The sharp crack of wood on wood filled Cato’s ears, and then suddenly there was burning pain in his chest as Artax slashed a blow past Cato’s guard and struck the Roman on his injured side. Cato gasped, drawing back and only just managing to fend off the next attack. Artax broke away and half turned to his fellow tribesmen to revel in their applause. Cato’s breathing came in shallow gasps; the agony in his side was too dreadful for any deeper breathing. His eyes glanced round at the cheering Atrebatans and he realised what a fool he had been. He had allowed his pride to jeopardise these men’s training. If he gave way now, then they would never have faith in the Roman way of war again. Without that training they would not stand a chance against the Durotrigans. The pain in his side was getting worse. He must take a risk and end the fight as quickly as possible, one way or another.

‘Artax!’

The nobleman turned back to Cato, mildy surprised as Cato beckoned to him. He shrugged and came on once more. This time it was Cato who attacked, going in low and fast, and taking Artax by surprise. The Briton skipped back, desperately swiping at Cato’s weapon as he tried to block a succession of thrusts. Then Cato double-feinted, throwing Artax’s rhythm. The first strike caught the Briton in the stomach again. The next high in the ribs, before the last one flattened his nose. Blood gushed out as Artax clenched his eyes shut against the shattering agony. Cato’s last strike was rammed home into his opponent’s groin and Artax crumpled to the ground with a deep groan.

The Atrebatans fell silent, aghast at the sudden reversal. Cato stood erect, and backed away from his beaten foe. He gazed round at the natives, and raised his stave.

‘Remember what I said earlier: a few inches of point is far more deadly than any length of edge. There’s your proof.’ He pointed to Artax, slowly writhing on the ground.

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence, then one of the Atrebatan warriors raised his stave and saluted Cato. Someone else cheered, and soon all of the trainee swordsmen were cheering him. Cato stared back, defiant at first, and then smiled. The lesson was learned. He let it continue a short while and then waved his hands to quieten them.

‘Instructors! Get ‘em back to work!’

As the Atrebatans broke up and returned to sword drill, two of the king’s followers picked Artax up, hoisted him on to his horse and held him steady while they waited for Verica to remount. The king eased his horse over to Cato and smiled down at him.

‘My thanks, Centurion. That was most . . . educational. I’m sure my men are in good hands. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.’