With a loud chorus of snapping and rustling the wounded deer thrust itself away from its pursuers, but the spear shaft snagged and held it back at every turn so that Proculus, scratched and bleeding, closed on the beast. Then the gorse parted, there was a short patch of grass and the ground gave way to a flat expanse of dark, cracked earth. The deer braced itself and leaped forward, arcing up and then crashing down with a soft thud ten feet away. Its hoofs sank through the cracked mud and it struggled forward another step and was stuck. Proculus saw his chance and leaped after the deer, landing in the mud, breaking through the crust and sinking almost knee-deep in the mire beneath. Grunting with effort he dragged one foot out, threw it forward and tried to lift the other, but the suction was too much for him. Ahead of him the deer flailed in a widening circle of foul-smelling mud and the shaft of the spear momentarily swung back, within reach of Proculus. At once he grabbed the shaft, held it firmly and wrenched it free, just as Cato and the others stumbled on to the grassy bank.

‘Shit!’ Metellus shouted. ‘Shit, we’ve got it!’

The legionary started forward but Cato slapped his arm across the man’s chest, stopping him. ‘Wait!’

Metellus made to sweep his centurion’s arm aside when Cato jabbed his other hand towards Proculus, floundering in the mud as he tried to steady himself for a spearthrust.

‘Look!’ Cato shouted. ‘It’s not safe. Just wait!’

Proculus, up to his knees in the glutinous filth, reached forward and thrust the spear into the deer’s throat, wrenched the blade free and struck again. With one final terrified squeal the deer’s head slumped down into the mud and its tongue lolled out. The tanned chest heaved a few more times and was still. Blood coursed from its wounds and spread brilliantly across the disturbed mud.

Proculus raised the spear over his head and whooped with triumph and delight, then turned towards his comrades with a wide grin, and then frowned as he saw their intent expressions.

‘He’s sinking,’ Metellus said quietly.

Proculus looked down and saw that the black mud had now engulfed his thighs and dark water oozed around the bottom of his ragged tunic. With a huge effort he tried to lift one of his legs, but the effort only led to him sinking a little further into the mud. He turned to his comrades, the first trace of fear etched into his expression.

‘Help me.’

‘Your spear!’ Cato gestured towards him.’Reach out for us.’ Proculus grasped the shaft, just behind the iron head and stretched out, offering the base of the weapon towards his comrades. Cato extended his arm as far as it would go, fingers straining to reach the end of the shaft, but there was still a small gap.