There was another prophecy, another enigmatic story, one that had a less pleasant interpretation, talked of in hushed whispers in the Sacred Grove. It said that one day Rome would expand to hold sway over all the lands of the Celts, to subdue not only the tribes but their priests as well, burning bodies and temples and driving them to the very edge of the western sea. Surely both could not prevail? Which was a true reading of the future?

‘Your uncle entrusts it to you, with a message. Leave now, go to the very edge of our world where you will be beyond the reach of your enemies. He has seen you in his dark-hour visions, wearing this, standing in the Roman Temple of Jupiter. He has seen that you have the faith to confront Rome and thus the power to fulfil the prophecy.’

‘When did he dream this?’

‘Brennos, I was entrusted with the message that I have given you and no more.’

That said, he departed, leaving the freed prisoner to wonder at what fate awaited him: to wonder also where the men who had been set to guard him had gone, at the power of thought that had made the moving of that massive stone covering something he had achieved with his fingertips. He lifted the eagle once more, glinting in the moonlight, looking at the shape; the proud head, the extended wings, before slipping the chain over his head.

Brennos did not run away; having invoked the blessing of the Great God Dagda and his companion, the Earth Mother, Morrigan, he walked. If there was to be a pursuit, he would have to hope that the gods would confound it. Before the moon was renewed three times he had left the northern island and crossed the narrow strip of water to the huge expanse of Celtic lands that ran forever towards the rising sun, most ending at the point where it met the arrogance of Rome or the barbarity of the godless eastern tribes.