‘All right then, sir. Even if there’s another inside the hut, we can still take ‘em.’

‘No.’

‘Kill them, hide the bodies and take our pick of the animals.’ The optio fixed his gaze on the sow, grunting contentedly in her pen. ‘That lot could feed us for a week, sir.’

‘I said no. We can’t risk it. Now let’s go.’

‘What risk?’

‘The moment anyone comes visiting and finds the place deserted, they’ll raise the alarm. The locals will be all over us. So, we don’t take the risk. Understand me, Optio?’

There was no mistaking the centurion’s tone, and Figulus nodded and carefully crawled back, away from the small farmstead into the reeds. When they rejoined the small party of hunters Cato had brought along, the piglet had already been gutted and impaled on one of the spears for the march back to the camp. At the sound of their approach Cato was glad to see them stop gloating over their kill and snatch up their weapons. The tense expressions relaxed as their officers emerged from the marsh and stood, dripping, on the narrow track. Metellus looked at him hopefully.

‘Any sign of more of these, sir?’

‘More than you can imagine,’ Figulus smiled.’There’s a nice little-’

Cato instantly whirled round on his subordinate.’Shut your mouth! There’s nothing there that concerns us. Got it? Nothing

. . . Now let’s get this back and eat.’

The men looked on curiously until Cato snapped at them to pick up their kill and sent one man forward and left one behind to make sure they were not followed. They marched back to the camp in silence, stopping only to cover up any blood that dripped from the swaying carcass of the piglet that might lead the farmer after them, once he discovered that one of his pigs had slipped out of its pen.