Short it would be, Cato thought; there was little time to spare. He would have preferred to dispense with formalities altogether and simply give the order to quit the fort, but he knew that the men would need to be addressed following on so closely from the death of Quertus.

‘Blood Crows!’ he began. ‘Our comrades are in the gravest of danger. Caratacus means to cut them down and take their heads as trophies to offer to his Druid allies. That is no fit fate for any soldier. The enemy means to humiliate them, before our eyes, and therefore humiliate us for being powerless to intervene. But we shall not be humbled, and nor shall our comrades. That is all that matters to us this day. Our task is simple. We shall ride to their rescue and clear a path through the enemy so that our comrades can gain the fort . . . What has gone before cannot be changed. We have in our grasp the chance to win undying glory for the Blood Crows. Those who live to remember this day will never forget the honour they have shared with their brothers, nor the honour in which they will be held by the rest of the army.’ He paused, vaguely frustrated by his failure to deliver the kind of stirring speech he had read of in the history books of his youth. But there was no time for that kind of carefully rehearsed rhetoric. He grasped his spear and raised it aloft.

‘For the glory of Rome! For the honour of the Blood Crows!’

Centurion Stellanus took his cue and thrust his spear overhead. ‘For the honour of the Blood Crows!’

The rest of the men took up the cheer and their horses stamped and scraped their hoofs eagerly, caught up in the excitement of their riders. Cato turned to Macro and nodded.

‘Open the gates!’ Macro bellowed and the two legionaries waiting beside the locking bar instantly heaved it out of the sturdy iron brackets and set it down to one side before drawing the gates apart.

Cato steered his mount round and urged Hannibal towards the arch under the gatehouse with the cry, ‘Advance!’