'Shite,' he mouthed. 'Can't reach it.'

'Try again,' Figulus urged him. 'On my back.'

The optio dropped on to his hands and knees and leaned gently against the inside of the gate. Cato placed a boot on the optio's shoulder and gently raised himself up again, ignoring the grunt of pain from Figulus as the iron studs of Cato's boot bit into his flesh. This time Cato could see clearly over the top of the gate and he carefully reached down to the peg and gently took up the strain. It had been firmly jammed into the receiver and he gritted his teeth and strained to pull it free. Then, at last, it shifted a little, then a little more. But this time it turned slightly with a faint squeak. Cato's hand froze and his eyes flickered up towards the guards, just in time to see a head turn towards him.

There was an instant of terrible stillness as the boy looked at the gate in puzzlement. Then he snatched up his spear, scrabbled round and shouted at this comrade, 'They're escaping! Up! Stop 'em!'

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.'

The warrior threw his jar towards Cato and turned to sprint away, screaming out as he ran. He had sufficient head start that Cato knew it was futile to go after him.

'Shit!' he breathed.

'Now what?' Figulus muttered. 'We fight our way out?'

'No chance,' said Metellus. 'They'll be all over us any moment.'

Cato turned to his men. 'We split up. Go like hell, and no heroics, whatever you see or hear. Someone has to warn Maximius. Metellus, take your friends that way. Figulus and the others will come with me. Best of luck.'

Cato made a quick salute to Metellus and the four men who stood with him and then turned and ran, crouching low, towards the southern side of the enemy camp. Already the sounds of revelry had died away and now the faint clatter of equipment and urgent shouts revealed that the enemy were alerted.

Metellus shouted from the direction of the pen,'They're on to us! Let's go lads, this way!'

As Cato ran in the opposite direction, weaving between the huts, he heard the cries of Metellus and his men become more distant and then drowned out by the shouts of the warriors who hunted them down. The narrow ways that twisted between the huts soon disorientated Cato and he had to stop a moment to try to get his bearings, while Figulus and the others glanced round anxiously.

'Where's Lucius?' someone whispered. 'And Severus? They were behind me just now.'

A figure rose up and took a pace back the way they had come.

'Stay where you are!' Cato hissed.'They'll have to take their own chances now. Like Metellus and the others.'

'But, sir-'

'Quiet man!' Cato glanced round at the huts, then up at the pattern of stars in the night sky. 'It's this way… I think.'

'You think?' one of the men muttered.

Cato felt a wave of rage well up inside him. 'Shut up. This way, then. Let's go.'

Shortly afterwards they were through the last of the huts and racing down a low bank towards the edge of the water. The stars shone brilliantly in the night sky and their reflections shimmered off the oily smooth surface of the water that surrounded the camp.

Figulus grasped his arm. 'Over there!'

Cato followed the direction the optio indicated and saw the dark shapes of small boats drawn up on the shore fifty paces away.

'That'll do us. Come on.'

They ran down along the edge of the water until they came to the boats, over a dozen of them. From one came the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking, and Figulus looked towards Cato and drew a finger across his throat. Cato shook his head. There'd already been enough killing and it seemed abhorrent to slaughter a pair of lovers into the bargain. As it was, the moans and groans and cries of passion were sufficiently loud to cover any sounds made by Cato and his men as they eased two of the craft into the water and pushed them out until the cold water reached their thighs.

'Optio,' Cato whispered.

'Sir?'

'Take that man. Get away from here any way you can. Then go north. Find Vespasian and tell him where this camp is, and tell him that Caratacus is about to move against the Third Cohort.'

'What about you, sir?'

'I'm going to warn Maximius.'

Figulus shook his head wearily. 'It's your funeral.'

'Maybe. But there's far more lives at stake than his. Just make sure you find Vespasian. If he's quick he might just save the Third Cohort, and force Caratacus to fight.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then go.' Cato reached out his hand and the two men exchanged a forearm grasp. 'Good luck, Optio.'

'You too, sir. I'll see you back at the legion.'

'Yes… go.'

There was a good deal of splashing as the Romans clambered aboard the two boats. A dark shape rose from one of the craft on the river bank and a string of foul Celtic oaths followed them into the darkness as the four men paddled away. Once they had put some distance between them and the island camp Cato glanced back over his shoulder. There was a faint glimmer that silhouetted the roofs of some of the huts, and the wavering spark of torches being carried amongst the huts. But no sign of pursuit.

'We did it, sir!' the legionary with Cato laughed. 'We escaped from those bastards.'