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The warrior had been expecting a more subtle, calculated attack and the savage rush took the man by surprise. Cato's heavy legionary shield drove into his foe and knocked him off his feet. Cato stamped down on his face as he ran across his enemy and jabbed his sword into the man's chest. It was not a fatal blow, but one that might keep him out of the fight for a vital instant. The Durotrigan warrior grunted as the sword stuck in his ribs and winded him. Then he was gone, dropping behind Cato as the centurion turned on the next man to cross the wall. He was still stretching down for his spear when Cato attacked him and only had time to register a surprised expression before the tip of the short sword struck him in the eye and crunched through the skull into his brain. Cato whipped the blade back and, leaning forward, hacked at the next pair of arms reaching up for the top of the palisade. His sword bit deep into a shoulder and the man fell away. No one else moved forward to take his place and others further back raised javelins to throw at the centurion. Cato just managed to duck his head in time as the dark shafts arced over the wall.
Four of his men, bent double, came scuttling along the walkway behind Cato.
'Finish that one off.' Cato pointed to the older enemy, clutching at the wound in his chest. A sword flickered out and opened the man's throat. He died with a gulping choking sound, slowly slumping to the ground where he struggled feebly to rise for a moment before the dregs of life flowed from him. Cato watched him die, forced to stay down as the enemy continued to throw missiles over the wall.
'Sir!'
'What?' Cato started guiltily and looked up from the dead man. One of the native warriors was pointing over the centurion's shoulder.
'There, sir!'
Cato glanced round and saw a hand reach over the palisade twenty paces further along the wall. Having distracted Cato and his men with the barrage of missiles, the attackers had simply shifted their assault further along the wall.
'Come on!' said Cato, crouching low as he hurried to deal with the new threat. But it was already too late. Glancing ahead, Cato saw that a number of enemy warriors were already over the wall between himself and Mandrax's party. Three men were on the walkway, and then they dropped down into the enclosure, and more streamed over the palisade. Cato saw that three ladders were leaning against the wall, all the time disgorging more men. The fight for the wall was over then. He stopped and turned back to his men, grabbing the shoulder of the nearest.
'You! Get back to Macro. Tell him… Just show him where they're crossing the wall. He'll know what to do then.'
'Yes, sir.' The warrior brushed past his comrades and scurried back along the wall towards the gate.
'Let's go,' Cato said to the others, and leaped down from the walkway. He ordered the Wolves to make for the redoubt, and as they dashed off across the enclosure towards the great hall Cato ran towards the Durotrigans gathering below the point where they crossed the wall. One of them saw the centurion and shouted a warning to his companions. Cato stopped and called out over their heads.
'Mandrax! Mandrax!'
Beyond the Durotrigans Mandrax glanced round, and saw the danger.
'Fall back!' Cato shouted, and thrust his sword towards the great hall.
The warning given, the centurion turned and ran. He had not got far when the Durotrigans raised a deafening war cry and charged into the enclosure. Cato snatched a look over his shoulder and took in the whole terrible scene in an instant. The enemy were starting to come over the wall in ever more places, and all the survivors of the Wolf Cohort were fleeing towards the redoubt. In their midst, rising above the tide of heads and the points of spears, was the standard with the gold-painted wolf's head. The Durotrigans had already run down some of the men slowed by their injuries, and now hacked at them as they fell to the ground. Away to the left, Macro had seen that the wall had fallen, even before Cato's message could reach him, and the legionaries were abandoning the gate and dropping down into the enclosure.
Cato faced forward again, and ran for his life, instinctively dipping his head between the shoulder bands of his armour as the howls of the Durotrigans rose up a short distance behind him. Ahead lay the hurriedly prepared breastwork of the redoubt; the opening set to one side where a heavily laden cart had been drawn back to allow access. Men were already crowding through it, casting terrified looks at the enemy charging towards them. As Cato closed the gap between himself and the final line of defence he shouted at the men desperately trying to shove their way into the redoubt.
'Wolves! Wolves! Turn and form by the standard! The standard!'
Some men heeded him and faced round, shields raised and short swords held ready. Others stared wide-eyed and too frightened to think of anything but flight from the enemy. Mandrax, long-limbed and fit, reached the redoubt well ahead of Cato and turned to face the enemy, planting his standard down defiantly. Men hurried into position on either side of the standard and closed ranks. By the time Cato reached them a small, solid line stood between the men pouring into the redoubt and the Durotrigans. Those who had not been able to reach safety before the Durotrigans overtook them either died as they tried to run away, or stopped and tried to defend themselves and were quickly cut down by the overwhelming odds. But they bought some time for their comrades and most of the defenders managed to reach the redoubt, rushing either side of Cato's small formation.
As the first Durotrigans came up against the unbroken line of shields they drew back, eyeing the Roman and his native troops warily, before turning aside in search of easier prey. Rising on his toes Cato craned his neck to try to see what had become of Macro and the legionaries. Then he saw them, a tight knot of men marching steadily towards the great hall with linked shields, Macro's crest bobbing and twisting at the front of the formation as he cut a path through the throng of Durotrigans, all the time shouting encouragement to his men and cursing the enemy. Suddenly, Cato was aware that the Durotrigans were massing in front of him, having dealt with all the Atrebatan stragglers. They stood twenty paces away, clattering their spears against the inside of their shields and chanting their war cries with faces distorted by the wild exultation of battle-rage. Cato sensed the men either side of him flinch back from the spectacle.
'Hold your ground!' Cato shouted, voice worn down to a grating croak by the strain of the last few days. 'Hold your ground!'
He glanced over towards the legionaries, cutting a path through the loose chaos that filled the enclosure. The Durotrigans were pouring in from all directions now, and some, with more presence of mind than most of their wild comrades, had thrown the locking bar to one side and opened the gate. Under the pressure of the massed warriors packed into the street on the far side the gate crashed inwards and, with a triumphant roar, the enemy swept inside. Unless Macro increased the pace they would catch the Romans before they could make the redoubt. Cato looked round at his men. 'Hold still! Just a little longer, lads.'
A spear flew out from the Durotrigans gathering on the ground in front of the great hall, and Cato jerked his shield up, just in time to block the iron tip. With a jarring crash the spearhead burst through the leather backing, just to the side of his helmet. A cheer went up from the Durotrigans for the warrior who had nearly speared himself a Roman centurion. At once the shield felt heavy and unwieldy and Cato cursed his luck. Once the enemy closed in, a shield was just as vital as a sword, but encumbered with the shaft of a javelin Cato would be at a serious disadvantage. He called out over his shoulder. 'Get me a shield!'