‘As a March hare. But then so are the twats who put you here. So we’re quits.’ Macro drew his dagger. ‘Get your hands up where I can reach ‘em. Don’t want to go and cut your wrist.’

Cato at once raised his arms, paused, then lowered them again. ‘No.’

‘What?’ Macro replied loudly, provoking an angry hiss from Figulus, who was bent over another of the prisoners, carefully sawing through their bonds. Desperate figures clustered round the optio, tied arms raised up to him.

Cato shook his head. ‘I said no. You can’t do this, Macro. What if they find out you helped us escape?’

‘Helped? I did a little more than that, I think.’

‘You’ll never get away with it.’

‘Just give me your hands.’

‘No. Think about it. Where would we go? What happens to you if we get recaptured, and they make someone talk? They’d kill you too. Leave us, while you’ve got a chance.’

Macro shook his head. ‘Too late for that. Now get your hands up.’

Cato reluctantly did as he was told, and Macro grabbed his wrists, fingers groping for the thongs. He found them, carefully slipped the tip of the blade underneath and began to saw. Moments later the thongs parted and Cato rubbed his wrists.

‘Here. Take the knife and get busy cutting the others loose. You’ve got to get out of here.’

‘And go where?’

‘As far from here as possible. Somewhere you can’t be found.’

‘And then?’

‘Fuck knows.’

‘How far do you think a handful of unarmed men are going to get?’

‘Not unarmed.’ Macro shook the sack. ‘I’ve got you some blades. Enough to go round.’

Cato looked up from cutting the bonds around his ankles. ‘That’s your plan?’

‘You got a better one? It’s that or you stay here and die in the morning.’

‘Some choice.’ Cato shook his head. Execution tomorrow, or inevitable death at the hands of search parties, or the enemy? The situation had not got much better in the last few moments, and now Figulus would join the list of the condemned. Macro too, if his part in this was discovered. The thongs around his ankles parted and Cato rubbed his skin vigorously.

‘What now?’

‘Head west. To the marshes. It’s your only chance.’

05 The Eagles Prey

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Macro told the men to stay down and keep still while he and Figulus cut their bonds. The legionaries rubbed their ankles and wrists, painfully flexing limbs as they waited. All the time they glanced round anxiously for any sign that their escape attempt had been discovered. The centurion handed each man a sword or dagger from the sack of weapons, until he had run out. The man who had been raving just lay on the ground after he had been cut loose. He refused to accept the sword Macro offered him.