‘They’re as good as any men I’ve trained. But I’ve never had to train men for battle so quickly. Most of them have never been near a fight.’ Macro shrugged discreetly. ‘I can’t truly say. We’ll have to wait and see, my lord.’

‘Let’s hope you won’t have to wait long,’ Verica smiled. ‘Now, then. Let’s get on with the ceremonies.’

Verica turned round to face his two cohorts and, drawing a deep breath, he began to speak. Cato was surprised at the rich timbre of the king’s voice, and although he did not understand every word the delivery sounded wonderful. Verica, in his prime, must have cut a very impressive figure amongst the natives of this island. But there was something familiar about the delivery, something that Cato couldn’t quite place, and he searched his memory for an echo of the feeling he was experiencing. Then it dawned on him; this was no natural gift, but the application of Greek rhetoric to a different cultural context, and he looked at the king of the Atrebatans with new respect. A man of many talents, and considerable learning.

Verica completed his peroration and wound up his address to his troops in a voice resonating with emotion. Cato was aware that Tincommius, at his side, was just staring at the ground without any expression on his face. Macro had noticed as well, caught Cato’s eye and raised an eyebrow. But Cato had few doubts about the young Atrebatan nobleman; he had been just as nervous before his first battle. Cometh the battle, cometh the man. He was confident that Tincommius would do fine.

As soon as Verica had finished his speech the troops spontaneously roared their approval, drawing their swords and thrusting them up to the sky so that Cato looked upon a thicket of blades shimmering above the two cohorts.

‘And now the standards, if you please,’ Verica called over his shoulder.

‘Give them here!’ Macro snapped, realising how foolish it would look for Tincommius to hand him the standards only for one of them to be handed straight back to him. Tincommius did as he was told and moved to one side as Macro handed the stout shaft with boar’s head to the Atrebatan king with as much formality as he could. Verica grasped the shaft and thrust it into the air, prompting his men to cheer even louder than before. As the cheering subsided Tincommius stepped forward and bowed his head to his uncle, before stretching out his hand. The cheering died away and the men watched expectantly. Then their king solemnly passed the standard to his nephew and, grasping Tincommius by the shoulders, kissed him fondly on each cheek. Holding the standard tightly in both hands Tincommius turned and marched over to take his place in front of the Boar Cohort.