The charred remains of the settlement were already disappearing under a thin mantle of snow. As Cato watched for the enemy, the loom of the fallen snow reminded him of the finest white silk, and suddenly he was thinking of Lavinia — young, fresh and filled with an infectious enthusiasm for life. Too soon the image faded and was replaced by her startled expression in death. Cato forced the vision from his mind and tried to focus on something else. Anything else. He was surprised, then, to find himself thinking about Boudica — her face fixed with one arched eyebrow in the gently mocking expression he had become peculiarly fond of. Cato smiled.

‘Sir!’ Figulus hissed, half rising to his feet. The other men of the section glared at him.

‘What?’ Cato looked round. ‘Thought I told you to still your tongue.’

‘Something’s happening!’ Figulus jabbed his finger towards the opposite side of the settlement.

‘Shut your mouth!’ Cato growled through clenched teeth, raising a fist to emphasise the order. ‘Get down!’