‘You already have,’ Tincommius smiled. ‘But I’d say the odds are slowly shifting.’

‘Oh, would you?’ Mendacus folded his arms, and smiled back. ‘On what basis do you offer such a view? From what vast experience of military matters? Pray tell. I’m sure we’re all ears.’

Tincommius refused to rise to the bait. ‘We don’t have to look very far for the evidence. Why would Rome be prepared to train and arm our two cohorts if they weren’t desperate for manpower? They’re overstretched. Their supply lines are more vulnerable than ever and Caratacus can send raiding columns far behind the Roman legions, almost with impunity.’

‘I thought you’d beaten one of them a few days ago?’

‘We defeated one column. How many more are out there? How many more can Caratacus send out? The raids are getting more frequent. The legions, for all their might in battle, are only as strong as their lines of supply. Destroy those and General Plautius and his army will slowly be starved of food and weapons. They’ll be forced to retreat to the coast, harassed every step of the way. They’ll be bled to death, by and by.’

Mendacus laughed. ‘If it’s so obvious the Romans will be defeated then why fight for them?’

‘They’re our allies,’ Tincommius explained simply. ‘As Artax said, our king swore a treaty with them and we must honour that. Unless, or until, the king changes his mind . . .’

Everyone looked surreptiously at the king but Verica was gazing over their heads, at the dim framework of timbers in the rafters. He appeared not to have heard the last remark and there was a troubled lull, filled with quiet shuffling and one or two coughs as the nobles waited for him to respond. In the end Verica simply changed the subject.

‘There is something else we have to consider. Whatever decision I make about our alliance with Rome, we must consider how the other nobles will respond, and our people.’

‘Your people will do your will, sire,’ said Mendacus. ‘They are sworn to.’

An amused expression flickered across Verica’s lined face. ‘Your desire to do my will is rather short-lived, wouldn’t you say?’

Mendacus coloured with embarrassment and barely checked anger. ‘I speak now as one of your most loyal servants. You have my word on it, sire.’

‘Oh, that’s reassuring,’ muttered Artax.