Figulus laughed softly. ‘My father had seen enough of Rome to know that she would never be beaten. So he served in the auxiliaries and raised me to be as Roman as possible. Perhaps more Roman than most Romans. I doubt my mother’s family would even recognise me any more, let alone consider me one of their own. I joined the Eagles, and I fight for Rome, but I still understand the Celtic mind, and I know Caratacus will never give in to Rome. Never. Mark my words.’

‘Then that’s a shame. A man should know when he’s beaten. He should face the facts.’

‘Oh, really?’ Figulus turned to look at his centurion. ‘Then how about you, sir? Doesn’t look like we’ve any hope of getting out of this place. Are you ready to give in and die?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Oh?’

Cato nodded. ‘He’s got responsibilities. Caratacus holds the fate of many in his hands. I’m just fighting for me. For my survival. I’ll do anything I can to survive.’

Figulus looked at him a moment, then said, ‘You’re not so different as you’d like to think, sir. He has his people to care about, and you have yours.’ Figulus nodded at the other men in the pen.

Cato look round at the remaining men squatting against the wicker walls. Most were just staring blankly at the ground between their feet. None of them was talking, and Cato realised they had resigned themselves to death. And there was nothing he could do about it.

It was different for Caratacus. He could make a difference. That was why he owed it to his people to make peace, while they still respected his will. While they were still prepared to follow him. Unlike these poor men, Cato reflected. They were beyond the boundaries of the normal discipline that bound them to his will. Only Metellus seemed to have any sense of purpose left, however futile the situation seemed. He sat hunched over the chain where it joined his ankle collar, worrying away at it with the edge of a small stone. Cato wondered what the legionary thought he would do if he managed to break the chain. There were still three guards outside the pen, and the pen itself was in the middle of an enemy camp packed with thousands of Celt warriors. Cato shook his head, turned his gaze towards Figulus and spoke very quietly.

‘We’ll be joining the others in the near future. Once Caratacus has finished off the Third Cohort.’

‘They’re nearby?’

‘Yes. I saw Macro and a patrol earlier. Caratacus says they’re camped just outside the marsh. Seems that Maximius is laying into the local villagers with more than usual relish. Caratacus won’t stand by and let it happen. Besides, I get the feeling that his warriors need a victory badly.’