Cato was looking back down the street. Tincommius was surrounded by his men and he was arguing furiously, arms waving to emphasise his point. But they would not be moved by his pleas and shouted their protest back in an equally emphatic manner. To the side kneeled Figulus, silently watching the confrontation and not daring to move for fear of drawing attention to himself. Behind him stood the man with the club, waiting for a decision to be made.

‘With any luck,’ said Macro, ‘they’ll start laying into each other any moment now.’

‘I doubt it,’ Cato replied. He had seen Tincommius at work and knew that the prince was more than capable of turning things round. They had already underestimated him once. It would not pay to do so again. Cato looked behind him. ‘Where’s that bloody surgeon?’

As they waited for Verica to be fetched the smooth-talking Tincommius began to wear his men down. He was doing nearly all the talking while most of them hung their heads and listened to the haranguing and rhetorical appeals in silence.

‘Here he comes,’ said Macro, and Cato turned to see the surgeon emerging from the great hall, closely followed by a stretcher with a bodyguard at each corner. Walking beside the stretcher was Cadminius, anxiously looking down at the pale face resting on a soft cushion.

‘Hurry!’ Cato shouted. ‘Up here! Quick as you can.’

The small party trotted across to the gate, trying hard not to jolt the king. When they reached the wall the burly bodyguards heaved the stretcher poles up to the hands of the men on the palisade. While Verica was carried carefully to the wider platform above the gate, Cato glanced back towards the confrontation between Tincommius and his men. The prince had had enough, and pushed his way through them, drawing his sword as he made for Figulus.

‘Stop!’ Cato cried out in Celtic. ‘Stop him!’

Tincommius spared him a brief glance and continued towards the kneeling Roman. But before he could reach Figulus, the man with the club stepped forward and placed himself between the prince and Figulus, shaking his head.

‘Out of my way!’ Tincommius’ cry of rage could be heard above the cheers of the defenders. Cadminius helped his king off the stretcher and gently supported him as Verica took two unsteady paces towards the palisade. As the king came into view the Atrebatan warriors in the street looked up in astonishment.

‘Sire, Tincommius told them you were dead,’ explained Cato. ‘He told them that we had murdered you.’

The old man still looked a little dazed, and winced painfully as he turned his head towards Tincommius. The shouts of the men on the wall of the enclosure died away as they gazed at their king. Then the only sounds remaining were the sobbing and cries of the broken Romans lying in the street. Verica’s body trembled.

‘Sire?’ Cadminius tightened his grip on the king’s waist.