‘We’ll have to try,’ Boudica said firmly, giving a reassuring squeeze to the two children. ‘No one’s being left behind. How’s that chain coming, Macro?’

‘It bloody isn’t! Pin’s too small.’ Macro slid off the back of the wagon. ‘Wait there, my lady. I’ll be back in a moment. Now then…’ He glanced up the track, squinting in the failing light. Four dark shapes were heading towards the narrow trestle bridge. ‘We’ll have to take on that lot first. Then have another go at the chain. I’ll cut the bloody bolt out if I have to. Into the forest everyone. This way.’

Macro herded Boudica and the children away from the wagon and into the shadow of the trees. They stepped over the sprawled form of the younger Druid and crouched down close by the horses Prasutagus had tethered to a pine trunk.

‘Swords out,’ said Macro quietly. ‘Follow me.’

He led Cato and Prasutagus to a position fifty feet on from the front of the wagon and they squatted down, waiting for the Druids to appear. The ponies harnessed to the front of the wagon stood as still and quiet as the body of their master on his bench. The three men lay in wait, senses straining for the first sounds of the Druids’ approach. Then it came, the rumbling of hooves on the boards of the trestle bridge.

‘Wait for me to make the first move,’ whispered Macro. He raised his eyes at Prasutagus’s quizzical expression and tried a simpler phrase. ‘Me fight first, then you come. Got that?’

Prasutagus nodded, and Macro turned to Cato.

‘Right, make it short and make it bloody. We’ve got to get ‘em all. No one must be allowed to escape and give the alarm.’

A few moments later the Druids caught sight of the wagon and called out. When there was no reply, they called out again. The silence made them cautious. A hundred paces away they reined in their horses, muttering to each other.

‘Shit!’ Macro hissed. ‘They’re not going to buy it.’

The centurion made to rise, but Cato did the unthinkable and reached out a hand to restrain his superior.

‘Wait, sir. Just a moment.’

Macro was so startled by his optio’s effrontery that he froze for just long enough to hear the Druids’ soft laughter. Then the riders continued forward. Cato tightened his grip on the handle of his sword and tensed, ready to spring up behind Macro and throw himself upon the enemy. Through the uneven mesh of the lowest branches Cato could see the approaching Druids, riding in line, strung out along the track. Beside him Macro cursed; the three of them could not spread out now without attracting attention.

‘Leave the last one to me,’ he whispered.