‘Keeping the Durotrigans out of sight while he calls for us to surrender. I imagine he thinks he can make this look like some kind of internal tribal squabble that can easily be settled.’

‘Will our lads go for it?’

‘It might have an effect on some,’ Cato conceded, then his eyes widened as he saw the next prisoner being led forward, picking his way over the twisted bodies of the earlier victims. ‘Oh, no . . .’

‘What?’ Macro strained his eyes. ‘Who is it?’

‘Figulus.’

‘Figulus? Shit . . .’

As Tincommius beckoned to Figulus’ escort, Cato looked round into the enclosure, calling out in Celtic. ‘It’s Figulus! They’ve got Figulus!’

There was a spontaneous groan from the Wolves, who had come to admire and like their Roman instructor. Cato called out to them, waving at them to come to the wall. ‘They’re going to kill him. See! See!’

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ asked Macro.

Cato flashed a quick smile at Macro. ‘Time to play Tincommius at his own game.’

‘What?’

‘Just watch.’

As the Wolves reached the palisade they began to shout down the street, howling their protest and begging their former comrades to spare Figulus. The optio had dropped to his knees and the man with the club was standing to one side, looking from the prisoner, to Tincommius, to the other warriors guarding the Roman prisoners, up towards the enclosure and back to the prisoner again. Tincommius was shouting angrily at him and thrusting a finger towards the kneeling Roman. Figulus just looked round, bewildered and terrified. Now, one of the warriors trotted forward and spoke with the Atrebatan prince, who shouted an order into his face. The man glanced at Figulus and shook his head.

‘This looks promising!’ Macro smiled.

Cato felt someone tugging the sleeve of his tunic and turned to see the surgeon with an excited expression on his face.

‘Sir! It’s the king!’ The surgeon had to shout to be heard above the din. ‘He’s regained consciousness.’

‘When?’

‘Just now.’

‘How is he?’

‘Groggy, but lucid enough. Cadminius told him about our situation. He wants to see you. Both of you.’

Macro shook his head. ‘Tell him we’re a little busy.’

‘No!’ Cato interrupted, with an excited expression. ‘Can Verica be moved?’

‘I suppose so, if it’s really necessary. Can’t make his condition any worse, I’d say.’

‘Good!’ Cato slapped the surgeon on the arm. ‘Then get him up here. Right away.’

The surgeon shook his head. ‘I don’t know about that.’

‘All right, I’ll make it simple.’ Cato drew his sword and raised the tip under the surgeon’s chin. ‘I order you to bring him here immediately. That good enough?’

‘Er, yes, sir.’

‘Off you go then.’

As the surgeon ran off to fetch his patient Macro laughed. ‘That was all centurion. You’re coming on nicely, Cato.’