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'How do I look?'

Boudica laughed. 'Personally, I think you'd make a great Celt.'

'Thanks. Can we get going now?'

'Not quite. Take off the loincloth.'

'What?'

'You heard me. You need to look like a warrior. Wear my cloak fastened over your body. Nothing else.'

'I don't recall seeing any of the other Durotriges in the altogether. Can't imagine it's habitual.'

'It isn't. But spring has begun. It's the time we Celts call the First Budding. In most tribes the menfolk walk naked for ten days in honour of the Goddess of Spring.'

'Naturally the Iceni are exceptions.' Cato looked at Prasutagus.

'Naturally.'

'Bit of a voyeur, this goddess.'

'She likes to weigh up the talent,' Boudica explained light-heartedly. 'In some tribes, a young man is picked each year for his looks and becomes her groom.'

'How does that happen?'

'The Druids cut his heart out and let the blood fertilise the plants around her altar.' Boudica smiled at his horrified expression. 'Relax, I said some tribes, some of the wilder ones. Just try not to be too good-looking.'

'There are wilder tribes than the Durotriges?'

'Oh yes. That lot on the hill are nothing compared to some of the tribes of the north-west. I expect you Romans will discover that in due course. Now then, your loincloth please.'

Cato untied it, and with an embarrassed glance at Boudica, let it fall away. Her eyes could not help flickering down and she smiled. At her side Prasutagus chuckled and whispered something in Boudica's ear.

'What did he say?' Cato asked angrily.

'He wonders if Roman women ever notice they're having it off.'

'Oh, he does, does he?'

'Now then, boys, that's enough. You've got work to do. Here's my cloak, Cato.'

He took it, and handed her the loincloth. 'Look after it.' He fastened the shoulder clasp and was given a last inspection by Prasutagus.

He nodded and punched the optio on the shoulder. 'Come! We go!'

Chapter Thirty-Two

A crescent moon had risen when Prasutagus and Cato left the forest and started out for the Great Fortress. A brisk wind carried thin strands of moon-silvered cloud across the star-sprinkled darkness. Prasutagus and Cato ran across the meadows surrounding the ramparts, going to ground and crawling as soon as the clouds cleared the moon again. The imminent arrival of the first elements of the Second Legion had meant that all surrounding flocks of sheep had been driven up into the hill fort, and Cato was grateful that the nervous animals were not around to give them away; the pale light cast by the moon was bad enough.

About two hours later, as near as Cato could estimate it, they reached the far side of the Great Fortress. Prasutagus led him directly towards the black mass of the first rampart. The faint sound of singing and cheering drifted down from the plateau on top of the hill fort. Ahead of Cato, Prasutagus crept forwards, constantly looking right and left as the ground began to slope up onto the first rampart.

He paused, and then threw himself down, and Cato did likewise, eyes and ears straining. Then Cato saw them: two men, silhouetted against the starry sky, patrolling along the top of the first rampart. Their conversation carried down the slope and the light-hearted tone suggested they were not being as diligent in their duties as they should. Clearly, the harsh discipline of sentry duty in the legions did not apply here. When the patrol had passed by, they rose from the ground and began scrambling up the grassy slope of the rampart. The gradient was severe and Cato was soon panting with the exertion of the climb, wondering how much harder this would be in full armour and with a full equipment load should the Second Legion launch an attack on the hill fort.

They reached the top of the rampart and dropped flat again. Now that he was actually on the defences, Cato was even more in awe of their scale. A narrow track ran along the first rampart, stretching out on either side as far as he could see in the moonlight. On the other side, the ground fell away steeply to form a deep trench, before rising up again to the second rampart. At the bottom of the trench there was a strange cross-hatching pattern which Cato could not quite make out. Then he realised what it was. A band of sharpened stakes, set into the ground at different angles lay in wait to impale any attacker who made it this far. No doubt the trench between the second and third ramparts contained more of the same wicked points.

'Go!' Prasutagus whispered.

Crouching low, they crossed the patrol path and half ran, half slid down the other side of the rampart, taking care to slow their descent as they neared the sharp points at the bottom. The stakes had been cleverly arranged, so that a man who managed to negotiate one stake would find himself immediately facing the point of another. Any attempt by a group to rash through would result in a bloodbath, and Cato prayed that Vespasian had the sense not to attempt a direct assault. If he survived this night it was vital that he warn the legate of the dangers that faced his legionaries.

With only their cloaks to hamper them, Prasutagus and Cato quietly picked their way through the stakes and began scaling the second rampart. It was only slightly smaller than the first, and Cato's limbs ached by the time they reached the top. Now they could see the palisade on top of the third and final rampart. It was hard to be sure in the dark, but Cato estimated the wooden wall to be at least ten feet in height; more than enough to hold back any enemy foolhardy enough to attempt a direct attack. A quick glance either way along the path revealed no enemies and they slipped over and down the other side to where more stakes waited for them at the bottom. Once through, Prasutagus did not start up the final slope, but edged along its base for a while, continually looking up towards the palisade.

They smelt the drain before they saw it; a foul odour of human waste and decaying food slops. The ground underfoot squelched and became slippery as they crept on. Dark pools of filth had collected around the stakes. Soon the pools gave way to a stinking swamp of ordure that filled the trench and glistened in the moonlight. An immense heap of rubbish and sewage grew out of it, like a huge cone with its base in, and overflowing, the trench, and its summit blending into a narrow gully leading up to the palisade high above them.

Prasutagus caught the optio's arm and pointed at the gully. Cato nodded and they began the ascent towards the hill fort's last line of defence. The higher they climbed, the more pungent the stench. The air became so thick with it that Cato choked, feeling bile rise in this throat. Desperately he fought the urge to vomit in case the sound attracted attention. At last they reached the palisade and rested beside the reeking gully. A small wooden structure had been built over the head of the gully and projected a little way from the wall. In its base was a small square opening through which the rubbish and sewage was tipped. There was no sign of life on the palisade above, only the distant din of the Durotriges drinking themselves into a stupor. Prasutagus eased himself down into the gully, making sure of his footing on the slimy ground. He positioned himself directly below the opening, grabbed the base of the palisade in front of him, and beckoned to Cato.

The image of some passing Durotrigan pausing to take a dump on the proud Icenian's head struck Cato, and he was unable to stifle a snort of laughter. Prasutagus looked at him in fury and jabbed a hand up at the opening.

'Sorry,' whispered Cato, as he scrambled over. 'Nerves.'

'Take cloak off,' ordered Prasutagus.

Cato undid the clasp and let Boudica's cloak drop. Suddenly stark naked in the cold air, he shivered violently.

'Up!' Prasutagus hissed. 'On me.'

Cato placed both his hands on the warrior's shoulders and pulled himself up until his knees rested each side of Prasutagus's head. Then he reached for the rim of the opening with one hand. Beneath him, Prasutagus grunted with the strain of keeping himself upright, and for an instant swayed alarmingly. Cato threw his arms up and grasped the wooden frame. Slowly he heaved himself up, until he managed to throw an elbow over the rim, then quickly swayed up a foot. The rest was easy, and he lay panting on the wooden boards, staring into the heart of the fortress stretching out before him.