After a short pause the bodyguards returned to the hall. Between each pair of men was a prisoner, bound hand and foot, eight of them in all. The prisoners were dragged to one side of the hall, close to the guests sitting on the tables. Opposite them were the hunting dogs, blood dripping from their muzzles and flanks still heaving from the frenzied effort of their attack on the boar.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ asked Macro, turning to Cato. ‘They’re our bloody prisoners!’

Cato looked at the prisoners. ‘I know them. They’re the Atrebatans we captured . . . Oh, no. He can’t mean to . . .’ The colour drained from Cato’s face.

‘What?’ Macro asked. ‘What’s going on? Who are you talking about?’

Verica was back on his feet, and the guests needed no prompting for silence as their gaze flickered between the king of the Atrebatans and the bound prisoners, glancing anxiously at the dogs. Verica started to speak. This time there was no warmth in his voice, no hint of his earlier hospitality.

‘The traitors are to die. If they had been Durotrigans they might be spared with a less terrible end. There can be no easy death for those who turn on the tribe that gave life to them and demands loyalty unto death in return. Therefore, they will die like dogs, and their bodies will be cast into Calleva’s midden for the carrion to feed on.’

‘He can’t be serious,’ Cato whispered to Tincommius. ‘Surely?’

‘Not with my bloody prisoners!’ Macro added indignantly.

Before they could raise any protest, a figure leaped from the crowd and ran into the space between the hunting dogs and the huddle of bound prisoners. Artax pointed to the prisoners and addressed his king and the guests in a deep, commanding voice.

‘What’s he saying?’ asked Macro.

Cato could understand some of the words, but Artax’s passion had been inflamed. That, and far too much beer, made the torrent of words hard to follow. Cato grasped Tincommius’ arm and nodded at Artax.

‘He knows those men,’ Tincommius explained. ‘One is his half-brother. Another is his wife’s cousin. He wants them spared. No member of our tribe should die like this.’

A grumble of assent accompanied Artax’s words, but Verica pointed a trembling finger at the prisoners and replied in tones of indignant anger, ‘They will die. They must serve as an example to all those who would side with the enemies of the Atrebatans and Rome. The lesson must be learned. All those who even think of betraying their king must learn of his terrible revenge.’

A loud chorus shouted in support of their king and an empty goblet sailed across the hall and struck one of the prisoners on the head. Artax was shaking his head as the king spoke, and then raised his voice in protest once again. Tincommius translated for the two Romans.