‘If we’re caught, and handed over to the Druids, then you two and I will be burned alive. He’ll face a far worse death.’

‘Worse?’ Macro sniffed. ‘What could be worse?’

‘He says he’ll be skinned alive, and then fed piece by piece to their hunting dogs while he still draws breath. His skin, and head, will be nailed to an oak outside their most sacred glade as a warning to Druids of all levels of the fate that will befall any who betray the brotherhood.’

‘Oh…’

A short silence fell. Then Prasutagus told them to get some sleep. Tomorrow they would be in enemy country and would need all their wits about them.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ Cato said softly.

Prasutagus had started to rise to his feet, and shook his head at the optio. ‘Na! Sleep now!’

‘Not yet,’ Cato insisted, and with a hiss of anger Prasutagus sat down again. ‘How can we be sure this farmer can be trusted?’ whispered Cato.

Prasutagus explained impatiently, and nodded to Boudica to translate.

‘He says he has known Vellocatus since he was a young boy. Prasutagus trusts him and will stand by that trust.’

‘Oh, that’s reassuring!’ said Macro.

‘But I don’t understand why Vellocatus can live here, right on the doorstep of the Durotriges, and not be afraid of cross-border raids,’ Cato persisted. ‘I mean, if they wipe out an entire settlement well inside Verica’s lands, why leave this place alone?’

‘What’s your point?’ Boudica asked wearily.

‘Just this.’ Cato reached into the wicker basket by the hearth and quietly withdrew the silver platter, careful not to disturb the crockery. He showed the platter to Macro. ‘I’m almost certain I’ve seen this before, in the storage pit at Noviomagus. We left the booty there, if you recall, sir. No space in the wagons.’

‘I remember.’ Macro sighed regretfully. ‘But if this is the same platter, how did it get here?’

Cato shrugged, reluctant to voice his suspicions. If he accused Vellocatus of working for the enemy, Prasutagus might not react too well. ‘I suppose it might have been traded by Diomedes. But if it is the same platter, then Vellocatus can only have been given it by the raiding party. Once we had moved out, I imagine the surviving Durotriges went back for their spoils.’

‘Or maybe Vellocatus was in the raiding party himself,’ Macro added.

As Boudica translated from the Latin, Prasutagus looked hard at the platter, and then suddenly rose to his feet, turned towards Vellocatus and started to draw his sword.

‘No!’ Cato jumped up and clasped Prasutagus by his sword hand. ‘We’ve no proof. I might be wrong. Killing them serves no purpose. It’ll just alert the Durotriges to our presence if they find him dead.’

Boudica translated and Prasutagus frowned, softly uttering a string of oaths. He released his grip on the sword handle and folded his arms.