The girl hesitantly shuffled over the grimy boards to the rear of the wagon and slid off the end, into Boudica’s arms. The boy buried his face against his mother and clenched his little fists tightly in the folds of her cloak. Macro frowned.

‘Look here, lad, there’s no time for this nonsense. Get out now!’

‘That’s not going to do any good,’ Boudica muttered. ‘The boy’s scared enough as it is.’

Holding the girl on one hip, she reached a hand out to the child. With a gentle push from his mother, the boy reluctantly allowed himself to be lifted down from the wagon. He clutched at Boudica’s leg and anxiously watched Cato and Macro.

The centurion hauled himself into the bed of the wagon and examined the chain where it was attached to an ankle fetter.

‘Shit! It’s been iron pegged — there’s no lock.’

The stout metal peg that fastened the manacle needed a special spiked tool to remove it. Macro drew his sword and carefully applied the point to one end of the pin. Lady Pomponia looked on in alarm, instinctively flinching.

‘You’ll need to keep still.’

‘I’ll try. Be careful, Centurion.’

Macro nodded, and gradually pushed the end of the iron pin. When it refused to budge, he applied more pressure, taking care to keep the point of his sword on the end of the pin. The muscles in his arms bunched and he gritted his teeth as he strained to set the woman free. The blade slipped and thudded down into the wagon bed, just missing the grimy skin of Lady Pomponia’s foot.

‘Sorry. I’ll try that again.’

‘Please hurry.’

A cry from Prasutagus made Cato glance up. The Iceni warrior was trotting back down the track to the wagon, speaking quickly. Boudica nodded.

‘He says they’re coming. Four of them. Walking their horses back this way.’

‘How far off?’ asked Cato.

‘Quarter of a mile from the bridge.’

‘Not much time then.’

‘I’m trying to get her out as fast as I can.’ Macro grunted as he applied his sword to the pin once again. ‘There! I’m sure it shifted a bit.’

Cato hurried to the front of the wagon. He pulled the body of the fat Druid upright and wedged the whip between the dead man’s legs. Then he gestured to Prasutagus to carry the younger Druid into the treeline. Prasutagus reached down for the body and effortlessly heaved it onto his shoulder. He trotted round the front of the cart’s ponies and flung the body into the shadows at the edge of the forest.

‘Get our horses out of sight! Where’s Boudica’s?’

‘She’s finished,’ Boudica called out. ‘The fall broke her back. I had to leave her behind.’

‘Three horses…’ Cold dread gripped Cato. ‘There are seven of us. We could get two on a horse, but three?’