The centuries slowed and then stood still, a few paces short of the river bank. Cato saw the cohort commander break away from the end of the first cohort and come trotting down the line towards him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Maximius barked as he reached Cato.

‘I told them to surrender, sir.’

‘Surrender?’ Maximius raised his eyebrows in frank astonishment. ‘Who said anything about taking prisoners?’

Cato frowned.’But, sir, I thought you wanted prisoners . . .’

‘After what they did? What the hell were you thinking?’

‘I was trying to save lives, sir. Ours as well as theirs.’

‘I see.’ Maximius glanced round at the Sixth Century and leaned closer to their centurion before he continued quietly. ‘This is no time for noble sentiments, young Cato. We can’t afford to burden ourselves with prisoners. Besides, you didn’t see what they did to the men back in the fort. My friend Porcinus . . . They have to die.’

‘Sir, they’re unarmed. They’ve surrendered. It wouldn’t be right. Not now.’

‘Wouldn’t be right?’ Maximius laughed and shook his head. ‘This isn’t a game. There aren’t any rules here, Cato.’

There was no mercy in the commander’s eyes, and Cato desperately tried another tack.

‘Sir, they might have valuable intelligence. If we send them to the rear for interrogation-’

‘No. I can’t afford to detach men for guard duties.’ Maximius drew his lips back in a faint smile. He turned round to Cato’s men. ‘Get them out of there! Get ‘em out and bind their hands. Use strips from their clothing.’

The men of the Sixth Century lay their shields down and started dragging the Britons out of the river. The prisoners were thrown face first on to the ground, their arms pinned to their backs as the legionaries bound them securely. When the last of them had been dealt with, Maximius stood over them with a look of bitter satisfaction. Cato stood to one side, relieved that they had been spared.

‘That’s them sorted, sir. Won’t be giving us any more problems today.’

‘No.’

‘And we can come back for them later, sir.’

‘Yes.’

‘I suppose they might try to escape, but they won’t get far.’

‘No, they won’t. Not after we’ve dealt with them.’

‘Sir?’ Cato felt a chill ripple up through the hairs on the back of his neck.

Maximius ignored him, and turned to the men of the Sixth Century. ‘Blind them.’

Figulus frowned, not sure that he had heard right.

‘I said blind them. Put their eyes out. Use your daggers.’

Cato opened his mouth to protest, but was too horrified to find the right words. While he paused the cohort commander sprang towards Figulus, snatched the optio’s dagger from its scabbard and leaned over the nearest prisoner.

‘Here, like this . . .’