‘Yes.’ Cato leaned his head back against the fence and looked up at the stars. Scattered across the black depths of the night sky they shone like tiny beacons. The air was quite clear and there was almost none of the agitated shimmering and twinkling that the heavens were usually prone to. The stars looked still and serene, at peace. Cato smiled at the thought. The signs were good. If a Celtic king and the stars were in some kind of harmony of spirit, then anything might happen. Even peace.

Figulus leaned closer to whisper. ‘What happens then?’

‘Then?’ Cato thought for a moment. He really hadn’t any idea. Almost since the time he had joined the Second Legion it had been embroiled in action with an enemy. First that tribe on the Rhine, and then the great invasion of Britain. Always fighting. But once it was over, they would return to the ordered routine of training and patrols. But what that would feel like, he could not imagine. ‘I don’t know. But it’ll be different. It’ll be good. Now let me rest.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Figulus shuffled a short distance away and Cato settled back against the fence, face still raised towards the stars. For a while he simply stared, only conscious that a great burden had been lifted from his spirit. Slowly his eyes began to close and the stars drifted out of focus and before long he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Rough hands wrenched him from his slumber, hauling him to his feet in one savage movement. Cato blinked and shook his head, momentarily confused and alarmed. The warrior who had been tasked to escort him into the presence of Caratacus was busy freeing the peg that bound him to the rest of the prisoners. Close by, some more men had detached six others and shoved them out of the pen. Most of the legionaries were awake and muttered anxiously to one another.

‘What’s going on?’ Cato asked. ‘Where are they being taken?’

Without replying the warrior suddenly struck Cato across the face with the back of his hand. The shock and the stinging pain jolted Cato into full consciousness and he staggered back a pace.

‘What-’

‘Shut up,’ the man grunted. ‘Open your mouth and I’ll hit you again.’

He turned Cato towards the entrance to the pen and thrust him through the gap, sending the centurion sprawling on the ground outside. The wicker gate was closed and a guard rammed the locking peg back into its bracket.

‘Get up, Roman!’