'I would change my appearance as soon as possible, if I were you, Optio. Don't want some fool of a recruit mistaking you for a local and poking you with his spear.'

'No, sir.'

'I expect you could do with a good meal and some other home comforts.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato gestured to Prasutagus and Boudica. ' We could.'

'As soon as I've debriefed you,' Vespasian replied curtly. 'Boudica gave me some details a few days ago. I assume she told you what's been going on in the wider world. What has changed at your end?'

'The Druids have still got the general's wife and son up in the hill fort, sir. I saw them last night.'

'Last night? How?'

'I went in there. That's why I've got this stuff all over me, sir.'

'You went inside? Are you mad, Optio? Do you know what would have happened if you'd been caught?'

'I have a pretty good idea, sir.' Cato's brow furrowed as he recalled the fate of Diomedes. 'But I promised the Lady Pomponia that I would rescue her. I gave her my word, sir.'

'Bit rash then, weren't you?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Never mind. It's my intention to storm the hill fort as soon as possible. We'll get them back that way.'

'Excuse me, Legate,' Boudica interrupted. 'Prasutagus knows the Druids. He tells me they will not let them live. If it looked like the legion was close to taking the place, they'll have no reason to spare them.

'Maybe, but if Plautius confirms his order for the execution of our Druid prisoners then they're dead anyway. At least we might save them in the confusion of an attack.'

'Sir?'

'Yes, Optio?'

'I've seen the layout inside the hill fort. You'll be assaulting the main gate?'

'Of course.' Vespasian smiled. 'I assume that meets with your approval?'

'Sir, the Druid's compound is at the other end of the hill fort. They'd see the game was up in plenty of time to get back to the compound and kill the hostages. We couldn't hope to beat them to it, sir. Boudica's right. The moment we take the main gate, they'll be killed.'

'I see.' Vespasian contemplated a moment. 'I don't have a choice then. I have to wait for Plautius's reply. If he's rescinded the execution order, then we might still be able to negotiate some kind of a deal with the Druids.'

'I wouldn't pin your hopes on it,' said Boudica.

Vespasian frowned at her, and then turned back to Cato.

'Not looking very good then, is it?'

'No, sir.'

'What can you tell me about conditions inside the hill fort? How many are we facing? How are they armed?'

Cato had anticipated the question and had his answers ready. 'No more than eight hundred warriors. Twice as many noncombatants, and maybe eighty Druids. They were working on something that looked like catapult frames, so we might be facing some pretty heavy fire when we go in, sir.'

'We'll match them at that game, and more,' Vespasian said with satisfaction. 'The general transferred the artillery from the Twentieth Legion to me. We'll be able to bring more than enough down on their heads to keep them back while the assault cohorts close on the gate.'

'I hope so, sir,' Cato, replied. 'The gate's the only option. The ditches are heavily staked.'

'Thought they might be.' Vespasian stood up. 'There's nothing else to be said. I'll pass the word for some hot food and baths to be prepared. I can offer you that at least as a reward for the work you've done.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'And my profound gratitude to you and your cousin.' The legate bowed his head to Boudica. 'The Iceni will not find Rome ungrateful for your assistance in this matter.'

'What are allies for?' Boudica smiled wearily. 'I would expect Rome to do the same for me, if ever I have any children and they are placed in danger.'

'Well, yes.' Vespasian nodded. 'Quite.'

He accompanied them to the exit of his tent and graciously held the flap open. Cato paused at the exit, a concerned expression on his face.

'Sir, one last thing, if I may?'

'Of course, your centurion.'

Cato nodded. 'Has he… Did he survive?'

'Alive, last I heard.'

'He's here, sir?'

'No. I sent our sick back to Calleva in a convoy two days ago. We've set up a hospital there. Your centurion will have the best possible care.'

'Oh.' The renewed uncertainty weighed heavily on the optio's heart. 'Best thing, I suppose.'

'It is. You'll have to excuse me.' Vespasian was about to turn away and walk back to his desk when he became aware of raised voices outside his headquarters tent.

'What the hell is going on out there?'

Brushing past Cato he strode out through the wide flaps and squelched across the mud outside. Cato and the others hurried after him. There was no need to ask what the reason for the commotion was; every man in the Second Legion could see it. Up on the plateau of the Great Fortress, some kind of structure was slowly rising above the palisade. The sun was low in the sky to the west, silhouetting the vast mass of the hill fort and the strange contraption in a fiery orange glow. It rose very slowly into place, manoeuvred by invisible hands heaving on a series of ropes. As he watched, the terrible realisation of what he was witnessing suddenly hit Cato like a blow and his guts turned to ice.

The construction was nearing the vertical and it became clear to everyone what it was: a vast wicker man, crude in form but unmistakable, black against the sunset except where it was pierced through by shafts of dying light.

The legate turned to Boudica and spoke quietly. 'Ask your man when he thinks they'll set fire to that thing.'

'Tomorrow night,' she translated. At the Feast of the First Budding. That's when your general's wife and son will die.'

Cato edged closer to the legate. 'I don't think the general's message matters any more, sir.'

'No… We'll attack first thing in the morning.'

Cato well knew that any attack would have to be preceded by a lengthy bombardment of the defences. Only then could the legionaries attempt to force a breach. What if the defenders proved resolute enough to drive the Romans back?

A desperate thought struck Cato; his mind raced, quickly sketching out a crazy plan, fraught with terrible risks, but it might give them one last chance to save Lady Pomponia and Aelius from the flames of the wicker man.

'Sir, there might still be a way to rescue them,' Cato said quietly. 'If you can spare me twenty good men, and Prasutagus.'

Chapter Thirty-Four

Long before dawn, the ground before the main gate to the hill fort was filled with the sounds of movement: the rhythmic thumping of heavy piles to compact the soil and level the ground to form artillery platforms; the endless trundling of wagon wheels as artillery carts were brought forward to unload bolt-throwers and catapults. Men strained and grunted to heave the heavy timber mechanisms into their sockets. Ammunition was unloaded and stacked by the weapons, and then their crews began a systematic check of the torsion cords and ratchet winches, and carefully lubricated the release mechanisms

The Durotriges had lined the walls of the gate defences, straining to see what was going on in the darkness below them. They tried loosing fire arrows in high shimmering arcs towards the Roman lines in the hope of glimpsing the nature of the Roman preparations. But the poor range of their bows meant that none of the arrows even cleared the outer rampart, and they were left in ignorance of the enemy's plans for them. Roman skirmishers had pushed forward under cover of darkness and fought vicious little actions with Durotrigan patrols on the approaches to the main gate, and finally the natives had tired of trying to break through and pulled everyone back inside the palisade to await the dawn.