Cato turned back towards Macro and beckoned his friend forward. A moment later the men of the squadron had reached the cliff and stood waiting for orders. Freed of the burden of their saddlebags and feed nets the horses were lively and snorted excitedly as their hoofs scraped the ground. Decimus, on his mule, came up last, armed with a buckler and his old army sword hanging from its strap across his shoulder.

‘The enemy are trying to take the outpost up ahead,’ Cato explained, his mind racing ahead to form his plan. ‘Their attention is fixed on our auxiliary comrades so they won’t see us coming until it is too late. They’ll be caught between the garrison and ourselves. When we get round the cliff I want you to form line and follow the pace that I set. We must hit them at the same time so the charge carries as much weight as possible. Anyone tries to overtake me and they’ll be in deep shit. Specifically, latrine duty for a month.’

Some of the men laughed at his feeble joke, the rest, even Trebellius, smiled and Cato knew that they would not let him down. ‘When I give the order to charge home, hit them as hard as you can. Break ’em up and ride ’em down. Show no mercy until it’s clear the fight’s been knocked out of the enemy.’ He glanced over the faces before him to make sure that they understood. The eagerness in their expressions told him all he needed to know. Cato turned his mount round and reached for the handle of his short sword. He intended to draw a longer cavalry blade from stores when he reached Bruccium.

‘Ready weapons!’

Macro, Decimus, Trebellius and Cato drew their swords while the men hefted their spears. Slipping their shield straps from their shoulders they grasped the reins loosely in their left hands as the shields protected that side of their bodies. There would be little chance to use the reins in the fight ahead; the men made sure that they were seated securely between their saddle horns and prepared to control their mounts with their thighs and heels.

Cato lowered the tip of his blade. ‘At the trot! Forwards!’

The column lurched forward with jingling bits, snorts from the horses and curt words of command from their riders. Macro spurred his horse on, until he was at the side of his friend. ‘Here we go again.’