The biggest of the huts stood on the bank directly opposite Cato and Macro and had its own palisade. The ring of posts was lined on the inside with smaller huts. A number of thick posts rose on one side of the compound. They were familiar enough to the two Romans — sword practice posts. Even as they watched, a small group of black-cloaked men emerged from one of the smaller huts, stripped off their cloaks, and drew their long swords. They each picked a post and began to lay into them with well-honed swinging cuts. Sharp cracks and dull thuds carried clearly across the glassy surface of the river. Cato’s gaze shifted to a peculiar structure built onto the side of the large hut. It appeared to be a small cabin of some kind. But there were no windows, and the only visible opening was filled by a small timber door, fastened on the outside by a stout bar. Another black-cloaked figure stood guard by the entrance, a war spear in one hand, the other hand resting on the rim of a grounded kite shield.

‘Any sign of the hostages, sir?’

‘No. But if they’re anywhere in the village, that hut looks like our best bet. Saw someone take a jug and some bread in there not long ago.’

Macro turned away from the village and eased himself back on the rustling mass of cut reeds.

‘Everything sorted?’

‘Yes, sir. Our horses are safe in that dell Prasutagus showed us. I’ve agreed a signal with Boudica in case there’s any trouble.’ Cato indicated the holly bough.

‘If they leave it much longer it’ll be dark before we get started,’ said Macro quietly.

‘Prasutagus said he’d give me enough time to get back to you and then they would move.’

‘You left them in the dell?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I see.’ Macro frowned, then heaved himself back into position to continue watching over the village. ‘Then I expect we’ll have to wait a while longer before they turn up.’