‘He’s a Briton. These Durotriges may be from a different tribe to our man but he has far more in common with them than he does with us,’ Macro paused. ‘I’ve seen people sell out their countrymen to Rome on almost every frontier I’ve served. I tell you, Cato, you’ve seen nothing until you’ve served in Judaea. They’d sell their own mothers if they thought it might help them score the smallest point against some rival or other. This lot aren’t much better. Look how many of those exiled British nobles have done a deal with Rome in order to regain their kingdoms. They’d prostitute themselves to anyone in exchange for a bit of power and influence. Prasutagus and Boudica are no different. They’ll stay loyal to Rome only as long as it’s in their interests to do so. Then you’ll see their true value as friends and allies. You mark my words.’

Cato frowned. ‘You really think so?’

‘Maybe.’ Macro’s weathered face suddenly broke into a good-humoured grin. ‘But I’d be more than happy to be wrong!’

A twig snapped nearby. The Romans were on their feet, swords drawn, in an instant.

‘Who’s there?’ Macro called out. ‘Boudica?’

With a rustling of dead leaves and further cracking of twigs, two figures emerged from the dark shadows and into the wavering amber glow of the fire. Macro relaxed and lowered his sword.

‘Where the bloody hell have you two been?’

Prasutagus was grinning, and he talked excitedly as he strode up to the fire and clapped Macro on the shoulder. True to form he had brought some meat with him — a butchered suckling pig hung from a thong on his belt. Prasutagus flung the carcass down by the fire and continued talking. Boudica translated as quickly as she could.

‘He says he’s found them — the general’s family!’

‘What? Is he sure?’

She nodded. ‘He got talking to the local chief. They’re being held in another village only a few miles away. The chief of that village is one of the Druids’ most loyal followers. He trains their personal bodyguard. Recruits the most promising of the young boys from all the outlying settlements, then trains them to be fanatically loyal to their new masters. By the time he’s finished with them they’d rather die than disappoint the chief. A few days ago he was in the village Prasutagus just visited. He’d come to claim his quota of new recruits. He was drinking with the local warriors, and that’s when he let slip that he was guarding some important hostages.’

Prasutagus nodded his head, eyes blazing with excitement at the prospect of action. He put a broad hand on Macro’s shoulder.

‘Is good, Roman! Yes?’