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with a curt nod and rose to his feet. He was smaller in stature than Caratacus and Togodumnus, but with a girth and a pair of greedy eyes that told their own story. Yet his fine clothing and the gold torc at his throat marked him as his brothers’ equal, and when he spoke it was with a ponderous sense of his own dignity. He looked slowly round the room.
    ‘So we are all friends?’ He paused and took in the puzzled stares which answered him. ‘That will be why Bodvoc here encourages his warriors to steal my grain and take my young maidens for concubines.’ Bodvoc’s face split in a grin of acknowledgement. The Regni chief’s passion for auburn-haired Cantiaci girls was a byword in both tribes. ‘And why the king of the Atrebates allows my friend ’ – Adminius’s voice was slick with sarcasm – ‘Togodumnus to cross his land to raid my northern estates for plunder to repay some disputed debt that we have both long forgotten. And why you, my brother, do not have the will to stop the Trinovante nobles, over whom you claim kingship, from causing havoc with the river trade on the Tamesa that is the lifeblood of my people.’
    Caratacus didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Everyone in the room knew it was all true.
    Adminius continued: ‘King Caratacus is correct. One thing we can learn from the Romans is unity.’ He paused again to allow his words to sink in to drink-addled skulls. ‘But it is not the only thing.’
    Togodumnus gave a growl and would have risen to his feet again if Caratacus hadn’t held him down.
    ‘It was the Cantiaci and our Atrebate allies,’ he bowed to Epedos, ‘who bore the brunt of the fighting when the Romans came before—’
    ‘And who’ve forgotten how to fight now.’ Bodvoc belched. ‘Or you’d still have a few more of your pretty wenches.’
    Adminius ignored the laughter and continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. ‘It is we, the Cantiaci, who control trade with Gaul, who provide you with your wine, and the pretty pots and precious oils your wives covet. Therefore it is we who are best placed to understand the Romans, who have had lordship over Gaul for a hundred years and who have brought that land prosperity—’
    He was interrupted for a second time by Bodvoc’s growl. ‘If you call prosperity a boot across your throat and six inches of iron in your gullet, then, yes, they have brought prosperity. But I for one can do without that kind of prosperity. Give me a warm hut and a warmer woman any day.’
    ‘The kings of Gaul no longer live in huts,’ Adminius countered. ‘I have travelled there and I have seen their great palaces, the fine houses of their nobles, and their temples.’
    ‘Temples for Roman gods.’
    ‘No, lord king. Not Roman gods. Celtic gods. The Romans are pleased to allow the Gauls to worship their own gods if they wish. Of course, some see benefit in worshipping Mars alongside our own Teutates, Venus alongside Epona, goddess of the horses, but that is their choice. There is no coercion.’
    Old Antedios coughed. ‘Yet we hear of Druids abused and imprisoned, even executed.’
    Adminius smiled indulgently. ‘Not all Druids are of the calibre of Nuada. Perhaps the Druids as a society have placed themselves above the kings they profess to advise? Even above the gods they profess to serve. Does any of us here not know of priests who have overstepped their position?’
    There was a low murmur of assent from Epedos, and even Bodvoc nodded. Caratacus sent an almost imperceptible signal to Nuada, who had listened to the insult to his sect with a face that could have been carved from granite. When the priest spoke, his words dripped with a contempt that stung Adminius more than any blow. He pointed his bear claw at the Cantiaci chieftain and the men on either side of Adminius shifted instinctively away.
    ‘Before you were born, Adminius, the Druids of Britain were all that stood between this island and a maelstrom of blood and madness. Every petty