‘Off you go then,’ muttered Cato. ‘Don’t be long.’

Prasutagus waved a farewell and disappeared through the trees along the crest. Cato eased himself onto the ground and leaned back against the soft moss on the tree trunk. His eyes closed and he breathed in the forest-scented air deeply. For a while his mind was clear and he rested peacefully, indulging his senses as he listened to the different bird calls from the branches above. Now and then he was jarred by the sound of other animals making their way across the forest floor, but there were no voices and the sounds receded quickly enough. It was strange to be alone for the first time in months, to savour the peculiar serenity that comes from having no other person nearby. The euphoric feeling quickly faded as his mind started working on the wider situation he found himself in. Macro was gone, so was Boudica. All that remained was himself and Prasutagus. The Iceni warrior’s knowledge of the area and the customs of the Druids was vital. He even claimed to have some familiarity with the hill fort where Lady Pomponia and her son were imprisoned.

The image of the terrified boy running to his mother plagued him. Cato cursed himself for not going back for Aelius, even though the Druids were only moments away, pounding down the track towards the wagon. Cato and the boy might have got away. He doubted it, but it was still a possibility. A possibility that Vespasian and Plautius would not overlook if he ever returned to the legion to tell the tale. His harsh self-judgement was burden enough, without the sidelong scorn of the men who would question his courage.

Hours passed and, as the sun began to dip from its midday position, Cato decided he had rested enough. There was still no sign of Prasutagus, and Cato felt a pang of concern. But there was nothing he could do to speed the man’s return; he could only hope that he had not fallen into the hands of the Druids, and that he had found food.

Cato looked round at the nearest trees, and picked one that had plenty of branches, promising to be an easy climb. Limb by limb he pulled himself up the tree, until the trunk became thin enough to sway under his weight. With one arm wrapped round the rough bark, Cato parted the slender branches. He had lost his bearings and could not see the hill fort at first. Then, adjusting his footing, he tried another direction and gazed down on the grassy sward running beside the river. He could see the trestle bridge and followed the line of the track leading up to the hill fort.