'The Tamesis?' Boudica frowned. 'That's a long way off. When is your legion coming back here?'

Macro was about to give some glib and reassuring answer when he saw the pained expression on Boudica's face. He realised that honesty was the right course of action in this situation. Far better for Boudica to know the truth now than for her to resent him later.

'I don't know. Maybe a few more campaign seasons, maybe never. All depends on how long Caratacus continues to fight on. If we can crush him quickly then the province can be settled straightaway. As it is, the wily bastard keeps raiding through our supply lines, and all the while he's trying to negotiate with other tribes to get them to join him in resisting us.'

'You can hardly blame the man for fighting well.'

'I can blame him for it if it keeps us apart.' Macro reached for her hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. 'So let's just hope he's bright enough to realise he can never win. Then, once the province is settled, I'll get some leave and come and find you.'

'You expect the province to be settled that quickly?' Boudica flared up. 'Lud! When will you Romans learn? Caratacus leads only those tribes under the sway of the Catuvellauni. There are many other tribes, mostly too proud to let themselves be led into battle by another chief, and certainly too proud to meekly submit to Roman rule. Take our own tribe.' Boudica gestured to herself and Nessa. 'The Iceni. I know of no warrior who would dream of becoming a subject of your Emperor Claudius. Sure you've tried to woo our chiefs with promises of alliance and a share in the spoils of those tribes Rome defeats on the battlefield. But I warn you, the moment you try and become our master, Rome will pay a high price in the blood of its legions…'

Her voice had become quite shrill, and for a moment her eyes blazed defiantly across the table. Drinkers at neighbouring benches had turned to look, and conversation was briefly stilled. Then heads turned back and the volume slowly rose again. Boudica poured herself another mug of wine and drained it before continuing, more quietly. 'That's true of most of the other tribes as well. Believe me.'

Macro stared at her and nodded slowly as he took her hand again and held it gently in his own. 'I'm sorry. I meant no slight on your people. Honestly. I'm not very good with words.'

Boudica's lips lifted in a smile. 'Never mind, you make up for it in other ways.'

Macro glanced round at Cato. 'Do you think you could take this lass over to the bar for a while? My lady and I need to talk.'

'Yes, sir.' Cato, sensitive to the needs of the situation, quickly rose from the bench and held his arm out to Nessa. The young woman looked to her cousin and was given a faint nod.

'All right then.' Nessa grinned. 'You be careful, Boudica, you know what these soldiers are like.'

'Sa! I can look after myself!'

Cato did not doubt it. He had come to know Boudica quite well over the winter months and his sympathies were with his centurion. He led Nessa through the crowd of drinkers to the counter. The barman, an old Gaul judging by his accent, had eschewed the Roman fashions of the continent and wore a heavily patterned tunic, upon the shoulders of which rested his pigtails. He was rinsing mugs in a tub of dirty water and looked up when Cato rapped the counter with a coin. Wiping his hands on his apron, he shuffled over and raised his eyebrows.

'Two mugs of heated wine,' ordered Cato, before he considered Nessa. 'That do?'

She nodded, and the barman picked up two mugs, and made for a battered bronze cauldron resting on a blackened grate over faintly glowing embers. Steam curled up from inside and, even where he stood, Cato could smell the scent of spices above the beer and the underlying sour smells of humanity. Cato, tall and thin, looked down on his Iceni companion as she eagerly watched the Gaul dip a ladle into the cauldron to stir the mixture. Cato frowned. He knew he should make some attempt at small talk, but he had never been good at it, always fearing that whatever he said sounded either insincere or merely stupid. Besides, his heart was not in it. Not that Nessa was unattractive in looks – her personality he could only guess at – it was just that he still grieved for Lavinia.

The passion he had felt for Lavinia ran through his veins like fire, even after she had betrayed him and run to the bed of that bastard Vitellius. Before Cato could teach himself to despise her, Vitellius had drawn Lavinia into a plot to kill the Emperor and cold-bloodedly murdered her to cover his tracks. An image of the dark tresses of Lavinia's hair settling into the blood spreading from her cut throat filled Cato's mind and he felt sick. He longed for her more than ever.

All his spare passion was devoted to cultivating a burning hatred for Tribune Vitellius so great that no revenge could be too terrible to contemplate. But Vitellius had returned to Rome with the Emperor, having emerged a hero from his botched assassination attempt. As soon as it was clear that the Emperor's bodyguards would save their master, Vitellius had fallen upon the assassin and killed him. Now the Emperor regarded the tribune as his saviour for whom no reward or honour could be sufficient expression of his gratitude. Staring into the middle distance, Cato's expression hardened into a thin-lipped bitterness that startled his companion.

'What on earth's the matter with you?'

'Eh? Sorry. I was thinking.'

'I don't think I want to know.'

'It was nothing to do with you.'

'I should hope not. Look, here comes the wine.'

The Gaul returned to the counter with two steaming mugs, whose rich aroma excited even Cato's taste buds. The Gaul took the coin Cato handed him and turned back towards his rinsing tub.

'Hey!' Cato called out. 'What about my change?'

'No change,' muttered the Gaul over his shoulder. "That's the price. Wine's in short supply, thanks to the storms.'

'Even so…'

'You don't like my prices? Then fuck off and find somewhere else to drink.'

Cato felt the blood drain from his face and his fists clenched in anger. He opened his voice to shout, and only just managed to pull himself back from the brink of a terrible rage and a desire to tear the old man apart. With the return of self-control, he felt horrified at such a lapse in the rationality he prided himself in. He felt ashamed, and glanced round to see if anyone had noticed how close he had come to making a fool of himself. Only one man was looking his way, a thickset Gaul leaning on the far end of the counter. He was watching Cato closely and one hand had moved towards the handle of a dagger in a metalled scabbard hanging from his belt. Clearly the old Gaul's hired muscle. He met the optio's gaze and raised his hand to wag a finger at him, faintly smiling with contempt as he warned the young man to behave himself.

'Cato, there's a space by the fire. Let's go.' Nessa gently pushed him away from the counter towards the brick hearth where fresh logs hissed and crackled. Cato resisted her touch for an instant but then yielded. They picked their way between the customers, taking care not to spill the heated wine, and sat down on two low stools alongside a handful of others who craved the fire's warmth.

'What was all that about?' asked Nessa. 'You looked so scary back there at the counter.'

'I did?' Cato shrugged, and then carefully sipped from his steaming mug.

'You did. I thought you were going to go for him.'

'I was.'

'Why? Boudica told me you were the quiet type.'

'l am.'

'Then why?'

'It's personal!' Cato replied sharply. Then quickly relented. 'Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that. I just don't want to talk about it.'

'I see. Then let's talk about something else.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know. You think of something. Do you good.'