‘Round the next hill,’ Quintillus panted. ‘Small supply column. All dead, all the wagons burned. The raiders are still there, picking over the bodies. We’ve got them! Macro, send the scouts and two of your centuries round the back of the hill to cut them off. The rest will form a line at the base of the hill. Then we’ll advance and catch them in a trap. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, Tincommius, rejoin your cohort, and try to stay out of trouble.’

‘Of course, Tribune.’ Tincommius grinned.

‘I mean it. I went to a great deal of effort making sure you succeed Verica. Get yourself killed and you’ll have me to answer to.’

Tincommius chuckled nervously. The tribune turned towards Cato and muttered. ‘Keep an eye on him. He’s to stay out of harm’s way. I’ll hold you personally responsible for his safety, Centurion.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Good.’

‘Sir?’ said Cato, as the tribune turned back towards his pony.

‘What is it?’

‘The enemy, sir. How many of them are there?’

Quintillus quickly estimated. ‘Two hundred, two hundred and fifty. That’s all. Why? Is that too many for you?’

‘No, sir,’ Cato replied tonelessly. ‘I’m just surprised that they haven’t made off yet. Particularly since there are so few of them. They must know we’d send a force out to investigate. Why take the risk?’

‘Who knows, Centurion? Who cares? All that matters is that they’re there and we’ve got the chance to put them in the bag. Now, you have your instructions. See to them.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Cato saluted.

Macro had already run off to issue his orders and the first two centuries of the Boars doubled away from the main body, moving obliquely in the direction of the near side of the hill that Quintillus had indicated. The tribune galloped to the nearest slope and headed up towards the crest. By the time that Cato had prepared his men the tribune had ground-tethered his pony and was creeping forwards, bent double and moving carefully through the long grass.

‘At least he’s doing that properly,’ muttered Cato.

‘You don’t like him much, do you?’ asked Tincommius.

‘No. Not much. There’s little his kind won’t do to grab whatever glory is going.’

‘And I thought the Celts were bad enough.’

Cato turned towards his Atrebatan companion. ‘Tincommius, you don’t know the half of it. Anyway, you heard the tribune - keep out of it today. No heroics. That’s my order.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Tincommius smiled. ‘I know my duty.’

‘Good.’