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them liked him, some of them hated him, but they all respected him.
    He had placed Togodumnus at his right hand so all should know the rift between them was healed. Antedios, king of the Iceni, sat to his left, his chest torn by an occasional cawing cough. He was an old man now, but in his youth he had been the most fearsome of Iceni champions and his people would still follow him. Closer to the doorway Bodvoc, the Regni chief, was a warrior king in the prime of his life, massively muscled and with a fortune in gold at his neck and on his upper arms. He grinned fiercely and raised his cup in salute when he noticed Caratacus looking at him. Bodvoc could be trusted to fight. Epedos, whose claim to the Atrebate throne Caratacus had supported when the feckless Verica had proved incapable of holding what he had, would not meet his eyes. Why? It was something he must find out later. Adminius, king of the Cantiaci, was studying him with frank distaste, but that was to be expected; born of the same father, but to different mothers, they had clashed in the past and would clash again. There were others, the Parisii, the Coritani, the Cornovii, whose support he must have, but who could be counted on to follow where the strong led. She was not here. Why had she not come at his summons?
    ‘I see no Silure or Ordovice representatives, brother. I was certain they were part of your grand design.’
    Togodumnus, as always, had found a way to irritate him, the buzzing insect never far from his ear. ‘They do not feel the threat as we do,’ he replied, keeping his voice emotionless. ‘But they know it exists. The time will come when we have common cause, but it is not yet.’
    ‘What is to stop them from raiding the border villages when my warriors are off fighting your Romans? Is that not the Silure way, to stab you in the back when you least expect it? We should combine now,’ Togodumnus raised his voice so the others could hear, ‘combine now and destroy the power of the Silures so that when we advance on the invaders there is no threat to our rear.’
    Bodvoc growled his assent, which did not surprise Caratacus. Bodvoc would fight anyone. The others looked to him, awaiting his reply, but it was Adminius who intervened.
    ‘Why should we fight at all?’ he asked.
    His words had the same effect on the gathering as red-hot coals dropped into a pail of water. The tensions which had been held in check just below the surface erupted in an explosion of spluttered fury and demands to speak. Caratacus cursed beneath his breath. He had lost them. No. He had never had them. Like a fool, he had allowed Togodumnus to sow the seeds of disruption. He had to do something. But before he could get to his feet there was a sharp crack as Nuada rapped his staff against the centre post of the meeting hut.
    ‘We should fight for the gods,’ the Druid growled, pinning Adminius with a glare that dared him to speak, and gave Caratacus a moment to step into the void. The Catuvellauni king knew he had only one opportunity, and when he spoke it was with all the power of a lifetime preparing for just such a day. His voice was strong, but devoid of any harshness, and it seemed to fill the roundhouse with its resonance. Its message was that he bore none here ill-will, not even those who opposed him. That he spoke because it was his right. That they should listen because he had won their respect a hundred times over.
    ‘We should fight because we are warriors, the protectors of our people. We should fight because if we do not fight we will be enslaved. We have all lived through the plagues that ravaged this land. All felt the sorrow of a loved one lost. Unless we fight we will feel that sorrow a hundred times over – no, a thousand – and we will condemn our children and our children’s children to suffer it also. Do not mistake me: this is a plague more deadly than any we have faced. A human plague that will strip the land of Britain clean and condemn its