‘Stop that traitor!’ shouted Cato. But it was too late. Tincommius had burst through the ring of men and was sprinting towards the corner, and the safety of his Durotrigan allies. He might have made good his escape, but the man with the club hurled it after the prince and struck him on the back of the knee. The club was deflected between his legs and Tincommius tumbled headlong into the small huddle of the remaining Roman prisoners. With savage cries of rage they fell on him, beating him with their tethered hands. Cato stopped by the ring of men, who stared at him with uncertain expressions as they held their weapons ready. Cato immediately turned to the crippled men lying in the street and snapped out his orders.

‘Get the live ones inside the enclosure! Move! The Durotrigans will be here any moment!’

Whatever authority and urgency there was in his tone, it had its effect. The men hurried towards the Romans on the ground, and began dragging them up the street, the need for speed making them ignore the renewed screams from their former prisoners.

Cato swung round to Mandrax. ‘Get the rest of the prisoners up! Make sure you don’t leave behind whatever’s left of Tincommius!’

Mandrax grinned. ‘Yes, Centurion.’

Leaving the men to carry out his orders, Cato trotted further down the street, round the corner that led towards Calleva’s main gate. Then he stopped. Thirty paces away, and stretching all the way down the street were the Durotrigans, resting quietly between the huts that lined the streets. Hundreds of them. Almost at once there was a cry of alarm and one of the warriors jumped to his feet, pointing towards Cato. Others sprang up, reaching for their weapons.

‘Whoops!’ Cato muttered. He spun round and started sprinting back towards the royal enclosure, as the savage cries of his pursuers rang out. The centurion raced round the corner, and saw that most of his men, the prisoners and the surviving victims of the morning’s horror had nearly reached the gate.

‘Move yourselves!’ he screamed. ‘They’re coming!’