Tincommius gave a bitter smile. ‘You Romans, so brave behind your armour, your huge shields and all those cheap battlefield traps. What do you know of courage?’

Verica coughed. ‘If I might make a suggestion . . .’

The other two turned towards the old man on the throne. Vespasian dipped his head in assent. ‘Please do.’

‘It crossed my mind that you might lend us some of your officers to train our men in the ways of the Roman army. After all, it will be your equipment they will be fighting with. Surely you can spare that many men - if it helps solve both our problems?’

Vespasian considered the idea. It made good sense. Calleva would be able to take care of itself, and such a force might indeed take the strain off the legion’s lines of communication. Well worth seconding a few officers for. He looked at Verica and nodded. The king smiled.

‘Of course, such a force would need to be adequately provisioned in order to be effective . . . You said it yourself, Legate. Soldiers are only any good if they have full bellies.’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Tincommius nodded, and continued with a cynical edge to his voice, ‘I dare say that the prospect of a decent meal will lead to no shortage of recruits. And a full belly has a wonderful way of dispersing rebellious instincts.’

‘Now wait a moment.’ Vespasian raised a hand, anxious not to commit himself to more than he could deliver. He was angry with the old man for manoeuvring him into this position, but accepted the cogency of his argument. The scheme might even work, provided, of course, that General Plautius agreed to the arming of the Atrebatans. ‘It’s an interesting proposition. I need to think about it.’

Verica nodded. ‘By all means, Legate. But not for too long, eh? It takes time to train men, and we have very little time if it’s to make a difference. Give me your response tomorrow. You may go.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Vespasian smartly turned and marched out of the hall, under the silent gaze of the two Britons. He was anxious to be free of them and be somewhere quiet where his tired mind could think the plan through, without having to worry about being manipulated by the shrewd king of the Atrebatans.

04 The Eagle and the Wolves

Chapter Five

‘Lift this please, Centurion.’ The surgeon handed Cato a sword. He took it in his right hand and slowly raised it to his front. The early morning sunlight glinted along the blade.

‘That’s good. Push it out as far as you can, then hold.’

Cato looked down the length of his arm and grimaced at the effort of keeping the blade up; he could not stop the tip of the sword from wavering, and soon his arm began to tremble.

‘To the side now, sir.’