Cato placed both his hands on the warrior’s shoulders and pulled himself up until his knees rested each side of Prasutagus’s head. Then he reached for the rim of the opening with one hand. Beneath him, Prasutagus grunted with the strain of keeping himself upright, and for an instant swayed alarmingly. Cato threw his arms up and grasped the wooden frame. Slowly he heaved himself up, until he managed to throw an elbow over the rim, then quickly swayed up a foot. The rest was easy, and he lay panting on the wooden boards, staring into the heart of the fortress stretching out before him.

Nearby was a wide expanse of hastily erected animal pens, filled with sheep and pigs, quietly rooting around the slops that had been left in a pile just inside each pen. A handful of peasants were busy forking winter feed into a large enclosure containing horses. Far off to the right lay an assortment of thatched roundhouses, grouped either side of an enormous hut, eerily lit by the glow of a big fire burning in the wide open space in front. A large crowd sat in groups about the blaze, drinking and cheering on a pair of giant warriors who were wrestling in front of the flames, their efforts casting long dancing shadows on the ground. As Cato watched, one of them was thrown and a roar erupted from the spectators.

Away to the left was a separate enclosure. An interior palisade stretched across the plateau, pierced by one gate only. On each side of the gate a brazier cast bright pools of light. Four Druids, armed with long war spears, warmed themselves by the braziers. Unlike their Durotrigan allies, they were not drinking, and looked alert.

Cato ducked his head back through the opening.

‘Back soon. Wait here!’

‘Goodbye, Roman.’

‘I’ll be back,’ Cato whispered angrily.

‘Goodbye, Roman.’

Cautiously Cato rose to his feet and walked down the short ramp from the palisade and in among the animal pens. A few sheep looked up as he passed, eyeing him with the habitual suspicion of a species whose relationship with man was comestibly one-sided. Cato saw a wooden pitchfork lying by a pen and bent down to pick it up. His heart was pounding, and every sinew in his body urged him to turn and flee. It took all his willpower to keep on moving, slowly working his way round towards the enclosure guarded by the Druids, while keeping as far from the peasants as possible. If anyone tried to engage him in conversation he was lost. Cato stopped at each pen, as if to check on the animals, occasionally pitching in some fresh feed. If the animals were momentarily puzzled by the extra rations, they quickly got over the shock and tucked in.