The squadron commanders relayed the command and the troopers adjusted their pace so that the line quickly transformed into an arrowhead, with ten men riding at the rear, ready to fill any gaps as their comrades fell. They would have to break through the enemy line in order to make for the embattled column and Cato gradually changed the direction and made for the warrior’s right flank. The enemy were now no more than a hundred paces away and the more undisciplined of them were loosing arrows in their direction. The shafts fell well short and Cato tapped his spurs and gave the order, ‘At the canter!’

Hannibal lurched beneath him and surged forward at an easy run. The ground rumbled and the air filled with the chink of bits, the slap and thud of shields and the creak of leather. The gap between the two sides narrowed swiftly and Cato tightened his grip on the handle of his shield and raised his spear over his head, ready to strike down at the enemy. Ahead he could see their faces and read their expressions: fear, excitement and grim determination. He snatched a breath and cried out as loud as he could to be heard above the din, ‘Blood Crows . . . Charge!’

The Thracians took up the cry as they spurred their mounts forward and braced themselves in their saddles. The sharp notes of the trumpets cut through the cacophony of hoofs and bellowed war cries. Cato hunched forward, the left of his body covered by the shield, the muscles of his right arm bunched and ready to strike at the first Silurian who stood before him. The distance closed in what seemed an instant and he saw two men leap aside immediately in front of him. He thrust his spear at the nearest of them but the Silurian was too quick and the point found only thin air. Cato snatched the spear back as Hannibal plunged on, into the enemy ranks. Another man, braver this time, stood his ground directly ahead and Cato angled his spear tip round. The Silurian carried a kite shield bearing a swirling design, and he held a long sword above his head. Snatching at his reins with his shield hand, Cato dragged Hannibal’s head round and the horse whinnied as the iron curb bit caught in its mouth. Hannibal swerved and his breast smashed into the warrior’s shield, knocking him back. Cato stabbed his spear and this time the point struck the man in the thigh. A flesh wound, but deep enough to cause him to cry out in agony and stumble away. Cato pressed his heel into the horse’s flank to straighten him and continued forward. On either side the Thracians crashed into and through the enemy line. Cato saw one of his men turn and start to chase after a fleeing tribesman and bellowed, ‘Leave them! On! On!’