‘Don’t let any get away!’ Cato called out, as he quickly glanced round to find a new target. Several of the Batavians were down, one pinned beneath his horse as its hoofs lashed at the air. It tried to fight its way back on to its feet, oblivious to the screams of agony that were coming from beneath it. Cato worked his way round the animal, and then, to one side, the black-crested helmet of the Batavian commander rose up in front of him. The man’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of Cato and he threw back his arm to cut the centurion down. As the blade began to slash down the Batavian’s horse stumbled to one side and the blow missed. The Batavian shouted at his animal and yanked the reins to bring it round towards Cato. For an instant his back was to the Roman, and Cato jumped forward, grabbed the hem of the man’s tunic and tried to wrench him from the saddle. For a moment the Batavian commander held his balance, clenching his thighs against the high saddle horns. Then another Roman grabbed his left arm and pulled him away from Cato. The instant he had recovered his balance, the Batavian hacked through the legionary’s arm. As his comrade screamed Cato gritted his teeth and slammed his sword low into the Batavian’s back, cutting through the chain mail and into his spine. Instantly, his legs spasmed and went limp, and he slid helplessly off his horse, arms flailing, as he thudded down on to the track. Cato stepped forward and cut the man’s throat, then crouching low he forced a way along the track, towards the edge of the marsh.

‘You!’ He grabbed a man by the arm, and turned to look for some more. ‘And you two! With me.’

The small party backed out of the fight and Cato led them round the fringe until they reached the track leading out of the marsh.

‘Spread across the track. Don’t let any of them get past!’

The men nodded, and held their blades ready. Further down the track the fight was coming to an end, and the legionaries had had the better of it. Only six of the Batavians still lived, clustered together, and still mounted as they warded off the lightly armed men who danced warily around them, short blades thrusting at any horse or human flesh that came within reach. Cato could see the danger at once. As soon as these men realised that their only chance lay in flight, they would pack together and charge the legionaries, trusting to the weight and impetus of their mounts to carry them through.

‘Don’t just stand there!’ he shouted. ‘Figulus! Get stuck in!’