Now all the Romans were running at their attackers echoing Cato’s call to the charge. The attackers were momentarily shocked into stillness — a fatal failure of nerve, as it turned out. Moments later, the Roman infantry were in amongst them, knocking them from their saddles and finishing them off as they lay helpless on the ground. The bloody skirmish was quickly over, only a handful of the enemy managing to break away and flee into the night.

Cato leaned on his shield, blood pounding through his veins as he breathed heavily. All about him bodies were strewn around the century’s camp fires. Legionaries quickly moved among the prostrate forms to finish off the wounded enemy.

‘Stop that!’ Narcissus shouted as he scrabbled out from under the wagon. ‘Don’t kill them!’

The shrill tone of his voice caused the men to pause in their grisly work, swords poised, waiting for Macro to countermand this ridiculous instruction.

‘Don’t kill them?’ Macro was astonished. ‘These bastards were about to gut you. And us!’

‘Centurion, we must have prisoners! We must find out who is responsible for the attack.’

Macro could see the sense of what Narcissus was saying. He wiped his sword clean on the cloak of one of the attackers before sliding it back into his scabbard. ‘Lads! If any of these bastards are still breathing drag them over here. Section leaders! Call the roll of your men, all returns to the optio at once!’

Later, while the Roman injured groaned and cried at the rough first-aid that was meted out to them by their inexpert comrades, Macro gazed down angrily at the three warriors sitting sullenly at his feet. Cato emerged from the night.

‘What’s the butcher’s bill?’

‘Eight dead and sixteen wounded, sir.’

‘Right. Get the seals off the dead and tell off a burial detail.’

‘What about my litter bearers? My bodyguard?’ asked Narcissus, nursing his injured hand.

‘One dead, one missing and the bodyguard’s still unconscious — someone said he’d been kicked by a horse.’

‘Right then, you bastards,’ growled Macro, and as he kicked the nearest one on his broken arm a shrill scream of agony split the air. ‘Eight of my men are dead. Don’t think for a moment you aren’t going the same way. But we can make it quick for you, or slow and painful. Depends on how you answer this gentleman here.’

He jerked a thumb at Narcissus and stepped to one side. The imperial secretary stared hard at them, hands on hips, but stood beyond arm’s reach.

‘Who ordered you to kill me?’

‘Kill you?’ Cato asked. ‘I thought they were bandits.’

‘Bandits!’ Macro laughed harshly. ‘Ever heard of bandits attacking a full century? No? Well then, don’t be stupid. Besides, look at them, look at the clothes and armour. This lot belong to something far more organised.’

‘Like an army unit?’

‘Maybe.’

Narcissus raised a hand for silence and asked his question again. ‘I said, who ordered you to kill me?’