Contented by their commander’s compromise, the Wolves left the mangled corpses, and few remaining prisoners, in the care of their comrades of the Boar Cohort. With heads jammed under arms, they began to chase after the Durotrigans, Cato leading the way and Bedriacus right at his heels.

The surviving Durotrigans were mainly from the chariots, and weighed down by their equipment. Despite their head start, slowly the distance closed as Cato sprinted after them, constantly looking back to make sure that his men were keeping up. Those unburdened by gory trophies stayed with him, anxious to win their share of the final glory of the skirmish. The rest struggled manfully with shield, sword and one or more heads.

There was no track on the riverbank and the Durotrigans scrambled along, fleeing for their lives, their pigtailed leader among them. Some were injured and began to fall behind.

At last Cato had almost run down the rearmost man. His heart pounded as he pushed himself to move faster, and he prepared to sink his sword in between the man’s shoulder blades. When no more than ten feet separated them the man glanced back and his eyes widened in fear. So he missed the small gap where part of the riverbank had crumbled, and tripped, sprawling on the ground at Cato’s mercy. The centurion paused long enough to run him through and continued after the others.

Several more of the stragglers were dispatched, and the men of the Wolf Cohort remorselessly closed on the last group of Durotrigans as the light of the dying day cast long shadows of running men across the grass of the riverbank. In the end the enemy realised the game was up and their leader shouted an order to the surviving members of his band. They stopped running, turned to face their pursuers, and closed ranks, chests heaving for breath.

Cato and his men were in equally poor shape as they surrounded the score of warriors who stood in a tight semi-circle with their backs to the river. The enemy were clearly experienced fighting men, and even though they knew their end had come, they were preparing to take as many of the Atrebatans with them as possible.

But Cato still wanted to offer them a chance to live. He pointed to their leader and waved his hand down.

‘Give in,’ he panted in Celtic. ‘Drop your weapons.’