They set off across the stony sand, heading for the nearest corner of the camp, where the two onagers had originally been positioned. There had been little attempt to organise the camp in an ordered manner. Only a few large tents were clustered in the centre for Bannus and his lieutenants. Some of the army had constructed scratch-built shelters of skins stretched over flimsy wooden frames fashioned from slender, flexible lengths of wood that they had brought with them. The rest slept in the open, as close to a fire as they could get. By the surviving onager five men stood round a brazier on this side, clearly intent on keeping warm rather than doing an efficient job of keeping watch. Cato lowered his head a little as he marched towards them, as if they might somehow see from his face, at a distance in the dark, that he was not Judaean.As they marched into the light of the brazier one of the enemy turned to them and called out a greeting. The tone was friendly enough and good-humoured, so Cato raised a hand and waved as he made for them, shifting his shield round so that only the edge of the frame showed beyond his cloak. The man continued talking as they approached, and then paused, clearly inviting a response. Cato quickened his pace and nodded his head. The man frowned, and just as Cato and the others reached the brazier, his eyes widened in alarm and he snatched at the sword hanging at his side. Cato leaped forward, his sword rasping from its scabbard, swinging round and up so that the edge sliced into the man’s head with a dull crunch that dropped him immediately. The other men round the brazier looked on in stunned surprise before they realised what was happening. By then it was too late. Cato’s men sprang on them, and in a brief frenzy of savage thrusts and cuts from their short swords all the sentries were cut down and lay sprawled on the ground. Cato pointed to a cart parked behind the burned remains of the first catapult. ‘Hide the bodies.’