With Prasutagus’s help, Macro was gently lifted from the ground and onto the horse, where he was bound securely to the high horns of the saddle. His heavily bandaged head drooped, and for the first time since he had been injured he mumbled incoherently.

‘Haven’t heard him speak like that since the last time we went drinking,’ muttered Boudica. Then she turned to Julia and gently steered the girl towards another horse. ‘Up you

go.’

Julia refused to move, and stared silently at the looming shadow of the horse. Boudica was suddenly struck by a nasty thought.

‘You can ride, can’t you?’

‘No… A little.’

There was a stunned silence as Boudica took this in. Every Celt, male or female, could ride a horse almost before they could run. It was as natural as breathing. She turned towards Cato.

‘Do you people really have an empire?’

‘Of course.’

‘Then how the hell do you get around it? Surely you don’t walk?’

‘Some of us ride,’ Cato replied sourly. ‘No more talk. Get going.’

Prasutagus lifted the girl onto the horse and pressed the reins into her uncertain hands. When Boudica was mounted, she took the reins of Macro’s horse and clicked her tongue. Her mount was still tired and required a sharp dig from her heels before it moved.

‘Take care of my centurion!’ Cato called after her.

‘I will,’ she replied softly. ‘And you take care of my betrothed.’

Cato looked round at the looming hulk of Prasutagus and wondered what he could possibly require by way of care.

‘Don’t let him do anything stupid,’ Boudica added before the horses disappeared into the gloom.

‘Oh, right.’

The two of them stood side by side until the last sounds of the horses’ passage through the forest had faded. Then Cato coughed and turned to the Iceni warrior, not quite certain how to impress upon Prasutagus the fact that he was now in charge.

‘We must rest now.’

‘Yes, rest.’ Prasutagus nodded. ‘Good.’