‘Good.’ Cato approved. ‘And have the rearguard section make sure that they mark our progress through the mangrove. Centurion Macro will be following us.’ Cato looked round at the dense vegetation and shallow water stretching out ahead of him. ‘Besides, we might need to retrace our steps.’

‘True, I’d hate to get lost in this place.’

‘There’s no knowing how far this extends. We have to catch up with Ajax before he finds a path through it and escapes.’ Cato settled his waterskin and rations haversack behind his back and then picked up his shield. The air around him was still and hot and insects swirled in shafts of light where the rays of the rising sun pierced the leafy canopy. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

He gestured to Rufus to join him and strode to the front of the line of legionaries stretching across the small islet. The long grass had been trodden down and ahead a rough trail of hacked reeds indicated the way that Ajax had headed.

He snatched a breath, and caught the odour of rotting plants and stagnant water. ‘Column, advance!’

Cato splashed down into the shallows and pushed his way through the reeds that closed in on both sides. Those who had gone before him had crushed some reeds underfoot and hacked away at others so that the passage of the fugitives was clearly marked. Cato hoped that the fact that Ajax was having to cut his way forward would delay and exhaust his men and make it easier for the pursuers to catch up. As the Romans closed on them, the renegades would be forced to turn and fight, or surrender. But there was always the danger that they might try to spring an ambush on the legionaries. Hopefully, Centurion Rufus’s leading section would be able to foil any attempt to surprise the main column.

It was tough going and as the sun climbed higher into the sky, its heat blazed down on the line of soldiers struggling through the reeds. The lack of any movement in the air added to their discomfort and perspiration was soon trickling down from Cato’s scalp so that he had to brush it away from his eyes as he plodded forward. Eventually Cato could bear the stifling constriction of his helmet no longer, and took it off and tied the straps to his belt. He told Rufus to allow the men to do the same, and pass the word down the line before they continued forward. Behind him, the centurion occasionally tried to swat away the swirling cloud of insects that had been drawn to the men, uttering foul oaths at the mosquitoes.

‘Keep it down,’ Cato told him softly.

‘Sorry, sir. These little bastards are eating me alive. Wonder what they feed on when they can’t get Roman?’ Rufus swiped at a large mosquito hovering in front of his eyes. ‘Hop it, you nasty little cunt.’