With a frustrated grunt his opponent whipped the spear back for another attempt. This time he targeted Cato’s sword, viciously cutting horizontally and knocking the blade aside so hard that Cato nearly lost his grip and pain coursed through his fist at the impact. Then the man swung the butt of the spear round and delivered a heavy blow to the side of Cato’s helmet. Stunned, Cato slumped back helplessly and the warrior let out a roar of triumph and raised his spear a last time, to deliver the killing blow.

‘No you don’t!’ Macro bellowed and the warrior hesitated and looked round. Then the horse was upon him and Macro threw himself from the saddle on to the spearman and they crashed to the ground side by side. It was a hard landing and both lost hold of their weapons. Macro snatched out the dagger from his belt and stabbed it into his enemy, tearing through the coarse material of the cloak. The thickness of the material saved the man as only the tip of the blade penetrated his flesh. By the time Macro stabbed again he was already rolling away and took a flesh wound in the shoulder. The centurion’s stocky build gave him the edge in such close-quarter fighting and he quickly rose into a crouch and fell heavily on his opponent with his knees. At the same time he snatched at the man’s hair to yank the head to one side and expose the throat. He drew his elbow back to stab his enemy under the chin.

‘Macro! Wait!’ Cato shouted.

The centurion snarled, ‘What the fuck for?’

‘I want him spared, for questioning.’

Macro drew a deep breath of frustration and nodded before he muttered, ‘Lights out for you then, pal.’

Reversing his fist he smashed the pommel of his dagger against the man’s head and knocked him senseless. With a grunt his body went limp and his head thudded to the ground as Macro released his hair. He sheathed his dagger and then his sword and turned to Cato, hands on hips. ‘What are you playing at down there? Sleeping on the job?’

‘Funny,’ Cato grunted. ‘Actually, I’m in a bit of difficulty here, Macro. Would you mind?’

There was a rustle in the grass nearby as a section of auxiliaries, led by their optio, came trotting over to Macro. The optio stopped and hurriedly saluted.

‘Caius Lentulus, sir.’

Macro looked at them sourly.

‘Great timing, Optio. You missed the fight. But you can at least do something useful. Get this bloody horse off the prefect.’

The optio and his men downed their spears and shields and dragged the carcass away from Cato. He gritted his teeth as the movement caused fresh agony in his leg.