Cato threw both arms over the gate, grasped the peg and wrenched it free with all his strength. The peg shot out of its receiver and the gate crashed open as the legionaries behind it surged forward, clambering over Figulus and sending Cato flying forwards. He crashed to the ground at the feet of the guard who had spotted him, and rolled on to his side, arm raised, ready to protect himself. He saw the young warrior towering above, dark against the starry sky, and saw him draw back his spear to strike at his helpless enemy. Before the iron tip began to thrust down a dark shape flew over Cato, crashed into the boy and knocked him to the ground. More dark shapes fell upon the guard and there was a horrible gurgling choking sound, a brief thrashing of limbs and then silence. As Cato regained his feet he saw the other guard running away, towards the glow that rimmed the nearest huts.

‘Stop him!’ Cato hissed.

Close by, Metellus snatched up the first guard’s spear and sprinted forward. Then he realised the boy would reach his comrades before he could catch him. The legionary stopped, threw back his spear arm, sighted the back of the guard twenty paces ahead, and hurled it forward. Cato missed the flight of the spear in the darkness, but a moment later there was a thud, and explosive gasp of breath, and the native boy pitched forward. Metellus ran forward to make sure that his enemy was finished, and wrenched the spearshaft from the back of the dead boy.

The men gathered around Cato in the darkness, breathing hard and eagerly waiting for his orders, flushed with exultation at their escape and the prospect that they might yet live. They looked to him, and for a moment Cato felt paralysed by the responsibility for these men’s lives. Then the moment passed and he looked round.

‘Get their weapons. Then put the bodies in the pen.’

Figulus took the other spear and after a brief rummage over the corpses two men had spears and one held a dagger. The guards were then bundled into the pen and then Cato shut the gate, found the peg, and quickly jammed it back into place.

‘Good. Now let’s go.’ Cato turned away from the pen and was about to lead his men off, when a voice called towards them. He spun round, eyes darting from hut to hut until they fixed on a shadow walking uncertainly towards them from the direction of the feast.

‘You’re in luck boys!’ The voice was slurred but Cato still recognised it as that of the older man who had left his young charges alone earlier on. ‘I got you some drink!’

He held up a stoppered jar as he walked unsteadily towards the pen. Then he stopped, lowered the jar and stared. ‘Boys?’

‘Get him!’ Cato called out, starting forward. ‘Before the bastard brings ‘em running.’