Cato felt a great pain inside his chest as he watched the woman for a moment, empathising with her heart-rending sorrow. Then he swallowed and steeled himself before he looked up again at the crowd. He had to please these people, give them what they wanted for the sake of the alliance between Rome and the Atrebatans, however much it revolted him.

‘Tincommius!’

‘Centurion?’

‘Give the head back to this man.’

Tincommius frowned. ‘What? What did you say?’

‘Return the head to this man. It’s his trophy.’

Tincommius stabbed a finger at the woman. ‘It’s her son.’

‘Not any more. Now do it.’

‘No.’

‘I order it,’ Cato said quietly as he stepped up to Tincommius so that their faces were no more than a foot apart. ‘I order you to do it . . . right now.’

For a moment Cato read the determination to defy the Roman in those striking blue eyes. Then Tincommius breathed deeply and glanced away at the faces of the crowd. He nodded slowly.

‘As you command, Centurion Cato.’

The Atrebatan prince turned towards the woman and spoke gently to her as he reached out a hand. She looked at him in terror, still stroking her son’s cheek, then shook her head. ‘Na!’

Tincommius squatted beside her, speaking softly and he nodded towards Cato as he eased her hands away from the head. She regarded the centurion with a look of icy, fanatic hatred, until she was aware that the head was being taken from her. With a scream she snatched at it, but Tincommius pushed her down with his spare hand as he thrust the grisly trophy back to the warrior with the other. The man could not disguise his surprise and joy at having the head returned to him and instantly raised it up high; the crowd roared in triumph at the gesture.

The woman reached forlornly towards the head one last time, but Tincommius held her down, and she suddenly turned on him and spat into his face. The Atrebatan prince recoiled in surprise and with a last snarl the woman curled into a ball on the ground and wept bitterly. Cato pulled Tincommius away from the scene.

‘It had to be done. There was no other way. You saw how the crowd reacted.’

Tincommius slowly wiped the spittle from his brow before replying.

‘But it was her son. She had a right to do him honour.’

‘Even after he’d betrayed his people? Betrayed her?’

Tincommius was still for a moment. Then he nodded slowly. ‘I suppose so. I suppose it was necessary. I just felt . . .’

‘I know how you felt.’

‘Do you?’ Tincommius looked startled for an instant, before his expression recomposed and he nodded. ‘I suppose even a Roman understands grief.’

‘You can count on it.’ Cato gave him a faint smile. ‘Now take the standard, and get yourself back to Centurion Macro.’