Cato quickly lowered the branch and wriggled up to join his centurion. By the gates Prasutagus stood erect, his magnificent arrogance evident even at this distance. The villagers were clamouring for another challenger. When Boudica stepped up to Prasutagus’s side and held out his tunic and cloak, the crowd’s roar became angry. The warrior chief, black feathers adorning his helmet, confronted Prasutagus. The Icenian shook his head and held out his hand for the purse owed him for defeating his opponents. The chief shouted angrily, and stripped off his cape, challenging Prasutagus in person.

‘Don’t you fucking dare!’ Macro hissed.

‘Sir!’ Cato pointed at the compound. The man they had seen earlier had re-emerged from his hut and was walking towards the compound gate, a purse swinging from his hand. Just before he turned into the narrow gateway he stopped and looked over towards the cabin. He shouted something, waited, and shouted again. When there was no response, he headed over towards the cabin, tying the purse to his belt.

Macro switched his gaze back to the village gate, where Prasutagus still stood, head raised haughtily, apparently considering the chief’s challenge. Macro thumped his fist down on the ground.

‘Get moving, you fool!’

In the compound the Durotrigan warrior had reached the cabin. He called out again, angrily this time, hands on hips, cloak swept back behind his elbows. Then he happened to glance down at the ground. An instant later he was crouching, fingers probing something by his feet. He looked up, and his hand went for his sword. Rising to his feet, the Durotrigan cautiously crept round the cabin. He stopped when he saw the body wedged into the corner by the hut.

‘That’s done it,’ muttered Cato.

Back by the village gate, Prasutagus finally gave way and pulled on his tunic and cape. The crowd shouted their contempt. The chief turned to his people and punched his fists into the air triumphantly, now that his foe had backed down. In the compound, the Durotrigan unbarred the cabin door and went inside. A moment later he burst out and ran towards the compound gate, shouting for all he was worth.

‘Prasutagus, you bastard, get moving!’ Macro growled.

The Icenian, swung up onto the back of the horse Boudica held ready for him. Then, amid jeers from the villagers, the two of them rode out through the village gates, trying not to look too hurried. They were fifty paces down the track towards the forest when the Durotrigan warrior sprinted into the crowd and pushed his way through to the chief. Moments later the chief was bellowing out orders. The crowd fell silent. Men hurried towards the compound and the chief strode after them, then halted, whipped round and pointed through the gate after Prasutagus and Boudica. Whatever he shouted, it was heard by the Icenians and immediately they kicked their heels and galloped for their lives into the forest.

When The Eagle Hunts