The Second Legion arrived the following day, at noon. From the tree they had been using as a watchtower Cato saw a thin screen of horsemen approaching the Great Fortress from the east. Although there was no way of being sure of their identity from such a distance, the dispersal was characteristic of the scouts sent forward in advance of a Roman army. Cato grinned with delight, and joyously thumped the tree trunk. After so many miserable days skulking through the lands of the Durotriges and sleeping in the open air, always in terror of being discovered, the thought of the Second Legion being so close at hand filled him with a warm and comforting longing. It was almost like the imminent prospect of being reunited with close family, and it moved him far more than he had expected. There was a painful, emotional, tightening of his throat to overcome before he could call down to Prasutagus. The top of the tree swayed alarmingly as the Iceni warrior clambered up to join him.

‘Easy, man,’ Cato grunted, tightening his grasp. ‘You want everyone to know we’re here?’

Prasutagus stopped a few branches lower than Cato, and pointed towards the hill fort. The legion’s scouts had been seen by the enemy as well, and the last of the Durotrigan patrols was marching up to the main gate. Soon, all the natives would be bottled up in their fastness, confident that they would defy the Roman attempt to seize the Great Fortress. There was no risk to Cato and Prasutagus now; the burden of concealment was lifted from them, and Cato relented.

‘All right, then. But watch you don’t break the trunk.’

‘Eh?’ Prasutagus looked up with an uncomprehending frown.

Cato pointed at the slender breadth of the trunk. ‘Be careful.’

Prasutagus playfully shook the trunk to test it, nearly dislodging Cato, and then nodded.

Cato gritted his teeth in irritation. He looked east, beyond the scouts, straining his eyes for the first sign of the main body of the Second Legion.