A legionary backed out of the dark entrance to the hut, his arm raised to cover his nose and mouth. Macro let go of his canteen, sprang up, and ran over to the man. As he reached the hut a foul stench of decay assaulted his nostrils and he slowed down involuntarily. The legionary turned round as he sensed the centurion’s approach.

‘Report!’

‘Bodies, sir. The hut’s full of them.’

Macro eased the legionary to one side, swallowed and then, grimacing at the smell, he ducked his head inside the hut, keeping to one side to let the light penetrate the shadows within. The place was alive with the buzzing of flies and Macro saw perhaps ten bodies heaped like discarded dolls in the centre of the hut. Propping his shield up against the door frame, Macro squeezed inside, stepped over to the corpses and kneeled down, fighting back the urge to vomit. There were three men, one old and wrinkled, and the rest were children, twisted grotesquely and staring sightlessly from unblemished faces beneath the usual tousled hair of Celtic youngsters.

A shadow fell across the faces of the dead and Macro looked back towards the entrance to see Cordus hovering at the threshold.

‘Come here, Optio.’

Cordus reluctantly advanced, hand over his mouth, and squatted down beside Macro. ‘What happened, sir? Who did this? Caratacus?’

‘No. Not him,’ Macro shook his head sadly. ‘Look at the wounds.’

Each of the dead had been killed with a thrust, or a series of thrusts, the classic killing blow of a legionary’s sword. ‘Celtic warriors tend to use slashing blows. They let the impact of their heavy blades do the killing.’

Cordus looked at him with a frown. ‘So who did this? One of our patrols?’

‘No. I don’t think so. But it was Romans all the same.’

The two officers exchanged looks filled with sad understanding, then Cordus looked at the bodies again. ‘Where are the women?’

Before Macro could reply there was another shout. They rose up and hurried from the foul atmosphere of the hut, greatly relieved to burst back into the cleaner air outside. Macro gulped down several breaths to purge the odour of death from his lungs. A short distance away one of the legionaries was beckoning to Macro with his javelin.

‘More bodies, sir. In here!’

Cordus was several paces ahead of him by the time they reached the hut and he glanced quickly inside and, after a short pause, withdrew his head and turned to face the centurion.

‘It’s the women, sir.’

‘Dead?’

Cordus stepped to one side. ‘See for yourself, sir.’