‘Lacking moral fibre?’ Macro didn’t like the sound of the phrase. Made him sound like some civvy idler. Macro was the kind of man who resented being described as lacking anything, and he glared accusingly at his optio. ‘None of your high-flown nonsense now, lad. Just speak your mind nice and clear. You say we might be accused of cowardice once we get back to the legion? Is that it?’

‘We might be. It’d be an understandable mistake, of course. Some people might say we had one near scrape and that was enough for us. Naturally the general will appreciate the implications of having Prasutagus’s cover story blown. Even though it meant the certain death of his family he’d be sure to try and persuade others that we had no alternative. In time everyone would see the point and come round to your way of thinking.’

‘Hmmm.’ Macro nodded slowly, pressing a thick knuckle to his forehead as if that might help him concentrate his tired mind. He needed time to think this through.

‘We’ll be riding light, won’t we, sir?’ Cato continued cheerfully. ‘I suppose I’d better offload anything we don’t need. Anything that might slow us down when we run back to the legion.’

‘Nobody’s running back anywhere!’

‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it to sound that way. Just keen to get moving.’

‘Oh, are you? Well, you can just stop right there. Leave the packs alone.’

‘Sir?’

‘I said leave ‘em. We’re not going back. Not yet at least. Not until we’ve searched a little longer.’

‘But you just said —’

‘Shut it! I’ve made my decision. We keep looking. Anyone else got any objections?’ Macro turned to the Icenians, jaw thrust out, daring them to challenge him. Boudica struggled to hide a grin. Prasutagus, as usual, grasped the wrong end of the stick and nodded his head vigorously.

‘We fight now, Roman?’

‘No. Not now!’ Macro snapped, exasperated. ‘When we’ve got a little more time on our hands, and only if you’re a good boy until then. All right? Better make sure he gets that clear, Boudica.’

Prasutagus looked disappointed, but his natural good humour overcame any inclination to sulk. He reached over to Macro and gave the centurion a hearty slap on the shoulder with his huge paw.

‘Ha! You good man, Roman. We friends, maybe.’

‘Don’t count on it.’ Macro smiled as sweetly as his scarred veteran’s face would permit. ‘Meanwhile, we need to decide what to do next.’

Cato coughed. ‘Sir, it occurs to me that the Druids might have some sacred place, somewhere secret, known only to themselves.’

‘Yes. So?’

‘So we might want to press Prasutagus on that point. After all, he was a novice once. You might want to ask him if the Druids have such a place, somewhere where the general’s family could be held safely.’