‘Really?’ said Vespasian with a trace of irritation. ‘Well, they’ll do as I tell them.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll let Cato know.’

‘You do that.’

As the first rays of the sun washed the sky, the dense column of heavy infantry, and the remaining handful of their native allies, emerged from the ruin of Calleva’s main gate. A pale blue light hung across the landscape and, looking up, Cato could see that it would be a cloudless day. A hot march lay ahead with the sun beating down on them. As soon as the First Cohort cleared the gate it turned south, towards the legion’s camp. The wagons carrying the wounded and King Verica were positioned in the middle of the column and on either side marched Cato’s men, and the royal bodyguard under Cadminius. Vespasian had made it quite clear that all the native troops were placed under the command of Centurion Cato, without exception, to the obvious chagrin of Verica and the captain of his personal guard.

As the tail of the column emerged from Calleva, Cato looked back and saw a line of faces along the palisade, watching them depart in silence. The bitter expressions well told of the betrayal and despair felt by the Atrebatans. To one side, where the watchtower had once stood, a tall pole rose up from the charred timbers. Impaled on the top was the head of Tincommius, his features so bruised and swollen that it was barely possible to recognise the once handsome prince.

A small column of refugees hurried from the gate, heading in the opposite direction in a bid to escape the inevitable bloodshed when Caratacus and his army arrived before Calleva. Away to the west the tiny figures of a screen of cavalry appeared on a distant hillside and moved towards Calleva with painstaking slowness. Behind them, crossing the brow of the hill, crawled a thick black column of infantry. The Durotrigans who had withdrawn from Calleva the previous night now marched with their allies. Caratacus, it seemed, had made an early start as well. Nearly five miles separated the two sides, by Cato’s estimate. Not much of a margin, but one that the hard-marching legionaries should be able to maintain until they reached the Second Legion’s fortified encampment.