Almost at the last moment the column edged fractionally away from the men in the grass and began to pass down the side of the prone figures, no more than twenty feet away. Cato’s head was turned to the side and he hardly breathed as he stared at the dark shapes of men huddled inside their cloaks as they urged their mounts back towards the promise of a dry tent and shelter from the rain and wind. The column pounded along, quite oblivious to the legionaries, yet it seemed to Cato that the last of the horsemen would never pass them. Just when he felt an almost overwhelming urge to rise up and throw himself upon the mounted scouts, the tail of the column galloped by. Cato watched the back of the last horseman, watched him ride on towards the camp, and he drew a deep breath and released some of the tension that had wound his muscles up as tight as a quartermaster’s purse. He waited until the end of the scout column was far enough away that he could not make out any details before he passed the word for his men to continue towards the copse.

It took the best part of an hour before Figulus joined the others crouching in the dark shadows beneath the dripping boughs of the oak trees. Proculus was conscious again, but groggy, and he made no protest as the optio thrust him towards the others. Cato looked back towards the fortress, but there was no sign that the alarm had been raised yet. By his reckoning they had no more than four hours under the cover of night: enough to put perhaps as much as ten miles between themselves and the first of the pursuers. The fringe of the marsh, as far as he could recall, was at least fifteen miles away. It would be a close thing.

And then what?

The perils and uncertainties of the future weighed down on Cato’s heart like a sack of rocks. If they were caught by their own side, execution would follow swiftly, and a stoning, or being beaten to death would be the least of the agonies an angry General Plautius would visit on them. A slow, agonising death by crucifixion was more than likely. And if the enemy got to them first the Romans would be sure to suffer some barbaric torment: burning alive, flaying or being thrown to the dogs. And if they managed to evade both sides, then they would hide in the marshes, reduced to eating anything they could find or steal. A lingering starvation then, until winter killed them off.