Macro watched him silently, noting the sudden gleam that sparked in Maximius’ eyes. The cohort commander turned to his officers with a smile.

‘We can turn this one round rather neatly. We’re not going to go after them and rush into a trap. Even Caratacus must know we’re not that foolish. And we’re not going to go easy on the locals either. Why should we? The more of Cato’s men he kills to make his point the better, as far as we’re concerned. So let’s make an example of that village. Let’s kill ten of them for every one of Cato’s men.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Caratacus and his men will be forced to react. If we’re lucky, we might even draw them out of the marsh and get them to have a go at the fort. We’ll just let them come on, and then slaughter them like dogs, right in front of our ramparts. Let ‘em fill up the ditch with their dead. If any of them are stupid enough to surrender, then they’ll be screaming for mercy before I let the bastards die. They’ll never make a fool of Gaius Maximius again. Never!’

Macro was filled with astonishment at the relish with which his commander spoke the last words. Maximius was suddenly self-conscious, and glanced round at his officers with a quick smile, flashing his stained teeth at them. ‘Come, lads, we’ve got work to do.’ He glanced over his centurions, then his gaze settled on Macro. ‘You’ve got the best job of all, Macro.’

‘Sir?’

‘Get your men formed up. I want you to take them into the village. Round the locals up and select sixty of them - men, women and children. Then take ‘em over to that lot,’ he nodded towards the Roman dead.’Then kill them. Make it last. I want to hear them scream. Better still, I want Caratacus to hear them scream. When you’re done make sure all the heads are put on poles. Understand?’

Macro gave a sharp shake of his head.

‘What’s so difficult to grasp? You’re not Centurion Felix here . . .’

‘No, sir.’ Macro shook his head again. ‘I can’t do it.’

‘Can’t do it?’ Maximius looked astonished. ‘Bloody hell, man! It’s the easiest thing in the world. What do you think all the training has been about for the last fifteen years of your life? Kill them.’

‘No . . . sir.’

‘Kill them. That’s an order.’

‘No. I won’t. Like the man said, real soldiers fight men. They don’t massacre women and children.’