'No.You can sleep afterwards maybe.'

'Yes. Afterwards.' Cato forced a smile. 'One way or another.'

The Roman column slipped out of the eastern gate in the third hour before dawn.The men had blackened their faces and limbs with ash and charred wood. Since they would have to march quickly into position and then chase down the more lightly armed men in Bannus' army, they had been ordered to leave their body armour behind. Each man carried his shield and was armed with a javelin and short sword, and wore a strip of white linen on his sword arm for identification. As the four cavalry squadrons trotted ahead and then turned to the left and moved round the fort's defences, the infantry advanced as quickly as they could, out of step, so as not to give themselves away by the rhythmic tramp of Roman army boots. Macro and Cato marched at the head of the column. Cato was shivering in the cold night air and hoped that the march round the fort would warm him up so that he didn't have to clench his teeth to stop them chattering. The auxiliaries had been threatened with dreadful punishment if they dared to speak and the column moved forward in silence, only the noise of their boots breaking the hush, until they turned off the stony track and then the sand muffled the sound almost entirely.

Almost at once they came across two bodies, sprawled on the ground. Macro halted the column and paused to turn one over with his boot.

'Seems that the scouts have done a good job,' he said in an undertone. 'I just hope they get them all without any trouble. If not…'

'They'll do fine,' Cato reassured him. 'Every man in the cohort knows what's at stake.'

'It's down to the gods then,' Macro concluded as he raised his arm and waved the column forward.'I just hope Fortuna doesn't think I've used up my allotment of luck.'

'Of course you haven't,' Cato replied softly. He had grown used to Macro's superstitious tendencies, and had long since given up any attempt to talk his friend round to a more rational view of the world. Cato even doubted that there were any such things as gods. But the belief in them certainly served a purpose, helping most men to bridge the gap between knowledge and experience, and Cato had resigned himself to having to humour the superstitions of others, and even be seen to go along with them.

'Don't you think I've run out of luck?' Macro whispered. 'I wonder, given all the shit that's flown in my direction since we arrived in Judaea.'

'No, sir,' Cato replied patiently. 'For the most part you have made your own luck. Fortuna has just topped it up from time to time. We really shouldn't talk.'

'No.' Macro quickened his pace slightly so that he drew slightly ahead of Cato, and then advanced, his ears and eyes straining to detect any sign of movement ahead of them. To their left the walls of the fort were clearly visible in the glow of the dying embers and the silhouettes of Parmenion's men could be clearly seen manning the towers and patrolling the walkway. As they marched in a wide arc round the fort the enemy camp came into view: a sprinkling of fires, twinkling in the distance. Half a mile to the north of the camp was a slight fold in the landscape that had been chosen as the site where the force would form up.When Macro judged that they had skirted round far enough to avoid being detected he changed course and began to lead the column towards the enemy camp at a tangent. Now was the most dangerous moment. If they were spotted before they could deploy for attack Bannus could bring the full weight of his army to bear and the Romans would be overwhelmed in short order.

As they approached the fold in the ground, there was no shout of alarm, no call of a trumpet to indicate that the enemy had detected their presence. Then, at last, the ground began to slope down and there ahead of them lay two darker masses separated by a stretch of open ground: the small forces of cavalry sent ahead of the main column. Cato pointed them out to Macro who nodded, and led the column to a point midway between them. As the column deployed, a horseman trotted down the line and stopped when he saw the crests on Macro's and Cato's helmets.

'Sir?'

Macro at once recognised the quiet voice as Scrofa's.

'Is that the prefect?'

'Yes. Come here.' Macro beckoned to him. 'Anything to report?'

'We took care of their outlying pickets, sir.Their relief came out of camp a short while back. We took care of them too. Surprised them quickly enough to stop anyone raising the alarm.'

'Good. But the men coming off watch will be expected back. We'll have to attack at once.'

Cato had a sudden thought. 'Wait. Perhaps there's a way to maximise the surprise of the attack.'

'What?' The gloomy shape of Macro turned towards him. 'What do you mean?'

Cato looked up at Scrofa. 'The bodies of the relief. Where are they?'

'Just over there.' Scrofa pointed to the ground rising up in the direction of the enemy camp.

'Cato,' Macro cut in. 'What are you thinking of doing?'

'They're expecting a party of men to come off watch. What if I, and some of our men, took their place? We overpower the guard on the edge of the enemy camp, and I signal you to approach. Sir, we could be inside the camp before they even knew we were here.'

Macro considered the plan briefly. 'All right then, Cato. It's worth a try. What signal will you use?'

Cato thought quickly. As they had approached the camp earlier he had seen the braziers burning round the perimeter of Bannus' army. 'I'll wave a torch from side to side. That should do it.'

'A torch.Very well, but don't take unnecessary risks. If they see through you, just shout and we'll come.'

'Yes, sir. I'd better get going.'

Cato saluted the prefect and turned to the nearest men in the line stretching out on either side. 'This section! Follow me.'

He led the men up the slope in the direction that Scrofa had indicated, and just before the crest they found the bodies of the enemy relief pickets.Ten men, scattered in a loose heap, mostly dead from the injuries they had sustained in the brief skirmish, and a few with cut throats: the men who had been wounded, but could not be left alive to give any cry of warning.

'Get their robes on,' Cato ordered. He reached down to the nearest body and winced as his fingers closed on a wet and sticky patch of cloth. Forcing himself to continue, he pulled the heavy wool cloak off the body and draped it over his shoulders. He finished the disguise with the man's padded leather helmet and then turned to inspect the rest of his party. They stood in native cloaks and turbans and helmets. Cato was satisfied that they would pass for the enemy in the darkness.At least, no one would take them for Romans. He turned towards the enemy camp.

'Let's go.'

They set off across the stony sand, heading for the nearest corner of the camp, where the two onagers had originally been positioned. There had been little attempt to organise the camp in an ordered manner. Only a few large tents were clustered in the centre for Bannus and his lieutenants. Some of the army had constructed scratch-built shelters of skins stretched over flimsy wooden frames fashioned from slender, flexible lengths of wood that they had brought with them. The rest slept in the open, as close to a fire as they could get. By the surviving onager five men stood round a brazier on this side, clearly intent on keeping warm rather than doing an efficient job of keeping watch. Cato lowered his head a little as he marched towards them, as if they might somehow see from his face, at a distance in the dark, that he was not Judaean.As they marched into the light of the brazier one of the enemy turned to them and called out a greeting. The tone was friendly enough and good-humoured, so Cato raised a hand and waved as he made for them, shifting his shield round so that only the edge of the frame showed beyond his cloak. The man continued talking as they approached, and then paused, clearly inviting a response. Cato quickened his pace and nodded his head. The man frowned, and just as Cato and the others reached the brazier, his eyes widened in alarm and he snatched at the sword hanging at his side. Cato leaped forward, his sword rasping from its scabbard, swinging round and up so that the edge sliced into the man's head with a dull crunch that dropped him immediately. The other men round the brazier looked on in stunned surprise before they realised what was happening. By then it was too late. Cato's men sprang on them, and in a brief frenzy of savage thrusts and cuts from their short swords all the sentries were cut down and lay sprawled on the ground. Cato pointed to a cart parked behind the burned remains of the first catapult. 'Hide the bodies.'