They were standing with Tincommius on the edge of a small forested hill. Below them the ground sloped down to the track along which the Durotrigans would advance to ambush the convoy. Beyond the track the ground became soft as it fell away into a loop in the river. Half a mile to their right the river came close to the track before gently curving away, creating a natural bottleneck. To their left was the ford, and on the far side the track rose up towards a small ridge. The last century of Cato’s cohort was just cresting the ridge and was soon out of sight. Cato had ordered them to cross a short distance down-river so that they would leave no trace of their passage on the far side of the ford. Macro’s cohort was hidden along the treeline, with the scouts and their horses tucked down behind the forest, ready to charge round the base of the hill and close the trap. The mounted scouts had been given the pick of Verica’s stables and would be able to run down any survivors with ease.

‘The only way those bastards are going to get out of this is by swimming away,’ Macro grinned, and turned to Cato. ‘Of course, please don’t feel obliged to attempt a pursuit down-river. ‘

Cato coloured. ‘I just haven’t had the time to learn properly. You know I haven’t.’

‘I’m just wondering if you’ll ever find the time. I’ve seen cats with more affection for being dunked in water.’

‘One day, Macro, I swear it.’

‘You can’t swim?’ Tincommius was surprised. ‘I thought all you legionaries could.’

Cato gave him a thin smile. ‘Meet the exception that proves the rule.’

‘Heads up!’ Macro craned his neck to the right. A mounted scout had emerged round the corner of the hill and was galloping along the track, bent low over the flying mane of his horse. As he approached, Macro and the others trotted down the slope to intercept him. The man reined in, slewing his horse to a stop. He spoke very quickly, snatching for breath as the Celtic words tumbled from his lips. When he had finished, Tincommius asked him a brief question and then directed him to the cover of the forest. The scout dismounted and led his horse up the slope and out of sight.

‘Well?’ asked Macro.

‘They’re two miles down the track, marching in one column with a couple of riders a few hundred paces ahead of the main body. As we were told, about five hundred men.’

‘Cato, you’re going to have to bag those riders before they can raise the alarm.’

‘That’ll be tricky.’

‘Let me deal with them.’ Tincommius patted the handle of his dagger.

‘You?’ Cato asked. ‘Why?’

‘I want to strike the first blow for my people.’