Cato’s smile vanished and he lowered his voice so that only Macro would hear him. ‘Would you have me stand by while our comrades are massacred? I have to try and help them cut a way out of the trap. You’d do the same if you were in my position, and you know it.’

Macro could not deny the truth of that but he persisted with his argument. ‘Where’s the logic of it, Cato? You charge out there and try to rescue our lads and it’s fifty to one against that you come through it. You’ll just be throwing away your life, and the lives of the Thracian lads. The reinforcement column hasn’t got a chance.’

‘Not so. You’re prepared to offer odds of fifty to one.’

‘Only a fool would place a stake on that.’

Cato held out his hand. ‘Then call me a fool. I’ll put ten sestertii on it.’

Macro grasped his hand and tried to sound light-hearted. ‘Done! Easiest ten sestertii I ever made . . .’

There was a brief, awkward silence as they clasped hands and silently said their farewells. Then Cato withdrew his hand and looked over Macro’s shoulder. ‘The men are ready. We have to get going. Make sure that you have one of your centuries ready to hold the gate open for us if – when – we return with the reinforcements.’

‘They’ll be ready. I’ll lead ’em myself.’

‘Good. Then I’ll look forward to seeing you shortly.’ Cato tested the fit of his helmet, took a calming breath and walked stiffly over to his horse which was being held for him by one of the Thracians. He took the reins and patted Hannibal gently on his broad cheek and muttered up towards his dagger-like ears, ‘Behave for me today, and when I give the word, run like the wind.’

The horse snorted and jerked its head fractionally and Cato smiled quickly before he took the reins and vaulted into the saddle, trying not to wince at the sharp pain his leg rewarded him with. Taking a firm grasp of the reins, he took the large oval shield that the handler offered up to him and slipped the strap over his shoulder. Despite the custom for senior officers to carry a sword, Cato had chosen to be armed with a long, heavy spear like the rest of his men and he shifted his grip on the weapon to find its balance point. He settled the butt into the small leather holster hanging from the saddle and wheeled Hannibal round to face his men. The squadrons were formed up two deep behind their officers, Centurion Stellanus and a Thracian, Decurion Kastos, stern-faced as they regarded their prefect, waiting for the traditional short speech of encouragement before they were led into battle.