An instant later one of the Batavians screamed out his battle cry, and it was taken up at once by the other five. They raised their swords high, kicked in their heels and their mounts surged forward. The legionaries nearest to them scattered, diving for safety rather than risk being trampled. Those further back moved aside more deliberately and poised for a strike as the horsemen galloped past. The Batavians ignored the men who posed no danger. They were intent on escape, not going down in a desperate fight in some far-flung marsh at the ends of the earth. So they covered their bodies with their large oval shields, hunched down and spurred their horses on.

The narrow width of the track meant that only two horses could gallop side by side and the Batavians slowed down as they jostled for position. At once, the more daring amongst the legionaries dodged forward and thrust their blades into the sides of the horses, or aimed at the bare legs between the leather breeches and the boots of the horsemen. A horse, stabbed in the flank, swerved round across the track and blocked the three horses immediately behind it. They crashed into the wounded animal and it stumbled back and rolled on to its side. At the last moment the rider threw himself clear and landed heavily at the feet of a group of legionaries. They hacked him to death at once. The other three desperately regained control of their mounts and tried to pick a path round the injured beast, but it was already too late. Their momentum had gone, and the surrounding legionaries rushed in, plucked them from their saddles and butchered them on the ground.

All this Cato saw in a blur of motion; then his eyes fixed on the two Batavians who had led the charge, and still came on, teeth-bared and eyes wide with desperation as they spurred their mounts forward. Cato saw a cavalry sword on the ground close by and snatched it up, the blade’s weight and balance unfamiliar in a hand used to the feel of a short sword. On either side of him he sensed his men shrinking back from the horses pounding down the track towards them.

‘Hold still! Don’t let them escape!’

A moment before the Batavians were upon him, Cato raised the sword and sighted along its length to the glistening chest of the nearest horse, and braced himself. The horse galloped on to the point, which ripped through its hide, tore through its muscle and pierced the heart. Cato had thrown his weight behind the sword and the shock of the impact now hurled him to one side. He landed heavily in the long grass beside the track, the wind driven from his lungs.