Cato’s swimming skills were rudimentary at best, the result of lack of practice and a deep-rooted fear and hatred of water. Macro passed him an inflated wineskin. ‘Cost me the last drop of the decent stuff, that did.’

‘You didn’t throw it away?’

‘Course not. It was Massic. Can’t be throwing that away, so I finished it off. Helps to keep the cold out. Anyway, here. Take it, and don’t bloody drown on me.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Cato fastened his leather scabbard belt tightly round his waist and followed Macro down the far side of the hummock, careful not to disturb the reeds as he passed. He took a last glance towards the village gate where Prasutagus and one of the villagers were already squaring up. Then they rushed at each other and the villagers let out an excited roar.

‘Fucking move yourself!’ Macro hissed at Cato.

The still and stagnant water amongst the reeds was bitterly cold and Cato gasped as he squatted down beside Macro. The freezing water stung his skin, almost as if it was burning him. The two Romans rustled through the reeds to the edge of the river. As the far bank came into sight, they lowered themselves into the water until just their heads were exposed. Under the surface Cato’s arms were wrapped tightly about the inflated wineskin.

‘Right, off we go,’ whispered Macro. ‘Keep it as quiet as you can. Not one splash or we’re dead.’

The centurion eased himself out into the slow current and gently stroked through the water. With a deep breath, Cato pushed himself away from the bank and followed Macro, using his legs to propel himself after his centurion.

The river was perhaps fifty paces wide at this point, but for Cato the distance seemed insurmountable. He felt certain that either the wineskin would deflate and he would drown, or that the terrible aching cold would freeze him to death. The danger of being spotted by the enemy and being killed by a spear was the least of his concerns. It would bring an end to the awful misery of being up to his neck in this icy current.

They paddled towards the back of the large hut, the maddening slowness of their progress a necessary agony if they were not to be discovered. By the time they emerged from the water, Cato’s fingers and toes had become quite numb. Macro, too, was suffering and shivered uncontrollably as he helped Cato up onto the river bank and then rubbed his optio’s limbs vigorously, trying to restore some sensation in them. Then they made their way up the bank and round the hut to the cabin. Macro nodded to Cato to make ready, but Cato could not stop shaking and had barely enough feeling in his hands to draw his sword and hold it with a firm grip.

‘Ready?’

Cato nodded.

‘Let’s go.’