‘Peace, Roman! I do not mean to torture you. I merely wish to discover more about the manner of the men who fill your ranks. I have tried to speak to your gentlemen officers, the handful of tribunes who have fallen into our hands. But two killed themselves before I could question them. The third was cold, haughty and contemptuous, and told me I was a barbarian pig, and that he would die rather than suffer the indignity of talking with me.’ Caratacus smiled. ‘He had his wish. We burned him alive. He kept control of himself almost to the end. Then he screamed and wailed like a baby. But I got nothing out of him, except for contempt of the deepest and most vile kind. I doubt I will learn much from your betters, Cato. In any case, it is the men in your legions I want to know about - to understand them; to know a little more about the men against whom my warriors were dashed to pieces, like waves on a rock.’ He paused, then stared directly at Cato. ‘I want to know more about you. What is your rank, Cato?’

‘I’m a centurion.’

‘A centurion?’ Caratacus chuckled. ‘Aren’t you a little on the young side to hold such a rank?’

Cato felt himself blush at the casual dismissal. ‘I’m old enough to have seen you defeated time and again this last year.’

‘That will change.’

‘Will it?’

‘Of course. I just need more men. I grow in strength every day. Time is on my side, and we will have our revenge on Rome. We cannot lose for ever, Centurion. Even you must see that.’

‘You must be tired of fighting us, after so many defeats,’ Cato said quietly.

Caratacus stared at him across the glow of the fire. For a moment Cato feared that his defiance had been overdone. But then the king nodded.’Indeed, I am tired. However, I swore an oath to protect my people from all comers, and I will fight Rome until my last breath.’

‘You can’t win,’ Cato said gently. ‘You must realise that.’

‘Can’t win?’ Caratacus smiled.’It’s been a long year for all of us, Roman. Your legionaries must be weary after so much marching, and fighting.’

Cato shrugged.’That’s our way of life. It’s all we know. Even when my people are not at war we train for the next one, every day. Every bloodless training battle our men fight increases their appetite for the real thing. Your people have fought bravely, but they are mainly farmers . . . amateurs.’