Figulus reached over and Cato at once started to saw on the tough leather thongs.

‘Where did you get that, sir?’

‘The farm. Thought it might come in useful. Now, keep still.’

‘You had it hidden there all the way back?’ Figulus grinned. ‘Must have been uncomfortable.’

‘You can’t imagine . . . Now shut up and hold still.’

Cato concentrated on cutting through the optio’s bonds, fingers gripped tightly round the smooth side of the flint as the sharp edge snagged and tore at the twisted strips of leather. He worked fast, conscious that the older warrior might return at any moment, despite the lure of drink and food. The first thong parted and Cato concentrated on the remaining two. The second went soon after, with a sharp cry of pain from Figulus as the flint slipped and cut into his skin.

‘What’s that?’ Cato heard one of the guards say.

‘What?’

‘Sounded like someone in there’s hurt.’

His companion gave a nasty chuckle. ‘If that’s what they sound like now, I can hardly wait to hear them once the druid gets his hands on them. Sit down, get some rest. You’ll need it tomorrow.’

‘Right.’

Cato breathed deeply and continued, taking care this time not to harm his comrade as he worked away at the last strip. As the flint bit into the leather, Figulus strained his muscles to part the thong, and the bone-hard tension in the strip of leather made Cato’s work far easier. A moment later the optio’s wrists flew apart as the thong snapped.

‘Now me,’ Cato whispered, passing him the flint.’Be quick!’

Figulus worked at the bonds in a frenzied blur of movement and soon Cato’s hands and feet were free. As he rubbed at his sore wrists Cato nodded to the others and the optio crept round the pen to the next man and began work. Once the circulation had eased and he felt his hands would not betray him when he went into action, Cato turned round and peered through the gap in the wicker wall again. The two remaining guards were squatting on the ground just outside the entrance to the pen, staring wistfully towards the sounds of the distant revelry.

When the last of the men was free Cato beckoned to them. There were only twelve of them left, and one of those was so racked and weakened by diarrhoea that he could barely stand up.

‘There’s no time for details, men,’ Cato whispered urgently. ‘We must have a go at the two sentries outside. As soon as we get the gate open we rush ‘em. After that, we’ll make for the edge of the village.’

‘And go where?’ Metellus interrupted. ‘Place is surrounded by water. There’s only one way out.’