The prefect regarded the prisoner thoughtfully. Centurion Quertus clearly had earned himself a frightening reputation amongst the Silures. That was all to the good. If you could strike fear into an enemy’s heart before they faced you in battle then the fight was half won. Of course, the man was exaggerating the details. That was to be expected when rumour fed on rumour. No doubt the centurion’s methods were harsh and he made full use of surprise to achieve his victories over the enemy, but the rest of it was nonsense. The stuff of nightmares. Still, it gave Cato an edge over his prisoner. He glanced at Trebellius and spoke in a harsh tone.

‘Ask him where his village is again. Tell him that if he does not give me the location we’ll take him with us to Bruccium and let Quertus continue the interrogation there.’

As he heard the translation Turrus flinched, as if he had been kicked, and Cato saw that he was genuinely terrified by the prospect of falling into the hands of Centurion Quertus. The Silurian clasped his hands together and shuffled slightly towards Cato and pleaded with him.

A cold look of satisfaction was on the decurion’s face as he conveyed the prisoner’s words. ‘He begs you to spare him. Don’t take him to Bruccium. Send him to Glevum instead. He’d rather be a slave than face Quertus . . . Then there was some stuff about begging his gods to save him.’

Cato leaned forward and prodded the end of his crutch into the prisoner’s chest. ‘Then tell me where your village is! Tell me that and you have my word that you and your people will be spared. Slaves you will become, but you will escape sword and fire. Now tell me!’

Turrus made a keening noise in his throat and shook his head, torn between the dread of facing the enemy who haunted his darkest nightmares and the shame of betraying his tribe. He gritted his teeth and bowed his head as he shrank back into himself.

Trebellius clicked his tongue. ‘Want me to continue with the interrogation, sir? Another beating might break him, now that you’ve gone and put the frighteners on him.’

Cato thought a moment. Despite the man’s terror, he would not give up his family. There was a chance, however remote, that the Romans might be set upon before they reached Bruccium. No doubt he would cling to that hope. Until they reached the fort. Then there would be no escaping the choice Cato had forced upon him. The prefect shook his head.

‘No. Pick him up. Take him outside and tie him up securely for the night. Make sure he can’t do any harm to himself. You’d better tell the optio to have the men on watch check him from time to time. All right, we’re done here.’