Something glittered in the distance and Cato shifted his gaze beyond the two scouts. A column of chariots came bumping along the track and the low sunlight was reflecting brilliantly off the highly polished bronze helmets of warriors riding on the small platforms above the axles. Fourteen chariots had come into sight before the first of the infantry appeared. With the sun almost at their backs Cato had to squint to make out any details of their equipment. His heart lifted as he saw that the vast majority were lightly armed and only a few sported helmets. Their shields were slung across their backs, and they carried a mixture of weapons, mostly swords and spears, together with large haversacks for their marching rations. At the rear of the loose column was a small band of more heavily armed warriors, and behind them a score of mounted men. Nothing that the Atrebatans could not handle, provided they stuck to their training and kept formation.

As soon as the scouts were aware of the approach of the column, they quickly stood up, mounted their horses, and crossed the ford. Cato ducked his head, turned towards Bedriacus and hissed. The hunter quickly met the centurion’s eyes and nodded. Cato pulled his helmet on and clumsily fastened the ties with excited fingers before pressing himself down into the grass. He heard the voices of the scouts, chatting in cheerful tones in their lilting Celtic dialect, quite unsuspecting. Beneath the pitch of the voices was the distinct steady clumping of hoofs, and the breathy snorting of one of the mounts. As they came closer Cato felt his heart pounding against his ribs, and was momentarily surprised that the pain had gone from his side. He eased his sword from the scabbard and tightened his grip on his shield handle. The scouts sounded so near now that he was sure they must be only feet away. Yet time seemed to extend endlessly, and he watched a bee drone over his head, haloed by the orange glow of the sinking sun.

Then there were shadows darkening the longest blades of grass as the two Durotrigans started to cross the crest of the hillock. Surely they must see Cato now. Or if not Cato, then Bedriacus, or some sign of the hundreds of men lying further down the slope. But then Cato realised that his cohort was in the shadows. It would take a moment before the scouts’ eyes adjusted to the gloom after the bright burnishing glow of the slope rising from the ford. He heard the scouts pass by him. They must be almost upon Bedriacus. Cato’s mind raced. Why the hell didn’t the hunter strike? What-