Cato shrugged. He had long since given up any thought of escape, after thoroughly assessing the situation. The byre was guarded by three warriors, day and night. While the wall did not represent a serious obstacle to a man determined to find a way through or over it, the long chain that bound all the prisoners made it impossible to get out of the byre.

With all consideration of escape banished from his mind, Cato concentrated on the reason for their being spared in the first place. It seemed to make no sense. They would be useless as hostages. What were the lives of a score of legionaries to General Plautius? And the fact that they were fugitives from Roman justice made them even less valuable as a bargaining counter. So, if not hostages, then what? The alternative purpose of their captivity filled Cato with a horror that clenched its icy grip around his spine.

Human sacrifice.

Caratacus, like all Celt leaders, bowed to an authority placed even above the kings who ruled the tribes of this island - the druids. Cato had encountered them before and carried the scar of a terrible injury given to him by a sickle-wielding druid. Worse, he had seen evidence of what the druids did to the men, women and children they offered up as sacrifices to their gods. The image of himself being slaughtered on a stone altar, or being burned alive in a wooden cage haunted every long hour he spent tethered to his men in their prison.

Most of the others shared his foreboding and sat in silence, only shifting when their position had been endured long enough to become unbearably uncomfortable. Even Metellus and his cronies held their tongues and sat waiting for the inevitable end. Only Figulus seemed to have any fight left in him, and watched and listened intently to the daily routine in the surrounding camp. Cato admired his optio’s resolve, irrelevant as it was, and made no attempt to persuade Figulus to stop fretting and accept his fate.

At the end of the third day Cato was woken from a light sleep by a sudden deafening chorus of cheering. Even the guards outside the byre joined in, thrusting their spears up in the air with each shout.

‘What’s all the noise?’ asked Cato.

Figulus listened a moment before replying. ‘Caratacus. It’s Caratacus - they’re calling out his name.’

‘Must have been away from his camp for a few days. Wonder where he’s been.’

‘No doubt trying to stir up some more resistance to our legions, sir. He’ll soon be running out of allies, I’m thinking.’

‘Maybe,’ Cato replied grudgingly. ‘But it’s not going to do us much good, is it?’

‘No . . .’

The cheering and acclamation went on for a long time before the native warriors had had their fill and returned to their training and other duties.