‘Don’t you see what being an ally of Rome means?’ Boudica continued. ‘You unman us. How do you think that goes down with people like Prasutagus? Do you really think he’ll meekly slip into whatever role your Emperor provides for him? He’d rather die than hand over his weapons and become a farmer.’

‘Then he’s a fool,’ replied Cato. ‘We offer order, and a better way of life.’

‘On your terms.’

‘They are the only terms we know.’

Boudica looked at him sharply, and then sighed. ‘Cato, you have a good heart. I can see that. I’m not having a go at you. I merely question the motives of those who direct your energies. You’re bright enough to do that for yourself, surely? You don’t have to be like most of your countrymen, like your centurion there.’

‘I thought you liked him.’

‘I… I did. He’s a good man. As fiercely honest as Prasutagus is proud. He’s attractive too.’

‘He is?’ Now Cato was truly astonished. Never would he have described Macro as handsome. The weathered, scarred face had frightened him when he had first met the centurion as a new recruit. But there was an easy, honest charm about him that made the men of his century steadfastly loyal. But where was the attraction for women?

Boudica smiled at Cato’s astonished and confused expression. ‘I mean what I say, Cato. But that’s not enough. He’s Roman, I’m of the Iceni, the difference is too great. Anyway, Prasutagus is a prince of my people, and may one day be king. He has slightly more to offer than the billet of a centurion. So, I must do as my family wish and wed Prasutagus, and be true to my people. And I must hope that Rome is true to her word and lets the kings of the Iceni continue to rule their own people. We’re a proud nation, and we can stomach the alliance our elders have negotiated with Rome only as long as we’re treated like equals. If the day ever comes when we are dishonoured in any way, then you Romans will learn just how dreadful our wrath can be.’

Cato regarded her with open admiration. She would be wasted as an army wife; there was no doubt about that. If ever there was a woman born to be queen, it was Boudica, though her casual, even cynical, dismissal of Macro pained him greatly.

Boudica yawned and rubbed her eyes.

‘Enough talk, Cato. We should get some rest.’

While he built up the fire, Boudica pulled her thick riding cloak about her and punched her haversack into a tight rest for her head. Satisfied that it would be comfortable enough, she winked at Cato and, turning her back to the fire, curled up and went to sleep.