Cato recognised the man: Nepos, one of Metellus’ cronies from the night before. It was tempting to point out to the man that this situation was the consequence of his lack of self-control the day before. But there was no time or point in dwelling on the blame for their perilous situation.

‘Fall back. We get back to the camp . . .and hope they pass us by. Whoever they are.’

He led the sentries back down the track and when they reached the clearing Cato saw that the rest of his men were assembled, weapons in hand and waiting for his orders.

‘There’s nowhere to hide,’ Cato said quietly, ‘and there’s only one way into this clearing. If we try and break out across the marsh, we’ll just get stuck and hunted down. Best to stand ready, keep silent, and hope that they can’t see us in this mist.’

The legionaries stood in a small ring, facing out, ears and eyes straining to discern the slightest sight or sound through the grey veil that surrounded them. Soon they could all hear the sounds of men moving a short distance away, the rustling of bushes and snapping of twigs under careless footfalls.

‘What are we standing here for?’ Metellus hissed. ‘I say we make a run for it.’

Cato turned on him. ‘And I say I’ll cut your throat if you make another sound. Got that?’

Metellus looked at him, then nodded and turned back towards the growing sounds of the approaching men, spreading out all around them.

Cato’s eyes flickered from the grey outline of one tree to the next, and soon he thought he caught fleeting glimpses of the wraithlike forms of men moving through the trees. Gradually the sounds subsided and then there was silence, broken only by the rustling of the piglets, stirring beside the slumbering form of the sow.

‘Romans!’ a voice called out of the mist in Latin, and Cato quickly turned towards the sound. ‘Romans! Throw down your arms and surrender!’

Cato drew a breath and called out ‘Who’s there?’

The voice answered at once, ‘I speak for Caratacus! He demands you drop your weapons and surrender. Or else, you die.’

‘Who’s he trying to fool?’ Figulus muttered. ‘We’re dead either way. At least it’ll be quick and less painful if we fight. Might take a few of them bastards with us as well.’