‘It might. Then it might not. If they die with us, then their kin might blame the Durotrigans for their deaths. Better still, blame that bastard Tincommius.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ Cato replied quietly. He was silent for a moment. Then: ‘Should we talk it over with Cadminius and the others?’

‘No,’ Macro said firmly. ‘The moment we start giving in, the fight will go out of our lads. Think about it, Cato. Think about how you’d feel watching the natives marching out of here and leaving us to die. Not the best way of keeping your pecker up, is it? And what guarantee do we have that they’d let the native lads live? You’d trust their lives to Tincommius? He’d have their heads on the ends of stakes in a trice.’

‘Which might well have a useful impact on the loyalty of the Atrebatans, from our point of view,’ Cato replied coldly.

‘Cynic!’ Macro laughed, and slapped him on the shoulder.

Cato smiled. ‘But you’re right. We can’t trust Tincommius with their lives. I guess they’ll have to take their chances with us. I doubt they’ll protest. The bodyguards aren’t very fond of Tincommius - even the ones who think we might have had a hand in that attack on Verica.’

‘They seriously believe that?’

Cato shrugged. ‘Hard to say. I’ve heard some of them muttering about it, and I get the odd suspicious glance. Seems that Tincommius’ words might have had some effect after all. The only one who can convince them of the truth is Verica.’

‘Have you heard anything about him?’

‘No. But I think we should find out. If there’s a chance that he can recover enough to confirm that he was attacked by Tincommius, it might help.’

‘All right then, you go and see. But don’t be long. Our friends might try something.’

‘Do you really think they will?’

‘No . . . They must be as exhausted as we are. They’ll want a rest. I doubt they’ll be in any great hurry. We’re bottled up in here with no way of escape, and they’ve got Caratacus and his whole bloody army on the way to help them out. I think they can wait until dawn before making the next move.’

‘I hope so.’ Cato yawned as he struggled back on to his feet. The short rest seemed to have made him feel more tired than ever. Every limb ached and felt stiff and heavy, and the night air seemed too cold for summer. His head ached and his eyes stung and for a moment he let his mind indulge itself in a vision of sleep in his warm comfortable bed back at the depot. The fantasy was so alluring that he felt a warm ripple flow through his body and he allowed himself to surrender to it.