Since there was little chance of either himself or Macro ever returning to the Second Legion, these kindly words from Vespasian had a distinctly hollow ring. They were so typical of the well-worn encouragement that all commanders offer to those facing certain death, and Cato had felt contempt for himself for having been momentarily taken in by the legate’s guile. The bitterness of the thought stayed with him through the night.

‘Fool!’ he muttered to himself, turning over on his bracken-filled bedroll. He pulled the thick army blanket tightly about him and round his head to keep the chill out. Once again he tried to get to sleep, banishing all thought from his mind and once again the subtle wiles of insomnia nudged his mind back to the previous night’s encounter.

Surprise at seeing Boudica and her dangerous cousin was mirrored in the faces of General Plautius and Vespasian as they realised that the new arrivals were known to the centurion and his optio.

‘I see you’re already acquainted.’ Plautius smiled. ‘That should make things easier all round.’

‘I’m not so sure, sir,’ replied Macro, warily sizing up the British warrior towering over him. ‘Last time we met, Prasutagus here didn’t seem to have much affection for Romans.’

‘Really?’ Plautius looked steadily at Macro. ‘Not much affection for Romans, or not much for you?’

‘Sir?’

‘You should know, Centurion, that this man volunteered to help in any way that he could. Once I made known to the Icenian elders that my family was being held, this man came forward and volunteered to do all in his power to help me recover them.’

‘Do you trust him, sir?’

‘I have to. What other choice do I have? And you will work closely with him. That’s an order.’

‘I thought we’d volunteered, sir.’

‘You have, and now that you have, you’ll obey my orders. You’re to co-operate fully with Prasutagus. He knows the country and customs of the Durotriges, and a great deal about the practices and secret places of the Dark Moon Druids. He’s the best chance we have. So look after him, and pay close heed to what he tells you — or rather to what the lady here translates for you. You appear to have met her before as well.’

‘You might say that, sir,’ Macro replied quietly, and nodded his head formally at Boudica.

‘Centurion Macro,’ she acknowledged him. ‘And your charming optio.’

‘Ma’am.’ Cato swallowed nervously.

Prasutagus glared at Macro for a moment, and then helped himself to a goblet of the legate’s wine which he drank so fast that from either side of the rim drops of red liquid spilled down the thick blond hair of his ornate moustache.

‘How quaint,’ Vespasian muttered, eyebrows rising anxiously as the Briton went back to the glass jug for a third goblet.