The shock and the stench finally overwhelmed any last vestige of self-control and Cato vomited, spewing acrid gouts of sick on to his knees, until there was nothing left inside him, and the acid fumes wafted up to him and made him retch more. Slowly, he recovered and saw that Caratacus was staring at him from the far side of the hut, staring over the bodies that lay between them.

‘Proud of yourself, Roman?’

‘I - I don’t understand.’

‘Liar!’ The king spat the word out.’You know who did this well enough. This is the work of Rome. This and another hut, filled with bodies of defenceless farmers and their families. This is the work of an empire you said would befriend us.’

‘This is not the work of Rome.’ Cato tried to make himself sound as calm as possible, even though his heart was beating like a drum roll in its mortal terror.’It is the work of madmen.’

‘Roman madmen! Who else would have done this?’ Caratacus raised his fist and stabbed a finger at Cato. ‘Are you accusing my men?’

‘No.’

‘Then who else but your people could . . .would have done this? Only Romans would do this.’ He dared Cato to disagree, and the centurion was aware that denial would cost him his life.

Cato swallowed nervously. ‘Yes, but . . . but they must have been acting outside their orders.’

‘You expect me to believe that? I’ve been receiving reports for days now about the punitive actions your legionaries have been conducting against the people who live in the valley. Flogging women and children, the firing of farms, and scores of killings . . . and now this. When we spoke last night you promised an end to war. I… I nearly believed you. Until now, until I have seen what the Roman peace is truly like. Now I can see it all clearly, and I know what I must do. There will be no peace between us. There can never be peace. So . . .I must fight your people with every fibre of my being while I still draw breath.’

Cato saw the wild expression, the fists clenched so tightly that knuckles stuck out like bare bones, and the tight line about Caratacus’ jaw, and knew that there was now no hope of peace while Caratacus lived. His own life was forfeit, and so were those of the men still being held in the pen back at the enemy camp. All because Metellus could not control his desire for a decent meal. For an instant Cato hoped that Metellus would be amongst the first to die, and that his death would be long and lingering to compensate for all the suffering his appetite had brought to the world. It was sad that this bitter thought should be his last, Cato smiled, but there was no helping it. He looked up at Caratacus and resigned himself to death.