Even though the winter months had nearly come to an end, it was still cold and the steady light drizzle had thoroughly penetrated their clothes. After a little while Cato’s teeth were chattering and his body trembled. He tightened his muscles to try and fight off the sensation. These last few days had been the most uncomfortable of his life. Apart from the physical discomforts they had endured, the constant fear of discovery, and terror of the consequences, had made every moment a nervous torment. Now, as he lay on a damp river bank, legs caked in foul-smelling muck, chilled to the bone and starving for a decent warm meal, he began to fantasise about fixing himself an honourable discharge from the legion. It was not the first time the thought of quitting the army had come to his mind. Not the first by a long way. The train of thought was familiar and primarily focused on the task of discovering a means by which he could quickly acquire a pensioned discharge without sustaining a disabling injury. Unfortunately teams of sharp-minded imperial clerks had pored over the regulations long before Cato was born and had managed to close nearly every loophole. But somewhere, some way, there had to be a means by which he could beat the system.

Macro suddenly grunted. ‘Here they come. Must have satisfied himself with a quickie.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing, lad. There they are, on the track in front of the gate.’

Cato looked beyond the village and saw two tiny grey shapes on horseback emerging from the forest. As they boldly trotted down the track towards the village, the watchman above the gate turned and called down to a small knot of men huddled round a glowing fire. They responded to his summons at once and scrambled up the crude wooden steps inside the rampart. Prasutagus and Boudica disappeared from sight as they rode up to the gate. Watching the villagers on the palisade brandishing their weapons, Cato felt a momentary pang of concern. But a moment later the gates swung inwards and the two Iceni entered.