic light. While it was true that Verica had benefited from his appeal to Rome it was equally certain that the old king’s plight was just the opportunity that Emperor Claudius and the imperial staff were looking for in their search for a handy military adventure. The new Emperor needed a triumph, and the legions needed a diversion from their dangerous appetite for politics. The conquest of Britain had preyed on the mind of every policy maker in Rome ever since Caesar had first attempted to extend the limits of Rome’s glory across the sea and into the misty islands. Here was Claudius’ chance to make a name for himself, to be worthy of the great deeds of his predecessors. Forget the fact that Britain was no longer quite the mysterious land that Caesar, with his eye forever on any chance to enhance his posterity, had vividly written about in his commentaries. Even in Augustus’ reign the length and breadth of Britain had been traversed by merchants and travellers from across the Empire. It was only a matter of time before this last bastion of the Celts and the druids would be conquered and added to the provincial inventory of the Caesars.

Verica had unwittingly brought about the end of this island’s proud and defiant tradition of independence from Rome. Cato found himself feeling sorry for Verica and, more importantly, for all his people. They were caught between the irresistible force of the legions advancing beneath their golden eagles, and the grim desperation of Caratacus and his loose confederation of British tribes, prepared to go to any lengths to dislodge the men of Rome from these shores.

‘That Vespasian’s a mad one!’ Macro chuckled as he gently shook his head. ‘It’s a wonder he’s still alive. Did you see him? Going at ‘em like he was a bloody gladiator. The man’s mad.’

‘Yes, not quite the approved form of behaviour for senatorial types,’ Cato mused.

‘Then what’s he up to?’

‘I imagine he feels he’s got something to prove. He and his brother are the first of their family to make it into the senatorial class - quite different from the usual run of aristocrats who serve their time as legates.’ Cato looked around at Macro. ‘That must come as quite a refreshing change.’

‘You said it. Most of the senators I’ve served under think that fighting barbarian hordes is beneath them.’

‘But not our legate.’

‘Not him,’ agreed Macro, and emptied his cup. ‘Not that it’s going to do him much good. Without supplies the Second Legion’s campaign is going to be finished for the year. And you know what happens to legates who can’t cut it. Poor sod’ll end up as governor of some flea-bitten backwater in Africa. That’s the way it goes.’