‘Twenty-eight of us left.’ Cato raised his head and looked round the clearing at the huddled forms of his men. A few were already stirring as the thin light shafted through the boughs of the stunted trees. Some coughed and two men talked in low tones, that dropped even further when they noticed the centurion glancing in their direction. The clearing stood in a leafy dell that was surrounded by low hummocks of land on every side. Beyond that lay the marsh, wreathed with mist that rose every night. The fugitives had been lucky enough to stumble on this place the day after their skirmish with the Batavian horsemen. They had left six of their dead with the other bodies and carried the seriously wounded with them, picking their way along meandering trails deep into the marsh. Cato helped his injured as best he could, but one by one they had weakened and died. Honorius had taken a spear deep in the guts. He was strong and had fought grimly to hang on to life, gritting his teeth against the agony of his mortal wound, face glistening with sweat. Now he was still, and Cato could see his body lying stretched out, arms by his sides, as Figulus had left him.

Cato rose to his feet, face contorting for a moment as he tensed his stiff muscles. Then he looked down at his optio.

‘We need to find more food. We haven’t eaten for days.’

Figulus nodded.

With the dell established as their camp, Cato had led a small party in search of supplies. He had ventured far down the track that wound past the dell, and two miles on they had come across a small island where four sheep had been penned together beside a small daubed hut. The body of an old man lay within. He had been dead some time and they smelled his decay before they found his wizened body. The old man must have fallen ill and died in his hut, Cato reasoned. The Romans grabbed the pathetic bundle of rags that had been all that he had, and then tried to drive the sheep back towards the dell. Three of the depressingly stupid animals had bolted and disappeared into the marsh, leaving the fading sounds of their bleating and splashing to carry back to the Romans before the oppressive silence closed in once again. The last beast had been slaughtered and roasted over the fire that Cato allowed his men to start only after the last light had faded from the sky. The animal had been a skinny and miserable beast, which explained her refusal to escape with the others. The lean cuts of meat had lasted two days, and now hunger gnawed at the stomachs of his men again and they looked to Cato to solve the problem.