Cato and Diomedes turned and saw Centurion Hortensius striding up towards them. Cato stiffened to attention and saluted; Diomedes frowned and slowly took a pace back from the edge of the pit. Hortensius stood beside them, looking down at the Druids and smiling with satisfaction. ‘A good haul! A small fortune for the cohort from the proceeds of selling the prisoners, and a clap on the back from the legate for capturing these beauties. One of the lowest butcher’s bills I’ve ever had after a fight. And now a fine clear morning for marching back to the legion. We’re lucky men, Optio!’

‘Yes, sir. How many did we lose in the end?’

‘Five dead, twelve wounded and a few scratches.’

‘The gods were kind, sir.’

‘Kinder to some than others,’ Diomedes added quietly.

‘Well, yes, that’s true.’ Hortensius nodded. ‘Still, we’ve got the buggers now. That’ll be an end to their games.’

‘No, it won’t, Centurion. There are plenty more Druids and Durotrigan warriors hovering on our borders, waiting to continue the “game”. Many more of these people are going to die before you Romans finally wipe out the Druids.’

Hortensius ignored the slight. The legions would only begin campaigning when it was prudent to do so. No amount of enemy provocation or appeals to Rome to honour the integrity of their alliance with the Atrebates would change that. But when the time came to take the sword to the Durotriges and their Druid leaders, there would be no mercy as the iron-shod legions rolled forward the new frontier of the empire. Hortensius smiled sympathetically at the Greek and laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

‘Diomedes, you’ll have your revenge, in time.’

‘I could have my revenge now…’ Diomedes nodded his head towards the Druids, and Cato saw the murderous darkness in the Greek’s expression. If the cohort’s commander allowed him to have his way, Diomedes would be sure that his revenge was as protracted and painful as possible. For a moment the memory of what he had seen in the well made Cato incline to support the man’s thirst for bloody vengeance, but then he recoiled from the prospect with disgust. A fearful awakening of self-knowledge caused him to shudder at this will to violence he had discovered in himself.

Hortensius shook his head. ‘Not possible, Diomedes. We’re taking them back to the legate for questioning.’

‘They won’t talk. Believe me, Centurion, you’ll learn nothing from them.’

‘Maybe.’ Hortensius shrugged. ‘Maybe not. We’ve got some lads at headquarters trained in the art of loosening tongues.’

‘They won’t achieve anything.’

‘Don’t be so sure.’

‘I’m telling you, they won’t. Better to make an example of the Druids here and now. Kill them, mutilate them as they have mutilated others. Then we can leave their heads on stakes as a warning to their followers of what they can expect.’